Blessings Ahead, Proceed with Faith
Recently, one of my poems was included in Poems of Political Protest, an Anthology. The publisher states, "these poems are the voices of the hurt, the oppressed, the struggling. They represent the fight for a better and brighter tomorrow while still honoring yesterday. All we have, all we own freely and clearly, are our words. May this collection bring forth positive change."
In the past few years, images of fatal violence against people of color have shocked everyone -- except those who have endured the abuse for generations. As a white woman of privilege, I am deeply aware that my challenges in no way compare to the evils of systemic racism. I am honored that my voice is among these poets crying out for justice.
The poem, "Don't Call Me a Girl," includes snapshots of my 30-year journey in ministry. The opening lines convey the comments I heard when I decided to go to seminary. As a young woman, I never dreamed I would end up where I am today. The denomination in which I was raised forbade the ordination of women.
They’ll hire a mediocre man after all.
“You’re pretty and sweet. You will be a great wife."
I’m glad I ignored him and enrolled for a life.
He borrowed my notes then he skipped the class,
I quietly laughed when he didn’t pass.
That church did pay my tuition to attend seminary part time while working full time as an assistant in their children's program. When I tried to enroll for the Master of Divinity program at a satellite campus of Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, the registrar informed me that I did not want to do that. "Female students enroll in Christian Education," he politely explained.
"But can I study Scripture in its original languages in that program?" I asked.
"No."
"Well, I want the program where I can do that," I replied naively, oblivious that he heard my request as the demand of an angry feminist.
After consulting with a colleague, the registrar reluctantly allowed me to enter the Master of Divinity program. I was one woman out of 100 men in my class.
At the end of my first semester, a kind and thoughtful professor pulled me aside after class, "If you want to keep doing what you are doing, you will always have a job in the Southern Baptist Church. But if you want to be encouraged to use your gifts, you need to go to a different seminary."
That advice, along with other promptings of the spirit, would lead me to Princeton Theological Seminary. It was there that I served as a student chaplain at the New Jersey State Prison in Trenton, a maximum security facility for men. The devastating effects of generational poverty, racism, and incarceration were on full display, mocking the Baptist mantra on which I had been raised: "God has a beautiful plan your life." Where was the beautiful plan for these inmates, their families, their victims, and their victim's families?
Does God only have beautiful plans for people living in tidy suburbs? Does divine hope reach below the poverty line to pull people out of despair? Or do the privileged few -- including myself -- deprive those who are in the greatest need of creating a beautiful life.
My previous beliefs about God collapsed under the weight of such questions. The answers pushed me beyond the narrow world of personal piety to a broader view of social justice. I learned that one cannot truly have one without the working for the other.
I wonder why some white people bothered to claim Jesus at all. They obviously don't love and accept the man introduced in the Gospels. A brown, radical, middle-eastern leader clearly has no place in a country club church. So they lighten his skin and tone down his rhetoric to justify personal prosperity. I confess, I often find Country club Jesus appealing. He indulges my inner princess and spares me the bother of personal sacrifice. Ultimately though, he sucks the breath out of my soul and forces me to search for more.
Country club Jesus doesn't challenge us to see beyond our well manicured lives. He doesn't challenge us to dismantle the structures of systematic racism --- or any of the "isms" that hold white privilege in place. But Gospel Jesus does. Gospel Jesus constantly pushes us out of our comfort zones because that is where true blessings are found. Such blessings are not cushy or comfortable. In fact, they are terrifying.
We often confuse blessings with personal comfort. Any time an angel showed up in the Bible, blessings followed with trouble -- not comfort. Mary and Joseph were blessed with a baby. But receiving that miracle was anything but comfy and cozy. No sooner had their baby been born in a barn than they were they forced to flee to a foreign country with nothing but a holy presence to guide them. They certainly weren't rewarded for their faithfulness with a Hummer to take them to a luxury resort. Because they were willing to serve, God's spirit poured through them and a miracle of love was born.
Who and what we follow determines the direction of our lives. Which Jesus will we follow, country club or Gospel? To be honest, I am not always proud of my answer. Fortunately Gospel Jesus doesn't require perfection. The path may not be easy, but Gospel Jesus promises the fullness of life as we follow him to the places where love is most needed in the world.
I no longer believe that God dispenses one beautiful plan per person, per lifetime. Instead, God plans for love to be wherever we are, no matter how desperate our circumstances. Whether we have hurt ourselves or someone has hurt us, we are never beyond God's reach -- even when all evidence is to the contrary.
(Please note I receive no royalties from the sell of the Poems of Political Protest, but here is a link if you would like to learn more about it. https://citylimitspublishing.com/books/poems-of-political-protest-an-anthology/)
