Paying the Cost of the Sins of Systemic Racism

Below is my column published in the Grand Haven Tribune this week. 

During our parish’s Lectionary Bible Study this past week, we discussed the story of the deliverance of Israel at the Red Sea in Exodus 14:19-31. This was that moment, memorialized by movies like The Ten Commandments and Prince of Egypt when the Hebrew Slaves were faced with the Red Sea in front of them and an Egyptian army in hot pursuit behind them. God divided the waters so the Israelites could pass through on dry land, finally finding safety and freedom. He then sent those same waters crashing down on the Egyptian army, eliminating the threat Egypt posed to the liberation of God’s people.

There is a somewhat disturbing line near the end of the story, “Israel saw the Egyptians dead on the seashore.” I know I never imagined that picture when I was told this story in Sunday School, bloated and drowned bodies of Egyptian soldiers washed up on the seashore.

The line provoked a discussion among us about how complicit the Egyptian soldiers were in the slavery of the Hebrews and the hard heart of Pharaoh. Did God really need to kill them all? It seemed to some of us to be profoundly violent.

And yet, for hundreds of years the children of Israel were enslaved by the Egyptians. For hundreds of year every Egyptian profited and lived a better life because of the brutal oppression of the Hebrews. Every Egyptian had some culpability, then, in this communal sin. And when the Egyptian army decided to try to continue the oppression even longer, by seeking to take the Hebrews captive once more, they were all killed for their obstinance. Their death in the Red Sea only happened as a consequence of their refusal to let the Hebrews go, their refusal to turn from their sin and oppression.

This all reminded me of one of the most powerful sections in Abraham Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address. This is a long quote, so bear with me:

If we shall suppose that American slavery is one of those offenses which in the providence of God must needs come but which having continued through His appointed time He now wills to remove and that He gives to both North and South this terrible war as the woe due to those by whom the offense came shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which the believers in a living God always ascribe to Him. Fondly do we hope—fervently do we pray—that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondsman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword as was said three thousand years ago so still it must be said 'the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether.'

From Lincoln’s perspective, the horror and violence of the Civil War were the consequences, the justice, because of the centuries of enslavement. And if the violence needed to continue “until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword,” then that is what justice might need to look like.

And I wonder if in our own time, the violence and unrest we are seeing is a similar truth. The violence we are seeing is the cost of our own sins of racism, of the Jim Crow south, of redlining which perpetuated segregation, of all the ways our country has systemically sought to oppress and devalue the bodies of our citizens of color. I wonder if, to paraphrase Lincoln, these protests will continue “until every drop of blood unjustly drawn by a white person is paid by another drawn by a protestor.”

I hope this is not the case. Indeed, I want to be quick to point out a report came out this week from the Armed Conflict Location & Event Data Project (ACLED) and the Bridging Divides Initiative (BDI) at Princeton University which found that 93% of the racial protests since the death of George Floyd have been entirely peaceful and non-destructive. And there is increasing evidence that much of the violence has been either from outside far right agitators (as happened in Grand Rapids) or was precipitated by a violent police response to a protest that had previously been non-violent.

Regardless, though, there is a cost. There is a cost our nation will pay as long as we continue to treat black bodies as inherently dangerous, as long as they are more likely to be imprisoned or killed by police than white people. There is a cost to our nation as long as we continue to draw false equivalencies between far-right racist rhetoric and those who are rising up against increasingly fascist realities in our country. There is a cost to our nation as long as we don’t seek actively to become not color-blind but anti-racist, to actively engage in the practice of identifying, challenging, and changing the values, structures and behaviors that perpetuate systemic racism.”

God will bring salvation. As the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jrd., said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” But there must be justice before there can be salvation; there must be justice before there can be peace. And sometimes that justice is experiencing the painful consequences of our own sin—including the sin of being complicit in systemic racism—so that we might be moved to turn.

Even now, bodies are washing up on the shore of our own proverbial Red Sea as our country continues barely to tolerate protestors, much less be willing to make hard changes to bring justice about. I hope that we, as a country, will turn from this sin soon so that justice can be wrought and peace may yet be found.

The Rev. Dr. Jared C. Cramer, Tribune community columnist, serves as rector of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Grand Haven. Information about his parish can be found at www.sjegh.com.

On the Care of Pastors During a Pandemic

Below is my column in today's issue of the Grand Haven Tribune. You can also access it on their website online here.

One of the greatest gifts to me during this pandemic, as a priest, has been the kindness and  support of my parishioners. 

Like many pastors (and many of you your own fields, for that matter), since things closed in March, I have been learning countless new skills for which I was not trained in seminary. I now understand how to read data on epidemic spread. I know what the “r naught” factor is and how that  helps me understand the spread of a virus. I have learned how to run streaming software, what a streaming key is, how to adjust sound on a soundboard so that what is heard inside the church and on the stream is different. Most importantly, I’ve learned that all my plans must be tentative and I need to be able to quickly adapt to new situations and ways of doing church. 

I have also had to learn to be gentler with myself. I tend to hold the world, the church, and my own work to pretty high standards (I’m an Enneagram One, if you are familiar with that typology). That means I try to plan carefully to ensure everything goes exactly the way it should go. However, implementing technology for streaming worship at home… and then at the church… and then outside the church, while also finding ways for my members to virtually connect has meant that it takes quite a while before a liturgy or church offering feels as seamless as I would like it to be.

Like all of us, I’m faced with the fact that sometimes there is no easy and good answer to the problems facing us. What sorts of restrictions will provide sufficient risk mitigation to enable ministry to continue? How much handwashing or sanitizer is needed? When worshipping outside, how essential are masks and how do I best ensure people feel connected to one another even while socially-distancing? Not being able to find exact and definite answers, for someone like me, is tremendously difficult.

And after all the hard work is put in, when I still cannot get the streaming software to work on a Sunday morning, or when I cancel a decision to start allowing in-person attendance at worship in the building, or when I accidentally curse under my breath (not realizing my mic is still hot) during the Great Vigil of Easter… in all of these experiences, my parishioners at St. John’s have been nothing but supportive, forgiving, and full of encouragement and mercy. 

My own parishioners know I’m trying my hardest and that our volunteers are trying their hardest. They know that while we may disagree on a host of questions related to this pandemic, in the end decisions must be made with imperfect information. They know that sometimes we must choose between a bad decision and a seemingly equally bad decision, trying to mitigate risk as best as we can. They continue to provide honest, clear, and helpful feedback, but always in a way that is supportive and full of love.

Though each congregational context differs, I know from my friendships with several other pastors in the area that they are feeling the same stresses and struggles that I am—if not more. And my heart breaks at the criticisms some of them have received, people who have left their churches angrily, with hurtful words directed at a pastor who is trying so very hard to be faithful to God and their membership during a global pandemic. 

A study by the Barna Group from late May found that nearly 70% of pastors feel overwhelmed by their vocation during this pandemic. One-in-five has frequently felt lonely. In 2016, two thirds of pastors felt more confident in their calling than when they entered ministry, now that number has dropped to less than one-third. Given how much more difficult things have become in the world and in the church since late May, I would imagine those numbers are not much better now. In fact, they are likely worse. 

So, what I want to say is this. If you are a church-going person, try to go easy on your pastor in these months ahead. Things will likely get more difficult for us all as the weather gets colder. With school re-openings and more people spending time together, infection rates are starting to climb once more, presenting us all with hard decisions. 

Don’t get me wrong. Give your pastor your honest feedback. Let them know how your church can help you grow in this difficult time. But try to do it in a way that is seasoned with love, mercy, and grace. Let your pastor know, even when they make a decision you disagree with (particularly when they make a decision you disagree with), that you will continue to pray for their leadership, that your support is not dependent upon perfection. 

There are also some ways you can be helpful to your likely already burdened and worn-out pastor. Insist they take their vacation time, even if that means the quality of the church stream or the outdoor worship might suffer for a week. Insist they have at least one sabbath day for family. Encourage them not to take their work home, but to make time for recreation and family. Let them know that you know everything cannot be perfect—but that what you want most importantly is for your pastor to be healthy, connected to God and the church, and able to offer up the best they have to God’s work in this world. 

The people at my parish have been amazing in all of these regards and it has made all the difference. I’m definitely still worn out at times. I get overwhelmed or depressed about the prospect of how long it will be before I can experience the robustness of church as it is meant to be. Their kindness and support, however, has made all the difference. Your kindness and support to your pastor will mean the world to them, too.

And if you’re not a churchgoing person? Well, this is a great time to look around. With so many streaming and outdoor options out there, you can safely begin to explore a faith community where you can thrive. And who knows, you might wind up being someone who feeds and nourishes your new pastor just as much as they nourish you. 

The Rev. Dr. Jared C. Cramer, Tribune community columnist, serves as rector of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Grand Haven. Information about his parish can be found at www.sjegh.com.