Foundry UMC DC: Sunday Sermons

It’s Time - January 31st, 2021

It’s Time

A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, January 31, 2020, fourth Sunday after the Epiphany. “Tired Feet, Rested Souls” series.

    Text: Mark 1:14-28

Next month will mark 9 years since 18 year-old Trayvon Martin was murdered. July of this year will mark 8 years since the acquittal of the man who shot Trayvon and the outcry that spurred the Black Lives Matter movement that continues to mobilize the fight to end State-sanctioned violence, liberate Black people, and end white supremacy. July will also mark 7 years since I began my ministry at Foundry. My appointment began in July of 2014, the month that Eric Garner was strangled to death by police in New York City. A month after my arrival, 18 year-old Michael Brown was fatally shot by a white police officer in Ferguson, Missouri. In those first months as the Senior Pastor of Foundry, I was reading as much commentary on these events as I could get my hands on, was praying a lot, and was in conversation with the Foundry clergy team—then consisting of Pastors Dawn, Theresa, Al, and Ben—about how to faithfully respond and position Foundry in the struggle. There was so much I didn’t know—I knew enough to know that! 

In November of 2014, 12 year-old Tamir Rice was shot and killed by police in Cleveland. A couple of weeks later, the second week of Advent, 2014, I preached a sermon in which I proclaimed “black lives matter” aloud for the first time in worship. I confessed my own failures as an ally in the struggle. And I encouraged our mostly white congregation to not use our privilege to “opt out” but to engage, to recommit to the concrete work of what we now call anti-racism. 

Over the next year, a new Racial Justice Ministry Team offered regular studies and opportunities to engage in learning and advocacy. In 2016, our first Scholar in Residence was the Rev. Dr. Alton B. Pollard, III, then Dean of Howard Divinity School who challenged and taught us through a series of book studies, films, and facilitated conversations. I mention some of this history in my book, Sacred Resistance, particularly referencing the debate about whether and why to hang a banner outside Foundry—a debate that began in the summer of 2014. As I wrote in the book: 

Some in the congregation wanted to immediately hang a large banner emblazoned with #BlackLivesMatter outside the church building. In an intense moment during a workshop with the Rev. Dr. Alton Pollard, Dean of Howard Divinity School, African American members expressed concern about hanging a banner without the engagement and commitment of the whole congregation. To publicly communicate a commitment to the Black Lives Matter movement without knowing the form our solidarity would take—actions, relationships, money, tangible support—smacked for many of an attempt to “check the box” and say we’d done our work on white supremacy without having to engage the same kind of deep work that had taken place around marriage equality. Dr. Pollard also made it quite clear that if the congregation chose to step out with such clear advocacy for racial equity and justice, there would be negative consequences. “Just get ready,” he said. Stories abound not only of the defacement of signs and banners proclaiming Black Lives Matter, but also the ongoing violence against black and brown bodies and those who stand with them. Foundry’s intentional work of engagement and advocacy continues unabated. But at the time of this writing, there is no banner.

The book was published in 2018. Last summer, we hung a banner proclaiming Black Lives Matter and littered our lawn with signs saying so as well. It was time. It was time because we had both committed to the Journey to Racial Justice and were well underway in the work when the blood of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd cried out from the ground for justice. Today, we have a 21 foot banner across our lawn with the words proclaiming our commitment. We are actively engaged with sibling congregations Asbury UMC and John Wesley AMEZ, and the JRJ is crafting a strategy for meaningful change. I am grateful for the ongoing, unfolding work. And now I’m going to press pause on the Foundry story to shift over to our Gospel story for today.

What we receive in our text is the beginning of Jesus’s public ministry. Right at the beginning of Jesus’s appointment his cousin and partner in ministry—the prophet John, known as the Baptizer—is arrested for calling out Herod to his face for marrying his brother’s wife—a flagrant disregard for the law. We are told later in the story that, while in custody, John is murdered in a brutal way. (Mk 6.17-29)

And also, right off the bat, Jesus encounters a “man with an unclean (akatharto) spirit.” You may hear in the Greek “akatharto” the same root that gives us the English “catharsis.” A catharsis is a purgation, a purification. Akatharto literally means not purged, not clean. There are many ways we might think about this, but at the most basic level, akatharto refers to something that separates from God or is against God or God’s will. Akatharto spirits or energies need to be purged so that a person can freely experience life in God’s love, mercy, and justice. 

The story reveals that Jesus has that “thing” (exousia)—that extraordinary power, influence, and moral authority—that moves people, that changes lives. And when the man with the akatharto spirit encounters Jesus, he knows he is exposed, he knows that Jesus knows—and that Jesus, through that knowing, has the power to literally call out that in him which is not of God. What happens next is that the unclean spirits do not leave quietly or peacefully. They scream and do bodily harm to the one who’d been giving them harbor.

So, to recap: the framing issues of Jesus’ ministry are prophets being arrested by the state, silenced, and killed and akatharto spirits doing damage to God’s children, spirits who, when identified and rebuked, do not leave quietly but act in violent ways, seemingly bent on destruction.

Does this sound at all familiar to anything in our own lives and context? I hope it is not necessary for me to detail the ways that events over the past weeks and months find their resonance in the Gospel narrative—those crying out for justice being manhandled and jailed and those whose hatred, bigotry, and violence is called out reacting with even more vitriol and violence. 

Resonance is also found with the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in solitary confinement in the Birmingham jail in 1963 when he wrote the letter that inspires this series. And it was only a matter of time before he, like John, was murdered. King knew firsthand what happens when akatharto spirits within the human family are publicly named and consistently called out: there is an ugly outcry and bodily harm done to innocent victims. And yet, Dr. King was resolute and clear. Jesus had called him and he followed. He knew that the time was ripe. His naysayers said the actions were “untimely,” that he should “give the new city administration time to act.” King’s response:

We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed. Frankly, I have yet to engage in a direct action campaign that was “well timed” in the view of those who have not suffered unduly from the disease of segregation…“Wait” has almost always meant “Never.” We must come to see, with one of our distinguished jurists, that “justice too long delayed is justice denied.”

There may be some members of Foundry who grow weary of this continued conversation. Some likely know it’s important but just want a break from it at church. Some may be wondering why we keep talking about it, or why we are investing so much energy and resources in the work of anti-racism right now. Some may think we’re already good to go on the topic, some may believe there are other, more important things we should focus on, and still others may feel uncomfortable and judged in the conversation. Some of our members of color might be concerned that we’re doing this work right now simply because it is the issue du jour, just another passing “church program” that won’t have any lasting impact or make real change. 

But I return to where I began, reminding us that the journey to racial justice at Foundry is not a knee-jerk reaction in this present moment, but has been inching and lurching along since before my arrival and certainly over the past six and a half years. The truth is that we have deep work to do in order to accomplish the catharsis, the purgation, of internal, interpersonal, institutional, and structural racism in our shared life. Wanting to “take a break” from the conversation is understandable for people of color who may be exhausted with grief and exposure, tired of all talk and no change. And we white people struggle with grief, discomfort, feelings of guilt, tension, and confusion… but let me say, as gently as I can, to my white family members: our siblings of color don’t get to “opt out” or “take a break” from any of this. Can we not, as a sign of solidarity and personal and institutional accountability, stay open and connected both to the conversation and the emerging work even and especially when it is painful and difficult? Can we not bear even that for the sake of justice? For the sake of our beloved siblings? 

In 2014 I said, “Racial bias is real and infects our culture like a cancer. It is not a ‘black problem.’ It is a human problem. Racial justice is not a ‘leftist’ or ‘progressive issue.’ It is a Christian issue and an issue of conscience for all people of good will. Racism’s insidious power affects us all.” 

And such entrenched, insidious, deadly power and ways of thinking, assuming, and acting will not be vanquished quietly or easily. Clearly. Again… inching… lurching… and yet so far to go…  Purging systemic racism is not a matter that will simply magically work itself out over time without any tension or forcing of the issue. In response to one who urged waiting because “the teachings of Christ take time to come to earth,” King wrote: 

Such an attitude stems from a tragic misconception of time, from the strangely irrational notion that there is something in the very flow of time that will inevitably cure all ills. Actually, time itself is neutral; it can be used either destructively or constructively. More and more I feel that the people of ill will have used time much more effectively than have the people of good will. We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the hateful words and actions of the bad people but for the appalling silence of the good people. Human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability; it comes through the tireless efforts of men willing to be co-workers with God, and without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation. We must use time creatively, in the knowledge that the time is always ripe to do right. Now is the time to make real the promise of democracy and transform our pending national elegy into a creative psalm of brotherhood. Now is the time to lift our national policy from the quicksand of racial injustice to the solid rock of human dignity. 

Rev. Dr. King said this 58 years ago. 58 years. It was the time then. We had the chance then and look at where we are today. This, itself, is a testament to the power of the akatharto spirits of racial prejudice and just how determined they are to steal from us and the whole human family the life together that is possible. 

Years of study and conversation and consciousness-raising have brought us to this moment as a congregation. There have been moments all along the way when we might have done and said more, when we could have stepped into the work of racial justice and equity in a more sustained and impactful way. But the good news is that Jesus is calling us today to follow. We can choose this very day to receive the power and freedom Jesus gives us to share in the work of catharsis, of purgation, to cast out the soul-staining, body-breaking powers of white supremacy from our lives, our church, our denomination, our nation. We are called to do the work of sustained, tension-bearing public engagement and personal soul-searching. Now is the time to do something; the year 2021 is the time to do something definitive for our congregation for racial justice and equity—as definitive and concrete as the summer of great discernment around marriage equality. Now is our time and we are called to use the time creatively, to be moved by the power of Jesus at work in and through us to move our lives and institutions “from the quicksand of racial injustice to the solid rock of human dignity.” We may be 400 years past time. But the time is always ripe to do right. It’s time.

https://foundryumc.org/

Don’t Run Away From Tension - January 24th, 2021

Don’t Run Away From Tension

A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, January 24, 2020, third Sunday after the Epiphany. “Tired Feet, Rested Souls” series.

    Text: Jonah 3:1-5, 10

Considering how much people love a good fish story, it is curious that in the whole of the three-year lectionary cycle, the book of Jonah is included on only two Sundays—and neither of those selections include the fish! Today’s passage is certainly a key moment in the story. But the short book—totaling just four chapters—is such a rich wisdom parable, layered with symbol, satire, and surprises it merits not only a full read, but also repeated, probing reflection. Likely written in the sixth or fifth century B.C.E., Jonah, like any good satire, is both entertaining and sharp in its critique. The Jewish people in this period—either toward the end of the Babylonian exile or newly returned—were struggling to navigate how best to relate as a minority population among the nations of the surrounding lands. There were tensions and concerns about assimilation and about losing their cultural and religious identity. These religious, tribal, national tensions are certainly part of the backdrop for the story of Jonah. And the primary characters—the reluctant Hebrew prophet Jonah, the city of Nineveh, and God—all play their parts brilliantly. The tension is palpable from the beginning.

God calls Jonah to cry out against the wickedness of Nineveh. Jonah’s response was to flee in the opposite direction. Historical side note: Jonah is mentioned in one other place in scripture (2 Kings 14:23-27) as a prophet who supported the Northern Kingdom (Israel) in the 8th century B.C.E. Nineveh is a large city in Assyria, the nation that brutally conquered the Northern Kingdom during that same period. The last place Jonah wanted to go was into the belly of the beast, Assyria. 

But in trying to get away, Jonah lands in the belly of another beast, the great fish provided by God who provides a strange, comic shelter for him within the waters of chaos and danger. In that place, Jonah cries out to God. And after three days and nights, Jonah is returned to dry land, changed. He is now not only a prophet, but fish vomit.

This is where our text picks up. God calls Jonah again and this time, Jonah doesn’t run away. He walks about a third of the way into Nineveh and delivers his prophecy, the shortest sermon on record, just 5 words in Hebrew: “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” And immediately, in a magical realism kind of way, the people “believed God,” their fasting and putting on sackcloth were signs of their repentance. The king of Nineveh ups the ante, proclaiming that all people and animals will fast and be covered with sackcloth and turn from their evil ways and violence.

And looking upon this rather absurd scene of people and their cows and sheep covered in sackcloth and ashes, God’s mind changed and the calamity Jonah had announced did not happen.

One might think that Jonah would be pleased that his 5 word sermon had such a transformative effect on the people. What we didn’t hear today, however, is that Jonah’s reaction is rage and despair. He goes so far as to say he’d rather die than live with this outcome. Why might Jonah be displeased at God’s mercy upon the Assyrians? We know one reason—Jonah hates them. Jonah wants God to be gracious, merciful, slow to anger, steadfastly loving and ready to relent from punishment with him but not with them. (4:2) Jonah wanted to end the story with his message of judgment being the last word. Instead, the story ends with Jonah outside the city, pouting under a tree withered by a worm (the kind of image that lends itself to a Bernie Sanders meme).

We don’t know if the people of Nineveh’s repentance was sincere. We don’t know if Jonah withers up like the tree or has a change of mind or heart. A good story doesn’t necessarily tie up all the loose ends. It leaves us in the tension of the questions and, ultimately, of our own choices, our own reality. It holds the mirror up in such a way that we are confronted with our own stuff, the ways our image does not yet reflect the image of God.

In this moment we, like the first hearers of Jonah, are in a moment of religious, tribal, and national tension. This story is a prism that shines light in multiple ways upon our lives. I will highlight two.

First, like Jonah, we may struggle to go where God calls us. There will be many reasons for this, but a pretty consistent reason that folk run away is that God’s call requires discomfort, requires us to enter into or even to create tension. And I’m talking about God’s call on all of us through our Baptism. To participate in God’s mighty acts of salvation, to use our God-given freedom and power to resist evil, injustice, and oppression, will mean that we’ll be led into situations that are deeply uncomfortable, emotionally fraught, and dangerous because that is what real love requires.

I am in regular conversation with a close colleague, a white man serving in East Texas in a town historically scarred with racist violence. He explains how folks in his area have figured out what it takes to “get along” and so they do what it takes not to rock the boat. My friend has been increasingly speaking out on issues of racial justice. One result of this is loss, not only of church members and money, but friends. As he prepared for one very public act of solidarity in town, he sent his family to grandma’s house out of fear of violence against them. His experience is just one of so many examples of why people—perhaps especially white people—might sympathize with the eight white pastors and religious leaders to whom Martin Luther King, Jr. responded in his “Letter from the Birmingham City Jail.” 

These eight white men were upset by the “boat rocking” of the direct actions in Birmingham. They suggested that the peaceful protests—protests akin to a prophet who walks into the city and proclaims God’s judgment against evil and violence (like Jonah or Jesus)—incited “hatred and violence.” They asked, “Why not negotiate instead?” To this MLK responded:

“You are quite right in calling for negotiation. Indeed, this is the very purpose of direct action. Nonviolent direct action seeks to create such a crisis and foster such a tension that a community which has constantly refused to negotiate is forced to confront the issue. It seeks so to dramatize the issue that it can no longer be ignored. My citing the creation of tension as part of the work of the nonviolent resister may sound rather shocking. But I must confess that I am not afraid of the word ‘tension.’ I have earnestly opposed violent tension, but there is a type of constructive, nonviolent tension which is necessary for growth. Just as Socrates felt that it was necessary to create a tension in the mind so that individuals could rise from the bondage of myths and half truths to the unfettered realm of creative analysis and objective appraisal, so must we see the need for nonviolent gadflies to create the kind of tension in society that will help men rise from the dark depths of prejudice and racism to the majestic heights of understanding and brotherhood. The purpose of our direct action program is to create a situation so crisis packed that it will inevitably open the door to negotiation.”

Too many persons who claim to follow Jesus are afraid of the word “tension,” unwilling to acknowledge tension as a divine change agent. People of any race, ethnicity, or culture can fall into this trap in various contexts—most folks recoil at the very thought of conflict and tension. But part of the lesson of our scripture with its backdrop of historical brutality against persons of other tribes and ethnicities; part of the call of God in our time as we grapple with the ongoing scourge of systemic racism in our country, is to recognize the ways that white churches, white leaders, white pastors have been and continue to be unwilling to speak and act as allies in the struggle for racial justice and equity for fear of tension and conflict. We have been perfectly willing to let hatred, violence, and tension affect the lives of our siblings of color. But when even a sniff of tension gets close to us, the pattern has been defensiveness and blame directed everywhere but where it truly belongs. Those white religious leaders in 1963 never once acknowledged that the “hatred and violence” they claimed as the outgrowth of peaceful protest were why the protests were necessary in the first place. 

As King famously wrote (and I quote directly, using the common parlance of the day), “I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to ‘order’ than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice.”

It is here that many receiving these words may be mentally scurrying about to locate themselves as far away from any of those people—the Klan or the “white moderate”—as possible. After all, everyone knows that we are bold and willing to take a stand for the sake of justice! I give thanks to God that the huge Black Lives Matter sign on Foundry’s lawn, and the signs in my yard, my preaching and advocacy for racial justice and equity, my choice to march or publicly stand in solidarity, Foundry’s investment in the Journey to Racial Justice, don’t cause me to lose half my congregation or threaten the financial sustainability of the church or put my family in physical danger of violence. But let’s not pretend that systemic racism doesn’t exist within our congregation or that there is not a word for us in King’s letter. Together, we continue to try (thanks be to God). We continue to directly address issues and create spaces where tension and conflict are bound to emerge among us. This will likely increase over the coming months as we begin to discern concrete tactics to implement change. My prayer is that we will not run away from the tension, but receive it as a sign that we’re really doing something, that we might just be moving toward a “positive peace” with justice.

I also want to say a brief word about “unity.” Unity is a good word and a lofty goal. I hope anyone who truly knows me would say that I deeply desire unity among the human family. But like the “negative peace” of which King wrote, there can be a “negative unity.” Unity without justice, without change, without any accountability is just a word. Wishing for it or trying to manufacture a “kum ba yah” moment will not cut it, no matter how deeply we long to just get to unity already. In our rush to regain some sense of normalcy, a reprieve from daily chaos and intentionally divisive rhetoric, I pray we with the privilege of choice to retreat or to stay engaged, will not be silent when there is a move to release the tension before the work for “positive unity” is done. I pray we will remember that blaming others for sowing division while not taking concrete responsibility for our own role in sustaining injustice and disunity is hypocrisy.

And this leads to the other thing I want to briefly highlight. The story of Jonah challenges us to confront our own hatred and our own tribal, political, ideological, religious, racial, regional prejudices. This is a tension as difficult as any to bear. Jonah didn’t want his enemies to receive the mercy that God extended to him time and again. Perhaps he wanted God all to himself or for only his people, his nation. Perhaps he thought God was only on his side. Can we—you and I—be honest enough to admit our own hatred and prejudice? 

This tension is indeed difficult and painful; because it reveals just how far we are from fulfilling God’s call of radical love and mercy. That is the call upon every one of us, friend and foe alike. It is God’s radical love and mercy that has brought each of us through until this day—whether we perceive it or not. It’s the goal of our living, really, if we seek to be truly human. To love as God loves. To be merciful as God is merciful. This doesn’t mean we have to like everyone. It doesn’t mean we have to all agree on things. It absolutely doesn’t mean “anything goes.” But it will require us to honor one another enough as children of God to not kill each other, to pray for one another, to bear and even create tension in order to move toward the goal of positive peace and unity, and as King wrote, to “rise from the dark depths of prejudice and racism to the majestic heights of understanding and brotherhood.”

God’s not going to let us go, no matter how much we try to run away… a storm, a fish, a call, a joke, a shade shrub, a protest, God will keep showing up, will keep working through the tensions so that we might finally… change. We can throw a tantrum about that. Or we can choose to say, “Thanks be to God.”

https://foundryumc.org/

Introducing the AutoParent Podcast - Foundry Family Ministries

You don’t have to be an AutoParent to be a good one. Join Family Pastor and mom of 2, Rev. K.C. Van Atta-Casebier as she openly shares her own hilarious parenting fails, secret cringe-worthy confessions, and some heartwarming parenting wins. If you need some solidarity and hope on this parenting journey, then this is your podcast! Follow us on Twitter and Instagram @autoparent!

Guest Preacher Cory Booker - January 17th, 2021

Guest Preacher, the honorable Cory Booker. Introduction my Senior Pastor Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli.

Human Relations Sunday January 17th, 2021. Tired Feet, Rested Souls Sermon Series

https://foundryumc.org/archive/tired-feet-rested-souls

Thermometer or Thermostat? - January 10th, 2021

A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, January 10, 2020, Baptism of the Lord. “Tired Feet, Rested Souls” series.

Texts: Acts 19:1-7, Mark 1:4-11

Today, we begin a new sermon series, “Tired Feet, Rested Souls” inspired by MLK’s “Letter from the Birmingham City Jail.” Over the next six weeks, I will bring themes from the letter into conversation with the weekly scripture. There is much to explore and to learn together. It feels like a movement of Spirit that this series should begin on this Sunday following the events of this past week. It is to Spirit I turn now as we pray together…

“In the midst of a mighty struggle to rid our nation of racial and economic injustice, I have heard so many ministers say, ‘Those are social issues which the gospel has nothing to do with,’ and I have watched so many churches commit themselves to a completely otherworldly religion which made a strange distinction between bodies and souls, the sacred and the secular.” 

These words of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. were written in his “Letter from the Birmingham City Jail,” an open letter in response to eight white religious leaders who publicly critiqued the peaceful protests against racial segregation and violence in Birmingham in 1963. 

It is a common thing in the churches I’ve served—even in Foundry, believe it or not—to hear people say they don’t want politics in church—let’s not grapple with “social issues which the gospel has nothing to do with.” My question is simply, what social issue does the gospel have nothing to do with? As Dr. King notes, it is “strange” for Christians to make a “distinction between bodies and souls, the sacred and the secular.” It’s strange because the God of the Bible doesn’t make these distinctions and most certainly cares about social issues. God cares about “politics,” that is, about the way we live in community, seek to order our common life, and care for the common good. Moses was political. Esther was political. Isaiah and every prophet was political. Jesus was political. All of these engaged and challenged the rulers and powers of the day for the sake of justice and righteousness and care for the suffering and oppressed and ultimately for the good of everyone. I have spent significant time in my life articulating a biblical, theological, and practical vision for the inherent connection between our Christian faith and politics. Sacred Resistance is one evidence of that.

Today, I will simply point out that what we have seen on display this week in our city is not an expression of healthy tension between political points of view. It is not an outcry against systemic violence and oppression for the sake of any justice  or righteousness defensible in holy writ. It is a deep perversion of the connection between Christian faith and politics. 

The insurrection we witnessed is fueled by a white, Christian nationalism not only willing but happy to have “Jesus Saves” signs and crosses paraded alongside the Confederate flag. Before and during the protest, violence was signaled in all the old, familiar, racist ways. In case anyone missed the more subtle signals, a noose was erected near the Capitol. “Religious liberty” another perversion of an otherwise lofty term and ideal is used in this context to defend selfishness, exclusion, inequity, injustice, and outright bigotry. As writer and researcher Robert P. Jones wrote, “This seditious mob was motivated not just by loyalty to Trump, but by an unholy amalgamation of white supremacy and Christianity that has plagued our nation since its inception and is still with us today.” As Jones indicates, this week’s events have been centuries in the making. In recent years, prominent white pastors in our country have spoken of our soon-to-be-former president as a savior, an idol in the old Roman Imperial mold—a sent-from-God ruler who would shut down the liberal aggressors who have the audacity to insist that Black lives matter and that naming and seeking to eradicate injustice and inequity is not a failure of American patriotism but its true call. //

On this day when we tell the story of Jesus’ Baptism, we’re reminded that Jesus is the one sent from God. Jesus is God’s child, the Beloved. Jesus models for us how to use our freedom. He clearly had power, charisma, wisdom and chose not to throw his weight around and lord over others, but rather to humble himself, to enter into the same waters of Baptism that we share, to face the wilderness and its many temptations, to journey in community and solidarity with all in need, to welcome and raise to leadership those whom others rejected or ignored, to insist upon both personal spiritual devotion and social justice, to care for both souls and bodies, and to persevere even unto death for the sake of love. Jesus reveals for us the perfected image of God in human form. Remember that in the beginning we are told that all humans are created in God’s image—all of us!—in all our various gender identities, skin colors, nationalities, religions, and abilities.

Jesus shows us what we’re capable of. In our Baptism we are incorporated into God’s mighty acts of salvation, given the freedom and power to resist evil, injustice, and oppression, and called to serve Jesus Christ and the Way of the Kin-dom which is love made manifest through justice, equity, mercy, compassion, and generosity.

One word from our Baptism liturgy I don’t want us to miss today: power. We are given freedom and power by God. To do what? To abuse our privilege? To hoard our resources? To put others at risk for our comfort? To bully and belittle people? To become champions at resentment and cynicism? To be cruel and inhuman? To hide behind wealth or whiteness? Some people use their freedom and power in that way. But God gives us freedom and power to follow Jesus and to emerge from the waters of God’s mercy and love ready to do what it takes to participate in God’s liberating and saving work of Kin-dom building.

Rev. Dr. King wrote, “There was a time when the church was very powerful. It was during that period that the early Christians rejoiced when they were deemed worthy to suffer for what they believed. In those days the church was not merely a thermometer that recorded the ideas and principles of popular opinion; it was the thermostat that transformed the mores of society.”

King wrote these words as he sat in jail in Birmingham, Alabama in 1963, a city he described as being completely “engulfed” in racial injustice, “thoroughly segregated,” and with a widely known “record of brutality.”

He’d gone to Birmingham to participate in the campaign “organized (locally) by Rev. Fred Shuttlesworth… to attack the city’s segregation system by putting pressure on Birmingham’s merchants during the Easter season, the second biggest shopping season of the year…On April 3, 1963, it was launched with mass meetings, lunch counter sit-ins, a march on city hall, and a boycott of downtown merchants. … the campaign’s actions expanded to kneel-ins at churches, sit-ins at the library, and a march on the county courthouse to register voters.

On April 10, the city government obtained a state court injunction against the protests. Two days later, on Good Friday, King was arrested for violating the anti-protest injunction and was placed in solitary confinement. From there he wrote “Letter from Birmingham Jail” and was released on bail on April 20.

On May 2, 1963, more than one thousand African American students attempted to march into downtown Birmingham where hundreds were arrested. The following day, Public Safety Commissioner Eugene “Bull” Connor directed local police and fire departments to use force to halt the demonstrations. The next few days’ images of children being blasted by high-pressure fire hoses, clubbed by police officers, and attacked by dogs appeared on television and in newspapers, sparking international outrage.

After mediated negotiation between the business leaders and leaders of the campaign, on May 10th, King and Rev Fred Shuttlesworth announced an agreement with the city of Birmingham to desegregate lunch counters, restrooms, drinking fountains, and department store fitting rooms within ninety days, to hire blacks in stores as salesmen and clerks, and to release hundreds of jail protesters on bond.

Their victory, however, was met by a string of violence, culminating four months later on September 15, when Ku Klux Klan (KKK) members bombed Birmingham’s Sixteenth Street Baptist Church which had been the staging center for many of the spring demonstrations.  Four young black girls—Addie Mae Collins, Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson, and Carol Denise McNair—were killed. Martin Luther King Jr. delivered the eulogy at their funeral on September 18, 1963. Nonetheless, Birmingham was considered one of the most successful campaigns of the civil rights era.”

I tell this story today in some detail because we all need to know it, we need to remember that concern for businesses over concern for Black lives is not a new one, we need to see that the issues currently being lifted by our Black, Indigenous, and siblings of color—and the same kind of attacks against them—are reflected in the events of 1963. I also tell this story because it shows a community, grounded in their faith and trained in the ways of nonviolent protest and resistance, who does what it takes—willingly going to jail, suffering blows, organizing for power, persevering even amidst tragedy after tragedy—to make real change. This is a community who uses their God-given freedom and power for the sake of justice and righteousness. They did not just take the temperature, they changed the thermostat.

This is not work that is separate from our life of faith, it is sacred resistance, it is  part of our call.

Foundry, we’ve taken the temperature, right? We know that there are cold hearts that leave others’ bodies out in the cold as a result. We know that the heat of rage and resentment and hatred is at a boiling point, doing damage in untold ways. We know things are changing for better or for worse. We are called to change the world for the better. As those created in the image of God, given freedom and power through Spirit, we are called to not just take the temperature but to change the thermostat, to bring warmth where it’s needed and coolness where there is none, to do what it takes to make real change. 

So here’s what you can do:

- do your own work; stay grounded in prayer and study

- explore the ways that you are already supporting economic and racial justice through our Social Justice ministries (perhaps some of you can share in the comments!)

- engage with the Journey to Racial Justice initiative at Foundry

- connect with the BWC We Rise United campaign 

You are made in the image of God and are a member of the Family Beloved. You are given freedom and power! How will you use it to change the thermostat?

https://foundryumc.org/