This is the transcript of the sermon I preached on Sunday, December 7. Take a look at the scripture reading here.
We're exploring having a "simple Christmas." Simplicity is often about saying no - not allowing Christmas to be about stuff or about doing all the things or about being overwhelmed. Simplicity is often about what we reject, and we thought about that last week.
But much more importantly, simplicity is about how we say "yes." It's about saying "yes" to the right thing.
Both Mary and Elizabeth said "yes" - even though it was very risky for both of them. But living in simplicity makes it easier to take a risk, because living in simplicity is putting just one thing first. In simplicity, we don't have to try to balance spending time with family, and giving, and being financially responsible, and choosing healthy amounts of sleep and rest, and worshiping God and going to work and keeping the house clean. We don't have to try to balance, because we're putting just one thing first. For Mary, it was being the servant of the Lord. For Elizabeth, it was being filled with the Holy Spirit. Both followed their one job, even to the point of great risk.
Mary, when she said "yes" to the angel, to God, Mary risked estrangement from her family and her community. Choosing to have a child outside of marriage would have been very serious and risky. But she could do that, because she knew that her job - her one job - was to be the servant of the Lord. Her job was not to make her family happy, or to fit in with her community, or not to disappoint anyone, or to be a good fiancee for Joseph. Her job was to be the servant of the Lord. So when the Lord asked something of her, she didn't have to balance all that other stuff. She could simply say yes to her one job, even when it meant risking real loss and difficulty.
Elizabeth also risked estrangement from her family and her community by following the Holy Spirit's prompting and blessing Mary. Blessing a woman who was having a child outside of marriage, standing with her and accepting her, would have been very serious and risky. But Elizabeth could do that, because she knew that her job - her one job - was to follow the Holy Spirit that filled her. Like Mary, her job was not to make her family happy, or to fit in with her community, or to avoid disappointing anyone. Her job was to follow the Holy Spirit within her. So when the Holy Spirit within her whispered, "Bless this woman," Elizabeth blurted out with a loud voice, "God has blessed you above all women!"
That's a big deal. Think of the scariest things you have said, the times when you stood up for something that was good and right, even when it terrified you that it would break a relationship - or maybe it did break a relationship. How much easier it is to just be silent! How much easier it would have been for Mary to say no. Or for Elizabeth to say no to the Holy Spirit and refuse to welcome Mary into her home. How much easier it is to not take that risk!
But that's living in duplicity, not simplicity. That's dividing our loyalty between many things, rather than giving our undivided loyalty to the only one who will never abuse it, the only one who will never ask of us things we cannot or should not do, the only one who has the capacity to seek the best interest of all those around us and ourselves too.
When we live in simplicity, when all our loyalty is pointing only to the God of love, when our one job is to be the servant of the Lord as Mary was, or to follow the prompting of the Holy Spirit as Elizabeth did, when we live in simplicity, then we can say "yes" even when it's risky. Because we know we only have one job, and we know it's the most important, most love-centered, the best job we could possibly have. It makes it easier to take those risks - we don't have to balance all the things. We just have to follow the God of love.
So I invite you to consider how God is inviting you to say "yes," even when it's risky. How are you called to throw balance to the wind and give yourself wholly and simply to being the servant of the Lord, to following the prompting of the Holy Spirit?
And as I invite you to consider saying "yes" to God even when it's risky, that's what I'm going to do now. I'll never ask you to do something I'm not willing to do myself. In the spirit of standing with those who are vulnerable as Elizabeth stood with Mary, in the spirit of simply following God no matter the cost, I need to speak today about Michael Brown, and Eric Garner, and Tamir Rice. The Holy Spirit has made it clear that that is my job today. So here goes: this is me saying "yes" to God with Elizabeth and Mary, speaking, as they did, the words the Holy Spirit has put in my heart, whatever the risk.
My heart is broken this week.
My heart was broken last week, when the Grand Jury in Ferguson chose not to indict a police officer for killing Michael Brown, an unarmed black teenager. Yes, there are ambiguities in that case, there is some evidence that it was an instance of self-defense; there is also some evidence that it was not, but - hopefully - that's what would have been decided at a trial. But with this decision by the Grand Jury, there will be no trial. Just to be clear here - there has been no trial and there will be no trial. The Grand Jury is the group that decides whether there will be a trial or not - they're not meant to be the ones to hear all the evidence and make a final decision. And in this case, they decided not to have a trial. Which is hard to understand given the public ambiguities of the case, that's the point of a trial, to decide what is true, and we didn't get that chance. But I wasn't in the courtroom. I'll give the benefit of the doubt to those who were.
But then this week happened. This week another Grand Jury decided not to indict another police officer for killing another black man, Eric Garner. This time it's on video. I can't even watch the video all the way through because it's horrifying. It's wrong. But again, there will be no trial.
And then, this week, I learned about the death of Tamir Rice, which happened a few weeks ago. Tamir Rice was a twelve-year-old black boy who was messing around with a toy airsoft gun in a parking lot. Someone called it in to the police, saying that it was probably a toy. The police car got there, stopped, and literally within two seconds, an officer had fired two shots at him, hitting him once. He died a day later. He had two seconds. Again, on video. I hope, I hope there will be a trial.
This is not to say that any of these people were totally innocent; of course they weren't, nobody is. But that's a long way from saying they deserved what they got. It's a long way from saying nobody should be held accountable for these deaths.
Talking about this today is scary for me. It's uncomfortable, because I don't know what you all think about this, and it seems to be a place of great division in our country. It's risky also because I know I don't have the perfect thing to say - I'm still figuring out what I think and feel about all of this, and what I say today is not going to be perfect, it's going to be filled with my heartbreak and anger and fear; I pray that it doesn't come across as attacking, that it's helpful even in its imperfection. Talking about this today is risky because I know my own ignorance - I want to have certainty about what happened so I can make a certain judgment, and that's just never going to happen; I want to have certainty about whether our justice system is racially prejudiced, and there is no statistic that can honestly tell me that, because statistics measure human things with human bias and human error, and they're interpreted by people, many of whom are trying to push a particular agenda. This is risky for me because it means being honest about the racism that lives in me - as much as I don't want it to be in me, as much as I continue to work to change that, it's real, and if I'm going to talk about this with any integrity I have to admit that it's real. So this is a risky, scary subject for me. It would be easier to talk about other things, to say "no" to this call from God.
But I'm trying to live in simplicity. I'm trying to remember that I have one job: to be a servant of the Lord. To follow the prompting of the Holy Spirit. My job is not to stand here and only say things that you will agree with. My job is not to try to balance all the different opinions that might be in this room. My job is not to say the perfect thing, or to know everything, or to make a judgment about any of these cases or about our justice system.
My job is to say with Mary, "I am the servant of the Lord. Let it be with me as you have said." To speak out with Elizabeth in blessing of someone who is vulnerable.
As a friend of mine said: I will not allow the fear of saying the wrong thing cause me to say nothing.
So this is what I need to say, what God has put in my heart to say.
In the footsteps of the Magnificat, which says that God has "scattered those with arrogant thoughts and proud inclinations," God has "pulled the powerful down from their thrones and lifted up the lowly," - in that spirit, let's talk for a moment about power and accountability.
It has got to be so hard to be a police officer. I have so much respect for those who choose that career. It has to be very, very hard to have to make life and death decisions in seconds. It must be very difficult to have that kind of power and responsibility.
And that's why we have to have greater accountability. Accountability is absolutely crucial for those in power. We've seen how power can be abused and then covered up when there's not enough accountability, when there's no consequence for abusing power, when there are people above or outside of the law.
We've seen what happens when there's no accountability. We saw it when the Catholic Church covered up sexual abuse rather than holding priests - those in authority - accountable. We've seen it in the failure of financial oversight and ethics that contributed significantly to the global financial crisis of 2008 - a crisis that we are still recovering from - the global economy was decimated because of a failure of accountability. When we don't have accountability, people get really, really hurt.
Power is hard to deal with. The saying is, "Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely" (Sir John Dalberg-Acton). There will always be people in power. And they will always need to be held accountable, for their own good - for everyone's good.
That's why I have an accountability group of other pastors. That's why our church has a Safe Sanctuary policy that includes specific limits and protections for me, as a person in authority here, and for other adults in the presence of children, youth, and others who are more vulnerable. That's why in politics, we publicly elect leaders and officials - so that we can then hold those in authority accountable. That's why we have a free press - the purpose of that is to keep those in power accountable to the public.
That's why professions like doctors, psychiatrists, and lawyers have professional associations and licensing boards that have very high standards of accountability. In many of these professions, even the appearance of impropriety is enough to merit consequences, because it breaks trust, it causes everyone to lose confidence, so people end up not trusting any priests, or any psychiatrists, because one did something that was questionable. That's why even the appearance of impropriety by those in power actually causes harm - because it breaks people's trust.
Accountability is crucial. It's crucial in order to protect all of us - not just to protect us from abuse, but also to protect us from committing abuse. Because power does corrupt, and we need help to maintain the ethical standards that we wanted to uphold when we became pastors, priests, politicians, judges, and doctors. I really believe that most folks who have these positions of authority sought them out in order to make a positive difference. And in order to keep on that track, we need people to hold us accountable, to tell us when we have stepped over the line into abusing that power, to help us know when power is beginning to have a corrupting influence. Because it does. It does. And none of us want that.
I have so much respect and gratitude for those who are called to law enforcement. I believe that police can make a huge difference in the safety and well-being of a community. I believe people enter law enforcement professions in order to make a positive difference.
And wow, that is a lot of power.
In many cases, it is literally the power of life and death.
The more power, the greater degree of accountability is needed to prevent abuse. I appreciate that these police officers are being held professionally accountable (Darren Wilson, the officer who shot Michael Brown, has resigned; Daniel Pantaleo, who restrained Eric Garner, has been stripped of his gun and badge and placed on desk duty). But when we're talking about the power of life and death, professional accountability is just not enough. The criminal justice system has to come into play.
And that's why I think it's wrong that these two Grand Juries decided that these two officers didn't need to go to trial. That's why I think it's wrong that when criminologists try to research homicides committed by on-duty law enforcement officers, often called justifiable homicides, there's not enough data. These homicides are not consistently reported. There's some data, but it's given on a voluntary basis, department by department, which means it's definitely incomplete.
By the way, the data that there is shows this: young black men are 21 times more likely than young white men to be killed in the course of arrest. The data that there is shows that in cases where there are fewer indicators that the situation was already violent - in other words, the cases where it's less clear that the person being arrested was acting threateningly or violently - in those cases, where the use of force is more questionable, it's even more likely that the person who was killed is black.
This is based on incomplete data, on some departments choosing not to report - but that's not a reason to throw out the statistic, it's a reason that we have to have more information. We cannot hold our brothers and sisters accountable if we don't have more reliable, and fuller, information about what is actually happening.
Many folks believe that it's okay that there was no trial in these two cases, because they went through the system just like any other case. It's true that they went through the system. It's also true that 200 years ago, white people who killed black slaves and went through the system - they wouldn't have been indicted either, because it wasn't a crime. 130 years ago, men who beat their wives wouldn't have been indicted either - because it wasn't a crime. Let's not forget that our God knew firsthand that a perfect criminal justice system is a myth. Let's not forget that Jesus was found not guilty and then sentenced to death anyway, and it was totally legal. But it wasn't just. It wasn't right.
Perhaps these police officers were, in fact, not guilty of crimes as the laws are currently written, but that does not mean this was right. That means we need to get busy re-writing some laws. Or at least we need to think about it. Please, let's at least not have the arrogance to assume that our justice system has perfected what centuries of human societies have never done perfectly.
And finally, I need to say something about race. A Pew Research Center poll asked folks to choose between two statements: Michael Brown's death "raises important issues about race that need to be discussed," or "the issue of race is getting more attention than it deserves." Only 37% of white Americans chose the first statement, that it "raises important issues about race that need to be discussed." But black Americans overwhelmingly chose that first statement - in fact, 80% of black Americans said Michael Brown's death "raises important issues about race that need to be discussed." Eighty percent of black Americans think this is important and that it has something to do with race.
I haven't faced discrimination or felt endangered because of my race. I have faced discrimination and felt endangered because of my gender, and because of my age, in very real, very obvious ways. I have had others who didn't experience it, who tried to tell me it was nothing, it wasn't real, it wasn't intentional, it wasn't sexism, it wasn't ageism. It was.* And so I'd ask that before we make any assumption that this has nothing to do with racism, we listen. Listen to the stories. Listen to the stories of our black brothers and sisters teaching their kids not to run when they're going down the street, especially not to run with anything in their hands, because of the real fear that someone will think they stole something and they will be arrested - or worse.
We don't want to believe racism is real. I don't want to believe it. That's not a bad thing to want - I think that comes from a real and good desire in us to give the benefit of the doubt, to assume good intent. But please, let's give the benefit of the doubt not just to white folks saying it's not racism, but also to the black stories that say it is. As much as we assume good intent on the part of the police officers involved, let's also assume good intent on the part of Michael Brown, on the part of Eric Garner (who witnesses say was breaking up a fight when his interaction with the police began). Let's assume good intent on the part of Tamir Rice, who was messing around with a toy - maybe a toy that your children or grandchildren will be getting for Christmas.
Let's listen to these stories. And let's admit that this listening is hard to do in Battle Ground, which is over 87% white, which is a suburb of Portland, the whitest major city in the country. And please, let's not say, "My black friend says Ferguson isn't a big deal." Because 80% of black Americans say it is.
On this day when we're trying to simplify, when we're trying to say "Yes" to only one thing, "Yes" to being the servants of God, no matter the risk, on this day when we remember two mothers, Mary and Elizabeth, whose sons would both grow up to be troublemakers and to be killed for it, completely within the law, I'd like to finish with this from Jesuit priest Father James Martin. It's a little bit long, but it's worth it.
You can support our country's police officers, as I do. I know a few police officers personally (as well as a former police officer) and I deeply admire them for putting their lives on the lines every day, something that I do not do. (Remember the police officers who sacrificed their lives, or who were ready to sacrifice their lives, on 9/11.) You can believe that the vast majority of law-enforcement officials are trying to do their best in often extremely complicated situations. I see that almost every day in the streets and subways of New York City. You can appreciate the sometimes nearly impossible challenges of dealing with the volatile and dangerous people they must encounter. I see that too almost every day in New York. And you can understand that many of their decisions must be made in a split second, under the kind of pressure that few of us will ever know.
You can think all those things and still be appalled by the death of Eric Garner, who died after being subdued by police officers on Staten Island. His fatal confrontation with police was captured on video and has been widely viewed: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ka4oKu1jo
At the beginning of the video, Mr. Garner seems belligerent. On the other hand, he had, according to witnesses, just broken up a fight on the street, so perhaps he was still tense as a result. He was also under suspicion for selling "loosies," loose cigarettes, which is illegal. But Mr. Garner was also unarmed, and the chokehold or "vascular neck restraint" (or whatever one calls the maneuver shown in the video) and other subduing techniques used by the police led to his death. "The compression of his chest and prone positioning during physical restraint by police," read the coroner's cause of death. (The practice of using chokeholds is banned by the NYPD.)
As the video clearly shows, Mr. Garner, prone on the sidewalk, gasping for breath, chokes out the words, over and over, and calmly: "I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe." And then he dies. I am not embarrassed to say that the video moved me to tears. The fear in his voice is overwhelming.
You can admire police officers and still admit that they made a tragic mistake. You can support the justice system and still feel that justice has not been done. You can uphold the rule of law and still feel that the law is not being applied justly.
And if Mr. Garner had indeed just broken up a fight -- being a peacemaker, as Jesus called us to be -- then it is an even more brutal tragedy.
I'm not a police officer, so I don't know what that life is like. I'm not an African-American, so I don't know what that life is like either.
But when a man says, "I can't breathe," you should let him breathe. And if he dies after saying it, then you should have let him breathe.
Fr. James Martin, SJ
So that's what God has called me to say today. It's imperfect, it's not complete, it's risky. But that was me saying "yes" to God anyway.
This Christmas, as we're with family, as we're with friends, as we're online, as we're at church, may we remember that we have only one job - to be the servants of the Lord, as Mary was. And may we do that job with abandon, at all costs, at any risk. And like Elizabeth, may we not be silent when the Holy Spirit prompts us to speak.
Amen.
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*For instance, I recently met someone who said I looked like I was twelve years old, and she was surprised that "they gave that girl a church." When I told her that hearing things like that is not a positive experience for me, she said that when I'm older I'll appreciate everyone thinking I'm young. That's usually the response I get when I let people know that their assumptions about my age are not compliments and not helpful to the work God has called me to.
