I am speaking to you today from a place of breathlessness, a place of grief, a place of hurt, a place of anger that many of my brothers and sisters of color are feeling. Please know that this s my truth. A truth that may or may not be shared by other people of Color.
As we are dealing with the pandemic of COVID-19 and the disparities that have been brought to light. We find ourselves dealing with the injustices of the pandemic of racism once again in this country. The cries of those who are lining the streets of our cities is an open window of Grace to make change in our diocese in our church and in our communities.
I speak to you as brothers and sisters and siblings in Christ and want you to know the personal struggle that I as an African American woman who is a priest face daily. I daily struggle with the fact that the color of my skin to some makes me a suspect, makes me suspicious or a criminal. Daily, I think about the impact these pandemics have on my African American congregation. As I leave my home in Richmond, I must think about how I present myself to the world. Do I go out in regular street clothes, Jeans sneakers and baseball cap or do I wear this collar that might in some way be a sign that I am one of the good black people.
Brothers and Sisters, Siblings, I am breathless. Breathless because I must have conversations with my brown daughter and nieces and nephews and explain to them why our black people are valued as less in a country where we are supposed to be seen as equal. Breathless as I hear my daughter say she is anxious and extra cautious when driving for fear she will get pulled over and killed. Breathless when my son-in-law says that it feels like anything we do is a death sentence. Breathless as my brother has to sit his brown children down and teach them what to do “IF”. Breathless when I talk with my parents who are seeing the same injustices play out from the fifties and sixties.
But in this breathlessness I know that as an African-American, as a person of color in this country, I need lean on God and ask him to give me the strength and courage to take a breath for those who can no longer breathe. For George and Brianna and Ahmad and my cousin David who was senselessly murdered and the many others who are unable to breathe because of the injustices in this world.
I like you have been called to love everyone but brothers and sisters, siblings, sometimes the heaviness of racism, the sting of injustices and the bitterness of disrespect push that concept to a place that is heartbreakingly breathless. But in that breathlessness I have a hope in the young folks I see seeking change as they March and protest because they desire things to change. I see hope in the conversations that I have with my family. I see hope in the conversations that I have with my congregation. I see hope in the deep deep meaningful conversations that I have with those who are trying to do their work.
I would like to prayerfully urge you to in some way recognize the pain, anger, heartbreak, grief, and breathlessness that your fellow clergy of color and your congregants of color may be feeling. I cannot tell you how to do that, as that is your call and that is your work. Work that should be a part of our daily work as those who follow Jesus. Do you work brothers and sisters. Have brave and courageous conversations. Prayerfully ask yourself the hard questions about your own fragility. Prayerfully risk taking a stand, taking a stand for someone who may not look like you but who is still a child of God. Jesus is not calling us to be silent but to cry out as he did when he fully sacrificed himself for us all. We are all waking up but in that waking up let us all do our work.
REV. MAR 