Mark 8:22-26
June 16, 2019
Open My Eyes, That I May See
The whole of life lies in the verb seeing – Teilhard de Chardin
I’ve lived a pretty segregated life. Until fairly recently, I hadn’t recognized just how segregated. Allow me to explain. It seems that wherever we turn there are examples of racist behavior, discrimination, hate-speech and acts of prejudice. But, beyond the news of stories happening every day “out there”, I wanted to speak about my own journey of learning.
I’m trying to come to terms with my own complicity, my own blind spots in the story of racism in our country. I’ve been looking more closely at the layers of white privilege that I’ve benefited from and the impact of that privilege on other human beings, namely people of color.
Waking up to racism and my own complicity is now my new spiritual practice.
St. Ignatius, the Jesuit priest, in the 15th c developed a practice of prayer called The Daily Examen, suggesting that one closes the day with reflections on life and where God was moving in his life, as well as any other insights, and struggles of the day. These musings have been part of my own daily Examen Prayer.
I consider myself a progressive. I’ve taken classes on Civil Rights in seminary, sought Racial Justice training for clergy by the UCC, joined protests and marches against the injustices of exclusion. My current night table has books by James Baldwin, Ta-hesis Coates, Toni Morrison, Marilyn Nelson, etc)
Personally, I have family members and friends who are persons of color. I lived in NYC, worked in Harlem as a young special ed teacher, seen nearly every August Wilson play there is…Most importantly, I was always taught by my parents that all people regardless of difference are the same, loved and equal, always deserving of respect.
How can I be connected to racism?
And yet, I’m coming to see beyond these details to how blind I’ve been. Segregation is a word that applies not only to our country’s history and present systems but to my own life. I grew up in mostly “segregated” catholic and public schools in the white burbs of New Jersey, Michigan and Missouri, moving to Guilford, Connecticut when I was a freshman in high school.
One of my first memories of (having the white privilege of) “racial ignorance” was when I was in 5th grade. I was 11. It was Halloween in our white neighborhood in Baldwin, Missouri. I’d been invited to a party and being the new kid in town, I was thrilled to be asked. I couldn’t decide what to wear but eventually settled on dressing up as a favorite character, Aunt Jemima.
Yes, I did. Go ahead you can cringe along with me…
I put on make-up, an apron and a long skirt and carried a bottle of syrup. I walked to the neighborhood party having no idea what I’d done until it was too late.
Right away, I heard snickers. And someone said I shouldn’t do that. I had no idea what they were talking about at first, but I realized I’d done something wrong. All I felt was shame and confusion. I washed my face and just wanted to go home.
What I didn’t know as an 11-year-old was that wearing blackface (then and now), insults black Americans, reinforces racial stereotypes, and perpetuates a history of racism and violence. Starting in the 1800s, white American actors performing in minstrel shows would rub their faces with shoe polish or greasepaint to impersonate and act out racist stereotypes of black people. There are still people who don’t know that and just last year incidents played in the public square.
Rebecca Parker, in her essay in Soul Work: Antiracist Theologies in Dialogue (Skinner House, 2003) wrote:
“My ignorance is not mine alone. It is the ignorance of my cultural enclave. Most of us do not know more than our community knows. Thus my search for remedial education, to come to know the larger reality of my country, is necessarily a struggle to transform my community’s knowledge—not mine alone. As I gain more knowledge, I enter into a different community—a community of presence, awareness, responsibility, and consciousness.
Waking up is a process of seeing. Sometimes the blinders are ripped off, sometimes, usually, clarity comes little by little in stages of transformation as it does in our scripture narrative this morning.
Set in an ancient village near the Sea of Galilee, the disciples bring a blind man to Jesus hoping he can “touch him”. As the story goes, Jesus leads this unnamed person to another place outside the village and laid his hands on him with his own saliva. At first, the man’s sight is blurry…and he says, “I can see people, but they look like trees, walking.” (v. 25) then Jesus works on him further and the man regains his sight.
What I love about this story is the way the healing unfolds. Sight isn’t restored immediately, it’s blurry for awhile. With Jesus’ dedicated touch, the attention of the disciples and a holy conversation about what’s happening the person is changed, able to see the world with new eyes.
Learning to see beyond our own limitations and blind spots means change happens slowly, — if we are willing to engage in the unknown, enter into dialogue with one another from a place of love and civility about the hard and awkward stuff.
One of the books that has impacted my learning this year about privilege was our spring book club selection called, White Fragility by Robin Diangelo. White Fragility is Diangelo’s term for what the author sees happening when people are challenged and become defensive about racism.
As a consultant and diversity trainer who happens to be white herself, Diangelo writes from the perspective of an educator on issues of race and social justice. Diangelo’s claim is that racism and white supremacy is not just the purview of a few “bad” folks but it is a pervasive foundation of our society. And many of us who identify as white share qualities of racial illiteracy that maintain the status quo.
We can just look around our own state of Connecticut and see the disparity across all domains of life. And, how for people of color overwhelmingly, there is limited access to equal education, employment, health care, food security, job compensation and benefits, mortgage and credit, family wealth and inheritance, social networking and business connections, and/or health care.
Sometimes the extent of the depth of the needs and the brokenness is overwhelming. As Bryan Stevenson, author of Just Mercy and founder of the Equal Justice Initiative said,
“There is a strength, a power even, in understanding brokenness, because embracing our brokenness creates a need and desire for mercy, and perhaps a corresponding need to show mercy. When you experience mercy, you learn things that are hard to learn otherwise. You see things you can’t otherwise see; you hear things you can’t otherwise hear. You begin to recognize the humanity that resides in each of us.”
Jesus’ actions on behalf of the blind and broken were deeds of mercy.
Perhaps that is part of the miracle of sight restored. With blinders off, people aren’t reduced to trees walking but the truth; that you and I and our neighbors, can be seen in a new light. Whatever our differences, abilities and disabilities.
I take pride in being a minister and part of this extraordinary and loving, socially-conscious amazing church community. Our church over its longevity of mission has been deeply committed as a place of welcome, peace, and justice.
I’m deeply proud to witness all that we’re doing as a sanctuary church community, as a welcoming church for refugees, immigrants and the undocumented, as well as our commitment to overturning unjust legislation. I’m grateful every day for the ministries we share…
And, at the same time, we also need to take seriously our part in the pervasive and deeply-seated myopia that is racism.
This journey calls for compassion for ourselves and one another.
We may not be able to overturn racism as a structure embedded in our 400-year American history but maybe we can find more ways to sit down together. Maybe we can share our fragility, peel back the layers, see a way through beyond our own villages. There’s always more to see.
Healing, as Jesus taught, often comes one conversation at a time.
Part of our journey as a people of faith is to broaden our vision.
However, we choose to do that together, there’s always more to see.
My hope and prayer is that we can as the poet Seamus Heaney wrote,
“hope for a great sea-change on the far side of revenge.
Believe that further shore is reachable from here.
Believe in miracles and cures and healing wells.”
Amen.