Archives For Trayvon Martin

3f22c6cb00087f2649f48006Relax, the post title is just to titillate and get all you bottom feeding voyeurs to click over.

It’s probably beneath me to blog about a story primarily obsessed over by TMZ and the Washington Times, but why put on airs?

If you subscribe to the Washington Times or have been on a treadmill at Gold’s recently (or are a TMZ-watching 7th grade girl) then you likely already know:

George Zimmerman (He Who Stood His Ground or He Who Murdered Trayvon) spent Saturday signing autographs at a Florida gun show.

Signing autographs.

Signing autographs at a gun show.

Believe it or not, I do my best to avoid commenting directly on politics here on the blog, trying instead to reflect on such things from a theological vantage.

I realize all too well how sensitive and partisan guns are as political issue, and I have no problem with say my father-in-law who owns guns, makes his own ammunition, shoots at a target range and sometimes hunts. I’ve no desire to join him in any of those endeavors but neither do I do any woodworking with him. To each his own.

While I’ve got no beef with my wife’s papa, it doesn’t change the fact that guns are a theological issue for Christians.

In the same way liberals can’t pretend they don’t understand how abortion is such a big issue for Christians, conservatives shouldn’t feign surprise that unlimited access to weapons could also be considered a theological concern.

Specifically, I have in mind the (idolatrous?) culture of guns in our country which values unfettered gun rights above any and all other rights and concerns for the common good.

I’ve written about the above before so I’ll stop there.

Back to the titillating title:

A few weeks ago, I attended a lecture delivered by the theologian Stanley Hauerwas.

In true post-liberal fashion, Hauerwas insisted on how one of the Church’s primary vocations is to demand truthful speech about our tradition and use it (not the language given to us by politics) to narrate the world around us.

During the Crusades, for example, the Church required returning warriors from the Holy Land to confess, do penance and seek absolution before they were allowed to return to the eucharistic celebration.

Why?

Because even in the Church that had sent them to war there was the recognition that, despite the ‘justness’ of their cause, the crusaders had committed sin. Had been asked to commit sin. By the taking of another’s life.

The Ten Commandments, which so many Christians seem to want to post on public walls, put it simply, even primally in the Hebrew:

‘You no kill.’

And the bottom 9 commandments, as the Jews always understood, were but elaborations on the first commandment about how we love (or don’t) God alone. Coveting your neighbor’s wife, for example, is really at bottom about idolatry. As the adulterer David puts it, otherwise awkwardly: Against you alone, God, have I sinned.

Even when we can debate the justness or necessity of an act of killing, killing is nonetheless a sin.

And with all sin God is the ultimate victim.

I’m not so naive as to think we can persuade Christians to back reasonable gun control  or to repeal laws like SYG any time soon.

It does seem reasonable, however, to ask that Christians remember that God calls killing- regardless of the context- a sin.

Indeed God calls it such so clearly God gives it a number- God doesn’t often make things so plain (see: Revelation, Book of).

Christians, it seems to me, can rightly debate gun laws and matters of the constitution.

What should not be a matter of debate is our expectation that those who’ve stood their ground confess their sin and seek absolution.

Or at the very least, since we can’t presume someone like George Zimmerman is a follower of Christ, we should expect that our fellow Christians should adopt a posture of contrition and not celebrate what is, just or not, a sin.

Our inability to name killing a sin, however, reveals how the sort of moral honesty demanded by truthful Christian speech is exactly the sort of truthfulness our political culture would rather avoid.

I can’t help but wonder if we’ve become captive to our particular partisan tribes because we no longer have any idea what it would be like to belong, firstly, to the tribe called Christian.

The killing of Trayvon Martin (again: justified or not) should be cause for mourning not applause and if George Zimmermann is a Christian, having stood his ground, he should seek absolution not autographs.

 

SHOOT1-articleLargeI’m assuming (ie, hoping you’ve been paying attention) to the story of Renisha Marie McBride, a 19 year old black girl who knocked on the front door of a white family to ask for help.

They assumed she wanted to rob them.

They shot her in the face with a shotgun.

And despite any other causal sequence of logic in those preceding sentences, we’re to believe race played no part.

Recalling the Trayvon Martin case almost a year ago, this story from Detroit provokes questions not only about America’s continued idolatry of guns but also its inability to deal frankly with its racial past and the present problems presented by that past.

I’ve got to confess I’m not nearly as sensitive or self-aware on these issues as I’d like to think I am, but I do at least realize and respect that those who are not in my position (white, well-off, men) have a different and compelling perspective on these issues.

993436_1472586196300558_1645231763_nI asked a friend of mine, Adrian Hill, to reflect theologically on the Renisha McBride story. I hope you will receive it with the sincerity in which it was written:

I admit I first struggled when Jason asked me to write this because I didn’t really “see God” when I first heard of this situation.

I saw anger and frustration, and leftover issues from Trayvon Martin. Another Black human, deemed a threat even though unarmed, was shot dead.

Like Martin.

And like Jonathan Ferrell, a former college football player who was shot to death by police while seeking help after escaping a car crash.

Like Jordan Davis, a young kid who was shot to death after he and a man disagreed over the volume level of his music at a gas station.

Like Darius Simmons, shot to death by his elderly neighbor over a theft accusation.

All Black, all perceived to be threats, all unarmed… and all dead.

Now, those who shot all of the aforementioned people are White.

But, statistically, people are more likely to be killed by people of their own race. Blacks mostly kill Blacks. Whites mostly kill Whites, and so on. So a narrative that one race is killing another at an alarming rate is false.

But emotionally?

This feels like an epidemic to the Black community.

Why does it feel like we are threats? Why are we not given the benefit of the doubt BEFORE we are shot? It doesn’t feel like, in 2013, any Black person should die under these types of circumstances. And we can’t help but feel there is something more to this than isolated incidents or accidents.

So when I was asked to think theologically about this, the one thing that popped into my mind was Galatians 3:28

“There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.”

This is a wonderful passage that speaks to equality in the Kingdom of God. In a country with a history of gross inequality towards natives, minorities, immigrants, and women, this verse has proved to be liberating in the face of social ills like slavery and segregation. It is a powerful passage.

However, there has also been a sort of, unintended consequence, of this general kind of thinking. The consequence of assuming we have all truly reached equality. Us recognizing that human beings still have different experiences disappears. In our hope for equality, sometimes we assume we have already reached Dr. King’s dreamland and eschew the difficult task that still lies ahead – the task of ensuring that, in America, a reality that “all of you are one” in this great nation.

Sometimes the experiences of inequality experienced by others are dismissed because we really really want to finally all be equal. But ultimately, we are not yet there

It is absurd to think that there is no difference between a Black man and White woman. Or between a gay White man and a Hispanic female. It is silly to deny the glass ceiling women STILL face in the workplace. Or the difference in the quality of public education in neighborhoods across the country.

We all have our different experiences.

We are NOT all the same And if we are concerned with this Kingdom of God, where there is neither Jew, Greek, male, female, gay, straight, rich, poor, conservative, liberal, and so, we still have work to do.

That work involves being honest about our differences and our experiences.

I believe Renisha’s story is evidence that the work remains.

There still remains a climate where we all perceive anyone deemed “other” as a threat. Renisha was deemed an “other.” It is hard for me as a Black man, to not believe her skin color played a role in her designation as “other.“

As I have listed the other names of unarmed, innocent Blacks who were unfairly targeted as threats, it makes me question why deadly force was used so quickly. Or why the shooters were so hostile to their presence. Is it something about Black faces that strike fear into others? Why? What can we – Black people and non-Blacks alike – do about this? Can we have a dialogue where we recognize our differences and not just default to “everyone is equal now?”

I think this is vital for Christians today to speak to the continued notion of the “other.”

In Biblical times, if a stranger came to your home, you were obligated to do all you could to take care of the stranger.

Times have changed, but America could benefit from recovering some common sense notion of that practice.

How can we protect ourselves AND still be helpful to our fellow humans? We don’t have to let everyone inside our homes or even let our guard down, but we can figure out a way that deadly force isn’t the default initial reaction.

In Christ, there may be no Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female; but in America?

Unfortunately, there still is.