Michael Brown is dead. He was 18
years old. He was black. He was shot by Officer Darren Wilson. He was shot with
his hands up… and he is dead.
Was his shooting a crime? Some
witnesses suggest that he had his hands up and said, “Don’t shoot.” A possible
interpretation of the forensic evidence has his hands raised in an offensive
attempt to grab Officer Wilson’s gun.
This week, a grand jury convened to
consider possible prosecution of Officer Wilson declined to press charges, and
protesters filled the streets of Ferguson, MO, setting fires and clashing with
police and the National Guard. Protesters also marched in Philadelphia around
City Hall and in many cities across the country.
Reading various articles about this
case, two distinct narratives emerged; two narratives that I hope I have fairly
represented thus far. One narrative portrays Michael Brown as an aggressive
thug who attempted to assault a police officer; Officer Wilson responded with
necessary force to defend himself and the sad outcome is that Michael Brown is
dead. The other narrative points to the long legacy of black youths being shot
to death by white police officers. Yes, Michael was no angel, but he did
attempt to surrender and instead was shot 6 times.
My point this morning is not to
advocate for one narrative over the other, but rather to invite us to reflect
upon this powerful experience that we have shared and to connect us with some
of the deep language of our faith. My aim is to go beneath the surface of this
particular event to the deeper longing it stirs in us; a longing that is so
essential to us, so profoundly human, that we prefer to bury it, to distract
ourselves from it, to find any and all ways to hide from it, but it’s always
there. It troubles us. It disturbs us; and we don’t know what to do about it.
We long for this world to be just.
We long for life to be fair. We long for that something that we know is missing
to be found and put back into place so that “all will be well and all will be
well and every kind of thing shall be well.” (Julian of Norwich).
We struggle with these feelings, but
the Bible does not struggle; it does not hold them in; it cries out to God in
full voice with the language of lament; language we find in Isaiah 64:1–2
(NRSV) O that you would tear open the heavens and come down, so that the
mountains would quake at your presence— as when fire kindles brushwood and the
fire causes water to boil— to make your name known to your adversaries, so that
the nations might tremble at your presence!
The language of lament owns the
reality that this world is not the way we want it to be; it’s not the way it
ought to be; it is deeply, profoundly, fundamentally flawed. And when we are
honest with ourselves, and the language of lament is brutally honest, we
confess that we have a part to play in this sad state of affairs; we are not
the way we ought to be; we are not just and fair and right. As Isaiah puts it, Isaiah
64:6 (NRSV) We have all become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous
deeds are like a filthy cloth. We all fade like a leaf, and our iniquities,
like the wind, take us away.
As gifted and capable and good as we
are, we cannot save ourselves. The path of progress and human development will
not set what is wrong to right.
For some, this is a cause to
despair; to turn away from this tragic state of affairs, distract ourselves
with momentary pleasures and find some way to live with the reality that “it is
what it is.”
For Christians, it is time for
Advent; it is time for us to lift to God in prayer ourselves and this sad mess
of a world that is both so achingly beautiful and so callously cruel. It is an
invitation to confront the terrible wrongness in this world and in ourselves
with the one power that can, that will, that is setting all things right; the
power of faith; faith in a God who isn’t absent without leave; faith in a God
who hasn’t left us to figure it out for ourselves; faith in a God who is the
Potter, we are the clay, and God-only-knows what God can make of us, for God
will not be exceedingly angry; God will not remember our iniquity forever; God
will consider that we are all God’s people.
At Advent, we cry out to God, “Come
down!” And we remember the babe born to a virgin in Bethlehem of all places. We
remember that day by the Jordan River when God tore open the heavens and
descended like a dove on that babe now grown to a man from Nazareth of all
places. We remember how the sky turned black and the ground shook when that man
Jesus was crucified on Calvary. And we remember how the earth quaked, the stone
rolled away, and that dead man Jesus was raised to new life, eternal life, for
the power of God made it so: Life and love conquered sin, evil, and death,
because God came down.
At Advent, we remember and we look
forward; we look forward to the day when we won’t wonder if justice has been
served, for there will be no doubt. We look forward to the day when 18 year old
boys won’t lie dead in the streets for reasons we may never know. We look
forward to the day when evils likes racism will be no more. We look forward
because Christ has died; Christ is risen; Christ will come again.
So we will not despair after a week
like this. We will not give in to rage and hate but we will listen to those who
do, for as “Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., the
nation's apostle of nonviolence, once said:
"a riot is the language of the unheard." He also showed us that only
disciplined, sacrificial, and nonviolent social movements can change things.”[1]
In the midst of his
grief, Michael Brown’s father looked forward to that change, “Hurting others or
destroying property is not the answer. No matter what the grand jury decides, I
do not want my son's death to be in vain. I want it to lead to incredible
change, positive change, change that makes the St. Louis region better for
everyone.”[2]
Brothers and
sisters in Christ, this is Advent and we are all the people of God. Take an
honest look within, and ask God to save you from what is wrong and set you
right. Take an honest look around, and ask God to save this world from what is
wrong and set all things right. Take an honest look and offer honest prayers with
the language of lament; language that names what is, looks forward and cries
out, “Isaiah 64:1 (NRSV) O that you would
tear open the heavens and come down!” Amen.”