Racism, Judgment, and the Coming of the Lord: A Sermon for the Second Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 40:1-11
Psalm 85:1-2, 8-13
2 Peter 3:8-15a
Mark 1:1-8

All Saints’ Episcopal Church
San Francisco, CA

Second Sunday of Advent

+In the name of God

I previously wrote a sermon for this Sunday, however, recent events of this past week have made me realize that I needed to crumple it up and throw it away, because there is something that needs to be discussed.  Even if no one wants to say anything, the voice of too much blood would cry from the ground.

Why are we here?  What is it that we are doing here, in this place, in this time?  I have been coming to All Saints’ for eight months now, and most of you have been here for longer.  For many of this, this is part of the status quo that makes up life.  Sometimes there are disruptions, some major, some minor.  But life goes on, and we enter into a certain complacency of routine and form.

Something has happened though to shake me from my status quo, and I hope I am not the only one to be shaken as well.  We have been hit with a series of events that trouble me deeply to my core.  The police officer that shot Michael Brown was not indicted for that murder.  The police officer that strangled Eric Garner in to death was not indicted for that murder.  Recently, a twelve-year old boy named Tamir Rice was shot by a police officer that believed the child was wielding a gun, when it was actually a toy.

In all of these instances, the police officer was white, and the victim was African-American.  These have been the latest in a string of countless deaths and misapplication of force of African-Americans and other ethnic minorities by white police officer.

With these recent tragedies, along with the murder of Treyvon Martin and the not-guilty verdict of the white shooter, I have become saddened to the point of numbness.  A mentor of mine has said in light of these events:

“Racism is America's great sin. All its faults flow from this.”

It is becoming hard to feel anything because there is so much evil that has emerged from this great sin of ours.  Our society has never repented for it, never asked forgiveness for it, and has never received absolution for it.  We’ve become okay with it; I have become okay with it, because our lives keep moving on.  And yet, Eric Garner’s last words of “I can’t breathe” continue to haunt me.

Today is the Second Sunday of Advent.  Isaiah and the Gospel of Mark tell us to prepare the way of the Lord, to make his paths straight.  But embedded in the Second Letter of Peter is a warning.  When God comes to us, when the day of the Lord is at hand, we will find that it

“will come like a thief in the night, and then the heavens will pass away with a loud noise, and the elements will be dissolved with fire, and the earth and everything that is done on it will be disclosed.”

Everything, everything that we are, everything that we have done will be disclosed.  No secret will be hidden anymore, and every lie will be revealed.  Every edifice that we have constructed to shield ourselves will become nothing.  In Advent, we await with joyful hope and expectation the coming of the Lord.  Some even name the second candle on an Advent wreath the candle of “preparation,” or “hope,” heeding the call of Isaiah and John the Baptist to prepare the way of the Lord.

We await the coming of the day of the Lord, but as the prophet Amos said, it is a day that is to be feared.  God is a God of love, but also a God of justice, and we worship, as Isaiah tells us, a

God that forms light and creates darkness,
A God that makes weal and creates woe;

God will judge these tragedies when the day of the Lord comes.

In recent years, the Episcopal Church, and other Christian traditions as well, have seemingly forgotten that Advent, like Lent, is a penitential season.  Society has rushed to extend the Christmas season to start earlier and earlier.  There is a call for good cheer and celebration.  It seems that, perhaps in an attempt to mirror society, or because we have become uncomfortable in talking about sin and judgment in a personal sense, we have forgotten the very command of the prophets for our Advent of forsaking our sins, as the collect says.

Image taken from SFgate.com

The evils in our society, the events of Furgeson, or Staten Island, and of Cleveland may seem far off in our own place and context, but here in California, in the Bay Area, in cities like San Francisco, Oakland, Berkeley, and throughout the Bay, racism and prejudice are alive and well.  Tragedies like the shooting of Michael Brown or Trayvon Martin occur here in our neck of the woods as well.  Just because we live in a progressive city in a progressive state, it does not mean that we are free from racism in our communities, nor does it absolve us of the sins elsewhere.  In one-way, or another, we are connected to these events, and guilty of these evils as well.

What lies in the depths of our hearts?  What secrets do we carry that we hide?  How do we pretend or delude ourselves into thinking we are not culpable.

The events of tragedies like this, or any tragedy whatsoever, do not exist in a vacuum.  I affirm that all human beings are good at their core, that each and every one of us bears the image of the true and living God.  God calls the creation of humans to be very good.  And yet, we are a people who sin.  Human tragedy is often the result of sin, but rarely is it a one-off event.  A casually racist remark here or there that goes unchallenged, the application of a stereotype on someone while their back is turned to us, and the apathetic response to prejudice and racism in our very midst all bring this human sin into form.

Sure, we seek to cover it up.  We say little things like “everyone is a little bit racist” or that it is okay if it is little things, just not big things like employment, housing, or education.  Here’s the thing though, its those little thoughts and things that when they go unchallenged, help to build the very systemic racism that allows thee tragedies to happen.  A casual comment can lead to an overt comment, and an overt comment can begin to affect our actions, even to the point where we feel justified in committing that which is terrible.  Because we all sin, we are all capable of such evil as what has been committed elsewhere.

I know that I have committed the sin of racism multiple times in my life.  I have said unkind things about my brothers and sisters; I have applied a racial stereotype to people who are ethnically different than me multiple times in my life.  My own privilege as a white person has shielded me for a long time from recognizing my own sins, and told me that it was okay for me to do these things.  I can no longer believe this after reflecting on the Scriptures or Traditions of the Church.  I hope though to repent of those sins.  The question I pose then is this, have you recognized your own sins?

We await the coming of Christ, where all things will be set right, and the righteous and unrighteous will be judged.  Our sins, both known and unknown will be revealed and judged.  We do not know when this will come, the writer of the Epistle cryptically tells us

“That with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like one day.”

But in this waiting, we must trust that the mercy of the Lord is everlasting, but we must also work towards “leading lives of holiness and godliness.”

How though, how can we do this?

The worst thing we can do is to be paralyzed by fear or guilt into doing nothing.  We must also recognize that we can never fully understand the experiences and contexts of those who suffer under racism and oppression in the US.  Finally, we cannot presume that racism, whether personal or systemic, can end with a broad show of power or force by a legislature, court, or be electing an African American president.

Empathy is what is needed.

It is the little things that we do that can hold this evil and darkness at bay.  Correcting ourselves when we make a mistake, showing kindness and compassion to one another, treating others as human beings, and recognizing, for those of us who are white, have been given a great deal of privilege within our lives, and so we need to work to subvert that privilege through kindness, compassion, and empathy to people society has determined to be inhuman because of their ethnicity.

Even a small candle can light up a room of shadows.

As a Christian I believe that our ultimate hope and model for right living is Jesus Christ.  In his incarnation, he showed empathy for the human condition by being born to a poor, dark-skinned, eastern Mediterranean woman out of wedlock in a cave.  In his life he empathized with the poor, the sick, and the foreigner by being present with them and affirming their goodness through celebrating their faith, performing signs and wonders in their midst, and affirming them as models of faith.  He then empathized with the human condition by suffering and dying on the cross, carrying with him our sins and failures.

The resurrection of Jesus is then the first fruit of our hope for a world where suffering and oppression have come to an end.  Whereas sin of all kind, including racism leads to death; love and reconciliation leads to resurrection.  Our Christian hope is that hope love enduring all things because that love comes from Christ.

It might seem like that justice and that hope is far off, but remember that

“The Lord is not slow about his promise, as some think of slowness, but is patient with you, not wanting any to perish, but all to come to repentance.”

The Lord will come, justice will come, and all will be revealed.  That is our hope for Advent.  We prepare the way of the Lord by casting off sin, by casting off racism, and moving towards reconciliation and love by forsaking our sins.

+In the name of God