May 18, 2008
Nobody saw it coming. For six-and-a-half years, somewhere in the vast digital space of the World Wide Web, footage of the Rev. Jeremiah Wright’s September 16th, 2001 sermon at Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago sat on a virtual shelf gathering virtual dust. Then somebody went looking for some way to tarnish what seemed to be the untarnishable image of Illinois Senator and presidential candidate Barak Obama. They surmised that if there was nothing juicy and incriminating enough in Obama’s own past to raise doubts about his Presidential fitness, then maybe some incendiary sound bites from his recently retired pastor of two decades would suffice.
Two months ago those sound bites—especially the phrase, "God damn America"—seen again and again by tens of millions of TV viewers and internet users, had the effect cooling off Obama’s red hot campaign. This was despite Obama’s strident condemnation of the words Wright spoke that mournful and anguished Sunday morning six-and-a-half years ago; despite hundreds of scholars, journalists, activists and Obama himself trying to explain the black church—to a larger white population that seems wholly unfamiliar with it; despite repeated reminders that preachers have damned the United States for everything from war, slavery and capitalism to abortion, homosexuality, divorce, contraception and inter-racial marriage; despite reminders that Wright’s words echo those of Martin Luther King, Jr. who once said “If America does not use her vast resources of wealth to end poverty and make it possible for all of God's children to have the basic necessities of life, she, too, will go to hell;” despite reminders that Rev. Wright’s words even echo those of Thomas Jefferson, who hinted at the possibility of national damnation when he said, reflecting on the evils of slavery, “Indeed, I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just; that his justice cannot sleep forever.”
Despite all efforts to make sense of Rev. Wright’s words, enough people found them offensive, and enough people believed Obama must agree with them—because people agree with everything their pastor says—that some damage was done to Obama’s campaign, though the extent remains to be seen. I’m not here concerned with Obama’s campaign. I’m concerned with what may be a new trend in our politics: a candidate can now be held responsible for the words of his or her minister, priest, rabbi, Imam, etc.
I can think of many instances in recent U.S. history when a candidate’s religious identity was, for better or for worse, part of the story of their candidacy: John F. Kennedy was the first Catholic President. Joe Lieberman would’ve been the first Jewish Vice President; Mitt Romney would’ve been the first Mormon President; Keith Ellison is the first Muslim congressman. George W. Bush is a “born again” Christian. Perhaps we U.S. voters err in letting our religious prejudices influence our political views—I know I do; perhaps we ought to pay less attention to a candidate’s religion and more attention to the policies they propose to pursue if elected. But the national reaction to Jeremiah Wright’s post 9-11 sermon is something entirely new. I am not aware of any example in our history where the words of a candidate’s minister have been so widely distributed in an attempt to smear the candidate. Certainly the internet and cable TV have made this possible in ways unfathomable to previous generations. Still, I believe this is a first.
Well, my sermons are on the internet; many have been aired on local cable. If one of you decided to run for office, what have I said from this pulpit that your opponents could use to smear your candidacy? What has been said from this pulpit that might raise questions at your work place or that might cause problems for your kids at school? I want to wrestle with these questions for two reasons. First, we’re approaching the end of my first half decade as your minister. I will be taking a sabbatical next fall before beginning the next half decade. I said in the newsletter that I want to take time now to reflect on my ministry thus far. Given the controversy over Rev. Wright, and given my own sense of affinity with Rev. Wright, these questions seem pertinent as a starting place for reflection.
Second, the sound bites from Wright’s September 16, 2001 sermon are still reverberating around the country, still encountering a great unwillingness to grapple with their meaning. Wright has been called unpatriotic, racist, indignant, anti-white, anti-American, a crackpot, a lunatic and a demagogue. In support of him and in an effort to take seriously the themes of his now infamous sermon, the United Church of Christ or UCC, Wright’s denomination, asked its clergy to preach on the topic of racism on May 18th—today—and to begin a “sacred conversation” on racism. After the UCC put out this call, Unitarian Universalist Association president, the Rev. Bill Sinkford, invited UU clergy to join our UCC brothers and sisters and preach on the same topic. So I begin reflecting on five years of ministry looking through the lens of our sacred conversations on racism and other forms of oppression, looking through the lens of what Jeremiah Wright is teaching our country—at least those who are willing to listen.
Since the beginning of my ministry Rev. Wright has always been an inspiration. I have taken seriously the social and political premises and promises of liberation theology, including black liberation theology, the tradition in which Wright locates himself. Although I distinguish myself theologically from traditional liberation theologians—I’ll explain this distinction later—I embrace the social and political goals of liberation theology and this embrace has characterized my preaching, teaching and activism. Over these past five years I have consistently asked myself and this congregation, in a variety of ways, “What is our role in supporting the goals and dreams of all those crying out for liberation, of all those who suffer daily from the oppressions of racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism and economic injustice?” I should note that some of my colleagues involved in the UCC’s work on gay and lesbian civil rights inform me Rev. Wright has not been particularly supportive of those efforts and that is disappointing to me. Nevertheless, when I hear Rev. Wright speaking from the black liberation theology world view—even when I only hear the sound bites—my response is not, as it has been for so many, revulsion, fear, guilt, criticism, turning away, putting up walls. My response is to ask, as a privileged white person, “How can I be an ally to a person like Rev. Wright?” “How can I orient my ministry such that it seeks the same future of liberation for the oppressed that he seeks?” “How can I be accountable to this vision?” “How shall I live such that my actions support liberation and progressive social transformation?” “How shall I interpret the Unitarian Universalist principles so that they align with the goals of liberation and progressive social transformation?” “What dominant-culture conversations must I interrupt for the sake of liberation and progressive social transformation?” These have been my questions this past half decade.
Part of Rev. Wright’s ministry has been to bear witness to histories of injustice. In his post 9-11 sermon he names atrocities the United States has visited upon peoples of color through the years. He does not shy away from this historical witness. He is a fearless, brilliant historian, not only deeply conversant in United States history, but in the history of the African continent. His post 9-11 sermon references trips his church has taken to sites of history’s great injustices, particularly those related to the slave trade in the United States, Brazil and West Africa and to apartheid in South Africa. His fluency in the more horrific aspects of history resonates with me. Since the beginning of my ministry in sermons, in the “Anti-Racism 101” class, in the “Intro to UUS:E” class I have aspired to this kind of fluency. Internalizing such aspirations was part of my ministerial training. I interpret the history of the American colonies and the first 232 years of the United States as a tragic story of unprecedented, unnecessary and, for most of it, legal violence, brutality and discrimination against peoples of color, against women, against gays and lesbians, against transgender people, against workers, against poor people, against people with disabilities. Certainly there is more to our history than these stories of injustice—there is a greatness to the United States we dare not forget—but it is equally true that if we fail to acknowledge and embrace the difficult and painful parts of our past, we will never fully understand the United States and why so many citizens, not to mention people around the globe, are so disenchanted with us in this current era.
I believe there is still, for white people, a great work of historical reckoning, spiritual atonement and social transformation that must transpire before there can be true racial reconciliation in the United States. Perhaps this is a softer, gentler, more abstract way of saying, as Rev. Wright in 2001, “Maybe we need to declare war on racism…. Maybe we need to declare war on injustice… Maybe we need to declare war on greed…. Maybe we need to declare war on the health care system that leaves the nation's poor with no health coverage…. Maybe we need to declare war on the mishandled educational system.” For comments like these Rev. Wright has been branded a militant, anti-white racist. For Trinity United Church of Christ’s motto, “unapologetically Christian and unashamedly black,” Rev. Wright and the church have been branded separatist, anti-white racists. For suggesting that United States foreign policy provoked the September 11th terrorist attacks, Rev. Wright has been branded an unpatriotic, anti-white racist. But none of these labels bear up to scrutiny. Unpatriotic? Not only did he serve six years in the military, but he is exhibiting what, at least to me, is the greatest attribute of a patriot: a willingness to demand the nation live up to its highest moral principles—a willingness to demand that the United States make good on its promise of peace, liberty and justice for all. This is not militant, separatist anti-white racism. It is simply a broader view of what the United States can and ought to be.
One of the reasons Rev. Wright can so easily be written off as an angry crackpot is he is still too alone in making these claims and expressing these feelings. The late Whitney Moore Young, Jr., a Unitarian Universalist and Executive Director of the National Urban League during the 1960s, once said to a group of white businessmen—and I’m paraphrasing—that until white people are as angry about racism as people of color are, we will not solve our nation’s most entrenched social problems. In reflecting on five years of ministry, maybe I haven’t been angry enough. Maybe we haven’t been angry enough. Maybe my embrace of the work of liberation has been too gentle, too soft, too abstract. I don’t think of myself as angry. I don’t think of Unitarian Universalism as angry. I don’t want us to become angry. But I think Whitney Young was right. If we care about liberation it would behoove us to feel our anger more deeply and learn how to use it more effectively in our public ministry. If more white people were willing and able to feel and express the same anger and disappointment that so many people of color feel, maybe we’d start moving more directly towards liberation. Maybe the attacks on Rev. Wright’s character would be harder to make. Maybe we would have more leverage to demand that the larger culture be more open and more willing to engage in discourse on liberation rather than alleging reversed racism.
Now to theology. I have listened many times to Rev. Wright’s entire September 16, 2001 sermon and, unlike Barak Obama and so many others, I do not condemn a single word of it. Though let me be more nuanced: I recognize the words, “God damn America” are uniquely challenging. I do not condemn, but I also do not share this Biblically inspired theological sentiment. I do not believe in a God who damns people and nations. In my theology—the theology out of which I have preached these past five years, God does not damn. That is the essence of Universalism. God does not damn. There is no Hell where an angry father God sends us for poor behavior. In the midst of violence, war and oppression, in my theology, God weeps, God bleeds, God suffers, God dies a million small deaths. But God does not damn. In the midst of violence, war and oppression, in my theology, God is fragile, silent and powerless to directly alter the course of earthly events. But God remains present. God is that power—mysterious, awesome, intimate, beyond reason, possible to intuit but not ultimately knowable—that constantly invites us into the ways of peace, justice, love and compassion, answering the question, “How shall we live?” so that we may be the ones to alter the course of earthly events. God is that power—mysterious, awesome, intimate, beyond reason, possible to intuit but not ultimately knowable—that constantly leads us towards that holy “Hallelujah” at the center of our existence, towards that place of thankfulness, joy and praise that inspires us to pursue peace, justice, love and compassion. God does not damn.
The theology inherent in the words “God damn America” doesn’t mean anything to me. It wouldn’t make sense on my lips. But I do not condemn it. I stay open to it. Staying open to this pain and this rage and this theological critique of our nation is not just the politically correct thing to say and do. For me, and I believe for Unitarian Universalism, staying open to this pain and this rage and this theological critique is a central part of our spirituality embodied in our fourth and fifth principles, the free and responsible search for truth and meaning and the right of conscience. I do not condemn. I stay open. And as I contemplate the emotions and the historical analysis behind Rev. Wright’s theology, as I encounter his knowledge of a tragic history and his profound sense of disappointment, frustration, anger and indignation at the way our nation treats its most vulnerable, I agree and I affirm.
So, before you run for office, know that for these past five years, from a different social location, from a different generation, from a different seminary, from a different faith tradition, in a different voice, in a different style, in a different rhythm, with different spiritual yearnings, with different shortcomings, flaws and fears, and with a different personal theology, your minister has been saying from this pulpit very much the same things about the United States of America that Rev. Wright said that painful and anguished Sunday morning six-and-a-half years ago. Amen and Blessed Be.
