Sermons
Yellow Patches in the Snow
This is a Gen X sermon primarily because it is provocative and somewhat irreverent.
The simple fact that I have compared churches and god-fearing church people to
amber colored snow is at best startling and at worst insulting. And yet-it speaks to the
severity of the problem of racism, a sin that we good white church people continue
largely to ignore. I believe we ignore it not so much out of malice-but rather out of
fear and a deep sense of inadequacy. How do we as individuals and as a community
take a whack at toppling racism? In writing this piece I intended to get people's
attention--- playfully-outlandishly-- to invite listeners to sit up---listen---nudge their
spouse or friend and say, "Is she really preaching about dog pee?" And then a few
paragraphs later to say-"Oh my she's actually preaching about racismÖ" I intended for
people to realize about a third of the way through the sermon that I was actually
speaking about something much more harmful, much more lasting than a yellow mark
on our pretty white lawns, but rather a stain on our country's conscience.
Members of Generation X say-"Tell me what you're thinking and don't soften the blow--
-don't try to fool me, don't try to market to me. Instead give it to me straight and I'll
decide if what you're saying matters. And---even if it's an important topic, or a sacred
place---it's okay to have a little fun---its okay to take a few pokes at established
institutions along the way, after all---what exactly have those institutions ever done
for me personally?" In this sermon I introduce and address a serious social problem
with irreverence, humor, and a few outlandish metaphors. In doing so---people were
able to go on the journey with me. A journey that has not yet ended, a journey on
which many have died in the sacred hope that our country would be a better, safer,
holier place. In the end it is not the yellow snow that makes this sermon powerful, but
rather the haunting words of a man who loved, yet deeply questioned the very same
institutions and communities about which many Generation X people harbor
suspicions. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s words cannot be lost, unknown to this next
generation-not if anything is ever going to change. In the end that was the purpose of
my sermon---to transmit his words and continue his quest for change. Lofty goals---but
why bother to preach if we don't think words can change people's lives?
Gracious God-may we
Live out-may we embody
Your longing for Justice and righteousness
In our world.
In your holy name we pray. Amen.
Every morning-or should I say six mornings out of seven, Annie and I begin our day with
a walk.
Gortex pants, fleecy jacket, Brooks running shoes, and a four-foot black leather leash
are all we need to initiate the day.
On these walks we have a distinct division of labor.
She sniffs. I pray. There's a lot to take in on these walks.
Annie could tell you-would if she could--Annie would tell you
of the incredible array, plethora and sheer diversity of amber colored snow.
She would tell you, that every yellow trail tells a story of its donor-height, weight, last
night's dinner-all apparently discernable by a whiff of the nose and a flick of the tail.
For Annie is-I am convinced-a connoisseur-and the equivalent of a canine sociologist a
four-legged ethnographer. I, on the other hand, limited by my internal reluctance and
external ambivalence rarely discern much at all of the creatures who have distributed
their life stories along the way.
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It occurred to me as we were out praying and sniffing one day that church spires and
bell towers were almost as numerous as those ubiquitous patches in the snow.
Interesting-don't you think?
In a three mile circuit I have the opportunity to pass more than fourteen houses of
worship: Queen of Angels; Our Lady of Lourdes, (which of course, has never been the
same since the 38 foot Millennium Mary statue got back on her flatbed and traveled to
another perch);Ravenswood Fellowship United Methodist Church; The Hermitage Ave.
House of Sufism; Adventisimo Iglesia; Luther Memorial Church;-the Christian
Community Church; Chicago North side Buddhist Association; Ravenswood Baptist
Church; the Philadelphia Romanian Church of God; All Saints Episcopal Church; the list
just keeps goingÖ
The same thing happens when I drive through the city. Next time you're stuck on the
Dan Ryan or the Kennedy expressway start counting the church spires and steeples.
They're everywhere. On the days I notice them. And I see church spires and neon
crosses, onion domes, Baptist temples, Catholic cathedrals not to mention an
Episcopal Country Club or two I wonder-I wonder so what good are these places?
Does their existence change peoples' lives?
Does their presence have any more of a discernable effect on our world, our city, our
communities than the canine trails in the snow?
I wonder.
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In 1963, The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., wrote to his white ministerial
colleagues, asking similar questions.
In his letter from Birmingham City Jail he writes:
"I have traveled the length and breadth of Alabama, Mississippi and all the other
southern states. On sweltering summer days and crisp autumn mornings I have looked
at her beautiful churches with their lofty spires pointing heavenward. I have beheld
the impressive outlay of her massive religious education buildings.
Over and over again I have found myself asking: 'What kind of people worship here:
Who is their God? Where were their voices when the lips of Governor Barnett dripped
with words of interposition and nullification:
Where were they when Governor Wallace gave the clarion call for defiance and
hatred? Where were their voices of support when tired, bruised and weary
Negro men and women decided to rise from the dark dungeons of complacency to the
bright walls of creative protest?'"
Where were the church people then?
Where my friends are we now?
When I do the math and add up the numbers for the state of race relations and the
Civil rights movement after 40 yearsÖIt's true-some progress has been made-
We are---We are not still in Egypt land. But we are not yet in the Promised Land.
Instead we are somewhere on the rocky shores of the red sea-not yet safe,not yet
free.
Martin Luther King, Jr. had a dream based not on guilt, but on relationships.
A dream where "Sons of slaves and sons of slave owners would sit down together at a
table of brotherhoodÖ
Where children in Alabama boys and girls, black and white, would hold hands and go
to school together."
A dream where his four children "Would be judged by the content of their character
and not the color of their skin."
How then will this be?
How then will this dream become a reality?
There is one way: and one way only through you and through me and through this faith
community--through our God-given sense that we have not been created by God
to be in isolation, but rather to be in relation.
Those relationships---begin with us.
When asked what churches could do to end the race hate, Dr. King said, "Eliminate the
fear, the distrust, the misconceptions, and the lies."
To do this we have to tell our stories, we have to listen to each other's stories, we
have to ask, to connect, to be friends to go against the mores and norms of our society
that draw us away from people who differ from us.
Can you do that?
When was the last time you did that?
Dr. King's dream was about relationships.
And it was about taking the first step, the second step, the third step and when we're
tired then taking two more. Imagine my friends, if you will, what our world, our
community, our increasingly white, affluent neighborhood would look like if we shared
Dr. King's dream.
Do you want it?
Do you need it?
If we don't----our children do.
Dr. King said, "Too often churches and church people have been the tail lights of
change."
Instead we need to be the headlights.
Showing a light, making a path, pointing the way toward something more.
If we don't, if we choose not to---then we and our faith communities are little more----
------ than patches in the snow.
Amen.