I want to reflect on that event and highlight what the faith leaders in the Charlottesville area are doing since then to address racism in our community.

The events of August 11 and 12 traumatized us. We are still feeling the aftermath of those two days of violence that terrorized town citizens and students at the University of Virginia.

Who Are We after August 12?

For many long-time residents, it was hard to see the name “Charlottesville” linked to white supremacy and violence.

“This is not our city,” many say, as they blame racist and hate-filled outsiders for invading and disturbing the peace in this idyllic college town.

For other residents, many of them black and minority, they say that it was time that others finally saw the oppressive reality they have been living under for generations.

“Welcome to our world,” they say, “where we struggle against gentrification, racial profiling, micro-aggressions, and disparity in wages under the shadow of a world-class university founded by slaveowner and white supremacist Thomas Jefferson.”

As tempting as it is to blame August 12 on “outsiders,” we are reminded that the organizer the “Unite the Right” rally was born and raised in Charlottesville and a graduate of UVA.

August 11 and 12 forced many of us to face the uncomfortable fact that we are a community still steeped in systemic racism.

Can We Talk?

I am a part of the Charlottesville Clergy Collective, a group of interfaith leaders formed in 2015 in the aftermath of the deadly shooting at Mother Immanuel Church in Charleston, South Carolina.

Headed by Alvin Edwards, pastor of Mt. Zion First African Baptist Church, we meet monthly to deepen our relationship and trust in order to address racism in Charlottesville.

We have realized that we still have much to learn about each other and from each other. The white faith leaders among us expressed a desire to learn from our black colleagues.

Some of the black pastors responded by saying that they are “white weary,” tired of educating well-intentioned white people about the black experience and the oppression of blacks.

“It is not a black person’s responsibility to teach white people about racism,” they say. “It is white people’s responsibility to educate themselves about the history of racism in America.”

“And yet,” they continued, “whites cannot do this totally alone without us.”

Whites need blacks as guides, teachers, and truth-tellers.

However, sometimes it is hard to hear the pain, frustration, and anger of our black brothers and sisters.

Sometimes it is embarrassing to be called out for our false assumptions, our ignorance, and our savior complex.

This work requires that we lay own our egos, that we risk showing our ignorance, that we lean into the discomfort of giving up our privilege and hearing hard truths.

This work is too important for us to worry about being nice at the expense of being real to each other.

Educating Ourselves

With those insights in mind, many members of the collective are committed to doing the work of raising our awareness about white privilege, and of learning the history of systemic racism in America and in Charlottesville.

We’ve made use of many fine resources, including:

• Screenings and discussions of the documentary I’m Not Racist, Am I? organized by Beloved Community Charlottesville.
• Ibram X. Kendi’s Stamped from the Beginning: The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America.
• Michelle Alexander’s The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness.
• Richard Rothstein’s The Color of Law: A Forgotten History of How Our Government Segregated America.
• Scene on Radio’s podcast’s “Seeing White” series.
• James Robert Saunders and Renae Nadine Shackelford’s Urban Renewal and the End of Black Culture in Charlottesville, Virginia: An Oral History of Vinegar Hill.

In addition to these resources, a small group from the collective is meeting several times a month to read and discuss Debby Irving’s “Waking Up White: And Finding Myself in the Story of Race.”

Rabbi Tom Gutherz of Congregation Beth Israel will lead another group of collective members to read and discuss Simon Wiesenthal’s “The Sunflower: On the Possibilities and Limits of Forgiveness.”

Around twenty members of the collective will gather tomorrow to spend an afternoon in a facilitated dialogue on race.

The desired outcomes of these educational opportunities and conversations are not merely greater knowledge and mutual understanding of each other.

We hope to come away with concrete actions that leverage the unique resources of our faith traditions to support Charlottesville and advocate for racial and social justice.

A Call to Action

“We’re tired of all this talk and no action!” That is the sentiment of many of the black pastors in the Charlottesville area.

In response, we are clarifying what “taking action” means, and in the process, we are learning that “action” may mean different things to different congregations and faith traditions.

For some traditions, just having a conversation about race is a challenging activity that requires courage and persistence from congregational leaders.

For other traditions, action may involve a non-violent, prayerful presence during white supremacist rallies, participating in inter-racial worship services, or collecting school supplies for students.

Still, for others, action may include using their white privilege to call out racist actions and policies, to advocate for affordable housing and a living wage, or to challenge our elected officials and lobby for specific legislation so that blacks and other minorities can also enjoy the same privileges whites enjoy.

As we attempt to clarify our actions, we are learning that there are different – and sometimes conflicting – strategies toward the goal of racial justice.

We’re also realizing that each house of worship is at a different place in their understanding of the role of social activism.

Therefore, we are learning to acknowledge the diverse actions of congregations while lovingly challenging each other to go beyond our comfort zones to dismantle racist structures in our society.

Responding Out of Our Faith

In the end, we are a clergy collective and we must offer our unique strength: the spiritual resources of our faith traditions.

Therefore, for the week leading up to the first anniversary of August 12, a subcommittee of the Charlottesville Clergy Collective is organizing an interfaith community service that highlights how our faith communities can make our way together for greater unity.

Finally, another group within the collective is organizing a “Charlottesville to Jamestown” pilgrimage on October 6 to 20.

This pilgrimage will acknowledge the history of oppression and injustice toward indigenous peoples and enslaved Africans, in anticipation of the 400^th anniversary of the landing of the first slave ship to Jamestown, Virginia, in 1619.

During those two weeks, there will be educational and worship opportunities in Charlottesville, Monticello, Richmond, and Jamestown/Fort Monroe.

We pray that pilgrims will experience personal transformation that leads to the transformation of our community.

Our hope is that several years from now, the name “Charlottesville” will no longer be linked to white supremacy and violence.

Our prayer and work are aimed toward a day when the name “Charlottesville” will serve as an example of how one city is transforming itself into a beloved community where its faith leaders and citizens continue the difficult work toward racial justice and equity.

Recently, my heart was cut to the quick when I reread Martin Luther King Jr.’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail.”

Particularly convicting was the first of two confessions by King:

“First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice . . .”

I identify as one of those “moderates” that King described.

In response to King’s confession, I make my own confessions:

I confess that I too have been more devoted to “order” than to justice, not realizing that “order” is often just a thin veneer that masks and perpetuates systemic injustice.

I confess that I have preferred a negative peace which maintained my privilege and ease over a positive peace which draws me into the tension, pain, and struggle that is the work of justice.

I confess that I have been more worried about what some people might say about me if they saw me working alongside members of “Black Lives Matter,” “Standing Up for Racial Justice,” and other more “radical” groups in the cause of resisting white supremacy, than what my conscience would tell me if I did not.

I confess that I have been more concerned about the profanity used by some counter protestors on that day than the profane oppression that my black brothers and sisters and other minorities have faced for years.

I confess that I was too scared to participate in the non-violent, direct action organized by my ministerial colleagues like Seth Wispelwey and Brittany Caine-Conley. They led a group of faith leaders, including Dr. Cornel West, Rev. Tracy Blackmon and Lisa Sharon Harper, to Emancipation Park. This small group stood and linked arms in front of the park. They were willing to risk arrest, to be physically harmed and even killed in order to offer a peaceful, non-violent witness to the love of Christ even as hate, invectives and violence swirled around them. They were among the first responders to assist victims when James Alex Fields drove his car into the crowd, killing Heather Heyer and injuring many others.

I confess that my heart was relieved to hear that my ministerial colleagues specifically stated that there was no judgment regarding those members who chose NOT to engage in direct action. All roles of witness and support were needed and valued.

I confess that I what little courage I had was bolstered by my CBF colleagues, the Reverends Will Brown, Nick Deere, Kenny and Laura Davis, Matt Tennant (and others I might have missed), who showed up and contributed in their unique ways to witness and minister in the name of Christ.

I confess that as I worked at First United Methodist Church to coordinate media and social media communications for the Charlottesville Clergy Collective, I was inspired by all the volunteers who served as medical dispatchers, medics, legal observers, jail and hospital liaisons, mental health counselors, and so many other roles.

I confess that during those crazy, tense hours, I didn’t care if those volunteers were Christian, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, atheists, lesbians, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, socialists, anti-fascists, or whatever. All I saw and cared about was that they were human beings willing to put their lives on the line to make sure others were safe.

I confess that I was moved to tears when some of them returned pepper sprayed, tear gassed, and bloodied, seeking medical care. Many of them then returned to the mayhem to continue their work.

I confess that I was slightly taken aback when the men’s restroom at First United Methodist was converted to a uni-sex restroom so that more people could use it regardless of gender.

I also confess that the uni-sex restroom quickly became a non-issue for me and for everyone else in that building.

I confess that my understanding of cooperation expanded exponentially that day. I’m reminded of Jesus’ words to his disciples in Mark 9:40 and Luke 9:60: “Whoever is not against us is for us.”

They say that confession is good for the soul.

I pray that my confession may lead to my repentance and to a deeper commitment to God’s work of justice for all human beings.

On July 8, a group affiliated with the Ku Klux Klan came to my town, Charlottesville, Virginia.

I’m part of the Charlottesville Clergy Collective, a group of faith leaders who have been meeting to discuss racial issues in our community. With the announcement by the Klan rally, the faith leaders decided to organize a response.

Since then, I’ve been pondering about how God is at work in a world that is filled with discord, strife, and violence.

What Is the kingdom of God Like?

Jesus’ parable of the mustard seed in Mark 4:30-32 came to mind. This parable comes in the midst of Jesus explaining what the kingdom of God is like — it’s like a tiny seed that grows into a large bush that gives shelter to birds.

It’s a familiar parable. Many have interpreted it along these lines: God can make small things into big things.

However, according to Pliny the Elder, the mustard plant is such a fast-growing plant that “once sown, it is scarcely possible to get the place free of it, as the seed when it falls germinates at once.”[1]

In other words, the mustard plant is basically a weed, like kudzu.

According to one biblical scholar, “The point is … that [the mustard seed plant] tends to take over where it is not wanted, that it tends to get out of control, and that it tends to attract birds within cultivated areas where they are not particularly desired.” [2]

Mustard seed plants are dangerous in gardens. They’re deadly in grain fields.

The kingdom of God is like a weed that attracts birds where you don’t want them?!

Is it any wonder that Jesus’ disciples also had a hard time understanding Jesus and his parables?

The kingdom of God as an overgrown garden

I once heard about a man who bought a house with an overgrown garden. The weeds had long since taken over the garden and it was a mess.

Slowly the man began to clear the weeds, till the soil and plant the seeds.  He continued weeding the garden and kept the birds, the deer and the bugs away.

Finally, he made it into a showcase garden.

One day the minister came to visit, and when he saw the beautiful flowers and plants, he observed, “Well, friend, you and God have done a marvelous job on this garden.”

To which the homeowner shook his head and replied, “You should have seen it when God had it by himself!”

This is an amusing joke.  But what if the kingdom of God is more like the overgrown garden than the worked-over, man-made showcase garden?

What if the kingdom of God is like an overgrown garden where wheat and weeds coexist and grow in ways that human beings cannot control?

The kingdom of God: Beautiful, Scary, and Challenging

What a different way to think about the kingdom of God.

I must confess that this way of thinking is beautiful, scary, and challenging.

It’s beautiful because, to me, it is a vision of John 3:16: “For God so love the world”…a love that radiates out from our Jerusalems and our Judeas, to our Samarias and all the way out to the ends of the earth.

It’s scary because it confronts me to consider those who are very different from me and even those who are antagonistic towards me, as included in the all-embracing love of God.

It’s challenging because it is messy. I like my religion neat and orderly. I’m used to planning and controlling. It’s hard to let go of my desired outcomes and let God’s mysterious rule reign supreme.

Chaos and Messiness

So, on the day of the Klan rally, over four hundred people from various faith communities gathered at a church next to the park to pray, to march, and to participate in other events such as a community concert.

As the communications coordinator for the Clergy Collective, my plan for that day was to blend in with the crowd and take pictures to post on social media.

The next thing I knew, my arm was linked with five other faith leaders.

Unwittingly, I found myself leading three hundred members in a march from the church into the park.

Instead of blending in with the crowd, I was thrust onto the front line!

Instead of me taking pictures, people took pictures of me!

So much for my well-laid plans!

But when we arrived at the park, we entered one of the loudest, most chaotic assemblages of humanity I’ve ever experienced.

Altogether, over one thousand people gathered, comprised of our group, as well as anarchists, socialists, white nationalists, families, musicians, Black Lives Matter activists, other racial justice groups, and even hell-fire and brimstone preachers. People marched, sang, shouted, chanted, banged drums, blew horns.

Some shouted obscenities at the Klan and the police.

Pretty soon, we were mixed in with all these people.

What a mess!

In biblical language, it was weeds and wheat all entangled together! That’s another image Jesus used to describe the kingdom of God.

As I now reflect back on that day, I can’t help but wonder: could this also be what Jesus had in mind when he described the kingdom of God?

I don’t know.

But here’s what I do know.

Mustard Seeds Planted

In the aftermath of July 8, I do know God planted these mustard seeds.

Seeds of connection:  I feel closer to all the faith leaders who participated in our public response.

Seeds of clarity: I do know that we are not called to fight against flesh and blood, against individuals in the Klan. God calls to fight against principalities and powers. God calls to fight systems of injustice and oppression that we are all complicit in.

Seeds of love: Many of the faith leaders reminded us that we are also called to love even the Klan members while hating any racist attitudes that are still in ourselves.

Weeds and wheat were not only in the park. 

Weeds and wheat grew in each of us.

As I look back, God planted mustard seeds in me and others that day.

I pray these seeds will grow in my life in ways that I can’t understand or control.

As they grow, I pray that a new creation will be born in me, through me, and even in spite of me.

May they grow into sprawling mustard trees whose branches spread out to embody the wideness of God’s mercy.

Maybe that’s what the kingdom of God is like.

_________

[1] Pliny, “Natural History” 19.170-171; Rackham et al. 5.528-529.

[2] Dominic Crossan, “A Closer Look at the Mustard Seed,” http://www.beliefnet.com/Faiths/Christianity/2000/07/A-Closer-Look-At-The-Mustard-Seed.aspx.