"MEMORIAL DAY"

 “MEMORIAL DAY”

      According to historian David Blight, Memorial Day was started by formerly ensIaved African-Americans on May 1, 1865, just a few weeks after the Confederate surrender at Appomattox.  It happened in Charleston, SC, to honor 257 dead Union soldiers who had been buried in a mass grave in a Confederate prison camp.  They dug up the bodies over a two week period and buried them properly, with a processional of many thousands bringing flowers to honor the service of the soldiers who had helped to end slavery.  

         I served my country as a conscientious objector to the Vietnam War from 1970-72.  My alternative service was as director of Opportunity House in Nashville, a halfway house for men being released from prison.  It was here that I got my first glimpse of the horror that is the American prison-industrial complex.  It was quite an education for me, and ever since then I have been involved in ministry to those in prison in one form or another.  

         Because of my CO status, Memorial Day is always complicated for me.  I honor the men and women who serve our country in the military.  My adopted father, Gay Wilmore, served in the US army in World War II.  In the midst of my ambivalence about Memorial Day and about nonviolence and the efficacy of violence in service of social justice, I want to give thanks to my father-in-law Herman Leach, to my father, to Charlie Callier, to Bob Wetzel, and to so many others who served our country in WW II.   My mother’s almost fiancé, Bob Buford, was killed in WW II.  I was in seminary and gave up my deferred status in 1970 in order to try to start a movement with others to end deferments for ministers and seminary students.  I never felt that the Vietnam War was anything but a covert attempt to kill and maim people of a different color.  In saying this, I do not intend to demean the Americans who served there – I had two friends killed in that war.  

         My longtime friend John Cole Vodicka also has a complicated history with Memorial Day, but I will save that story for another day.  In his great ministry as a human rights’ advocate and prisoners’ rights advocate, he has found a powerful way to recognize Memorial Day – to honor those Black veterans of World War II who are known to have been lynched in Georgia after they returned home from serving their country.  In 2023 he led a group of 60+ people in remembering these 9 men, some of whom were lynched while still in uniform.  

Here are the names of the 9 Black men who fought for freedom overseas and were lynched in Georgia as a result of their service:  Felix Hall, Willie Lee Davis, George Franks, Curtis Hairston, Maceo Snipes, George Dorsey, Walter Lee Johnson, Joe Nathan Roberts, and Lemuel Penn.  With his permission, I am including John’s remarks at that service.

“Why we are here:

The Memorial Day weekend is a time for all of us to remember the nine known African American WWII veterans who died not in Germany or France or North Africa or Japan or on some remote Pacific Island, but who were lynched by their own countrymen in Georgia. In the United States of America.  

 These nine men enlisted, perhaps with the hope that fighting for America in the “war to destroy fascism and preserve democracy” would earn them respect and human dignity at home—something they’d not experienced in their own country. 

 Instead, these Black soldiers were targeted by white terrorists while they were on active duty or after returning to their homes. White America feared that Black veterans asserting and demanding equality would disrupt the social order built on white supremacy, and that Black soldiers would reject their second-class status in the country’s racial hierarchy.  These nine veterans became a threat to the country’s—and especially the South’s, and Georgia’s—caste system.  Black WWII veterans threatened to upend the myth of racial superiority.  Racial insubordination had to be swiftly and violently crushed. 

 Athens’ Veterans Memorial Plaza sits adjacent to the county’s courthouse. The courthouse, in my estimation, is in many respects the present-day place where Black women and men are routinely and systematically subjugated by a system that believes Black lives don’t matter.”

    Thanks, John, for your witness and courage, and thanks to all who have served (and who now serve) to develop and deepen our commitment to the idea of equality:  that all people are created with equal dignity in God’s eyes.  

"WHAT A WEEK!!!"

 “WHAT A WEEK!!!!”

This week of May 17-24 has always been an important one in my life, even before I knew it.  On May 18, 1896, the Supreme Court ruled 8-1 in Plessy v. Ferguson that “separate but equal” was the law of the land.  This ruling firmly and legally established “neo-slavery” that would be king of the USA for almost 60 years. It filled the atmosphere of my boyhood with the authority of white supremacy and racism that so captured my perceptual apparatus.

    Yet, while I was not aware of it because I was only 7 years old, on May 17, 1954, in Brown v. Board of Education, SCOTUS reversed the Plessy decision and ruled unanimously that legal segregation was no longer lawful because it established inequality as the law of the land.  I don’t remember knowing about that decision until I was somewhere in my college years, but that decision had set off the beginning of a revolution in regard to the legality of white supremacy, declaring that it was no longer the law of the land.  Yesterday marked the 72th anniversary of that landmark decision.  Unfortunately, we have not decided as a nation which decision we want to affirm – the “neo-slavery” Plessy of 1896 or the “created equal” Brown decision of 1954.  The recent SCOTUS decision that further eviscerated the Voting Rights Act makes us now lean back towards the neo-slavery of Plessy.

    Most important to me, however, about this week is that it marks the 52nd wedding anniversary for Caroline and me.  We were married in Ed Loring’s backyard on May 18, 1974 with Ed and Sandy Winter officiating – Sandy had been a long-time mentor of Caroline’s.  Caroline was a campus minister at Georgia Tech at that time, having been ordained as a minister in 1973 (the 21st woman to be ordained in the former southern Presbyterian Church).  I was in my final year at Columbia Seminary, having transferred there from Vanderbilt Divinity School, with a two year hiatus in between while I performed as a conscientious objector to the Vietnam War.  We had met at the wedding of Robin and Linda Williams in Nashville, Caroline having accompanied her friend Murphy Davis, who was Robin’s cousin.

    It has been quite an adventure, with many milestones along the way.  Even before I graduated from Columbia, we had received a call from St. Columba Presbyterian Church in Norfolk VA, to be the co-pastors at a small church there, which also served as the base for a developing community ministry in a 5000 resident low-income housing complex.  We cut our teeth on urban ministry there, and we were fortunate enough to receive the Women of the Church Birthday Offering in 1978.  That great gift established St. Columba Ministries, which does ministry with those who are poor and especially those who are homeless.  It is still doing ministry today.  

       After our son David was born in Norfolk in 1980, we wanted to get closer to our families in Chattanooga and Arkansas, so we moved to Nashville where I worked on the staff of the Southern Coalition on Jails and Prisons.  I also served as part-time supply pastor at Second Presbyterian while they looked for a fulltime pastor.  Our daughter Susan was born in Nashville on a Sunday morning in 1982.  My time at Second Church convinced me that I wanted to return to the pastorate full time, and in February, 1983, I gladly accepted the call to become the full-time pastor at Oakhurst Presbyterian in Decatur.  Since Susan was still an infant, Caroline stayed home for another year.  She came on staff at Oakhurst in September, 1984, and we shared ministry there until we both retired – Caroline in 2012, and me in 2017.  Whew!  Quite a journey – you’ll hear more one of these days.  We are working on a book about our pioneering and partnering ministry.  If you have any stories or insights, please share them with us.  In the meantime, raise a glass to us this week!

"THIS IS THE AMERICAN STORY"

 “THIS IS THE AMERICAN STORY”

The stunning events of last week remind us that the maintenance of white supremacy IS the American story.  With the SCOTUS 6-3 decision in Louisiana v. Callais to further eviscerate the Voting Rights Act, most of the Southern states wasted no time in seeking to redistrict so that Black people would be deprived of their votes.  It was as if they were all lining up to get a date with a hunky matinee idol.  Then the Virginia Supreme Court overturned Virginia’s voter referendum by a 4-3 vote to redistrict their state, and the white supremacists are cheering it on.  

Though I am hoping that this is not true, it is likely that this is the culminating point of a long period to suppress the votes of Black and Brown people.  When the federal troops pulled out of the South in 1877 in the “Great Compromise,” it pointed to a long slide back into neo-slavery.  The Mississippi Plan of 1890 led the way for all Southern states to strip Black people of their voting rights.  In 1896 SCOTUS decided 8-1 in Plessy v. Ferguson that “separate but equal” was the law of the land, thus codifying neo-slavery for almost 70 years.  It is interesting to note that both the Plessy decision of 1896 and the Callais decision of 2026 came out of the state of Louisiana.  

Neo-slavery (not “Jim Crow,” as it is often called – a misnomer that seeks to soften the blow of reinstituting slavery as much as possible) ruled as a center part of the American story until the Voting Rights Act (VRA) was passed in 1965.  John Roberts came into the Reagan Administration in 1980 as a lawyer determined to dismantle the Voting Rights Act, so that white supremacy could be clearly re-established again.  He led the SCOTUS decision in 2013 in Shelby v. Holder, which was the first major blow to the VRA.  It dismantled the provision of the VRA that required that all election-related changes in the Southern states had to be pre-approved by the Justice Department.  In the current Trumpster Department of Injustice, this might not have mattered, but for almost 50 years, it forced Southern white legislatures to seek some bit of equity as they sought to revive and continue the power of neo-slavery.

Now the floodgates are open for re-establishing neo-slavery, and though it is hard to imagine that being done, we only have to skim the surface of American history to realize that this pattern of establishing and protecting white supremacy IS THE American story.  In the Constitution, Black people and Indigenous people are deemed “three fifths” of a person, so this American story is deep and long and wide.  Women had no right to vote in the Constitution, and it took over 70 years of labor and protest and marching to get that right in the Constitution in the 19th Amendment.  It is hard not to be discouraged in this kind of atmosphere, but we must start where we are – THIS IS THE AMERICAN STORY.  The desire to establish white, male supremacy is at the heart of American history, and whether we have the 19th Amendment or the Voting Rights Act, all of the efforts to move us to codify our ideals of equality and justice and equity fly in the face of this American reality – we want, we believe that white men should be in charge of things.

In these discouraging days, we must remember witnesses like Ida B. Wells, who was born into slavery in Mississippi and who lived almost all of her life under the power of neo-slavery.  She refused to accept the definition of herself as unequal because of her racial classification, and she refused to stand down and defer to men of any racial classification because she was a woman.  If you want to know more about her and her relevance, read the book that Dr. Catherine Meeks and I wrote about Wells “Passionate for Justice:  Ida B. Wells as Prophet For Our Time.”  In the midst of raging racism and sexism, she was fearless, ferocious, formidable….Now, we are not Ida B. Wells, but her witness for such a time as this calls on us to find our place in this small but great parade of witnesses who stood for justice, equality, and equity.  

"WHO IS MY MOTHER?"

 “WHO IS MY MOTHER?”

“Who Is My Mother?”  This is a question that Jesus asks in response to those who tell him that his mother and his siblings would like to see him – they are coming to take him home because they think that he has lost his mind with all of his “weird’ ministry and teachings.  He then says that whoever does the will of God is his sibling and his mother.  I’ve always thought that such a response must have hurt his mother’s heart, but she raised him to be a prophet for and to the world.

This complicated approach is appropriate for our current political moment when SCOTUS has voted to force motherhood on every woman who becomes pregnant without doing anything to enforce the “fatherhood” part.  This year’s Mother’s Day is fraught with complexity, and in that manner, I give thanks for my mother, Mary Armour Stroupe.  We had many discussions about a woman’s right to choose in regard to her body, and Mother said:  “I’m opposed to abortion, but I’m even more opposed to forcing women to have babies.”  

My mother saved my life by sticking with me and by showing me the power of love.  I give thanks for her!  Though she did not consider herself a radical, she often demonstrated radical power in her “ordinary” stands in her home of Helena, Arkansas.  One of her friends once told me that the white neighbors considered Mother a radical because she allowed a Black friend and colleague to come in her front door when she came to visit Mother – this was in the 1990’s, not the 1940’s.

Mother also took some stronger communal stands in her work as the lead instructor at the Phillips County Community College School of Cosmetology.  Most of her students were poor, and many of them were Black.  They had heard all their lives that they were not worth much.  Mother sought to teach them not only how to do hair but also to teach them that they were children of God and American citizens.  As elections drew near, she would urge her students to register to vote.  Most of the students did not believe that voting made any difference, so most of them did not heed her advice – most of them also had heard stories of the danger in which Black people put themselves when they voted.

Mother emphasized, however, that the right to vote was fundamental and that her students should not take it lightly.   In a move that would likely not be allowed now, she told her students that if they did not vote on election day, then they would not be allowed into class that day.  If they did not wear an “I have voted” sticker on election day, then they failed the class for the day.  That got their attention, and she ended up with almost 100% voting by her students.  I give thanks to Mother for her nurturing of me and of so many others.  Though she gave birth to one child, she was a mother to hundreds.  If you want to know more of her story (and mine), get my most recent book “She Made A Way: Mother and Me in A Deep South World.”

On this Mother’s Day, I also am remembering all those people who gave me mothering love, both women and men.  Mothering love is rooted in loving and in engagement, not in biology.  One of our good friends, Lorri Mills, died about this time four years go after a long struggle with many illnesses and attacks on her body.  She did not have any biological children, and she always told us that she was not any good with little kids.  But, she gave mothering love to so many people!  We heard from cousins that she was a mentor to them, that she was one of the first women in their family line to go to college.  We heard stories of her urging her women cousins to think of themselves as human beings capable of so much more than they thought.  We witnessed her sharing this approach with so many people at Oakhurst Presbyterian, where she was a member and elder and leader.  She was generous and loving and nurturing – she showed us what the answer to Jesus’ question “Who Is My Mother?’ looked like.

In this time of Mother’s Day, let us give thanks for our biological mothers and for all of those people who have given us patient and demanding, nurturing and ever present, visionary love. I give thanks also for my life partner Caroline Leach, who has offered me and so many others this kind of mothering love.  When Caroline retired in 2012, one of the most moving parts was the 75+ children, youth, and young adults who came forward to give her roses in gratitude for her mothering love for them.  Let us seek to live our lives in this way.  And, if your “mothers” are still around, take time to thank them while you can.

"BATTLE FOR LIFE"

 “BATTLE FOR LIFE”

This week marks the 51st anniversary of the fall of Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City) in what was then South Vietnam in 1975.  It was the final, collapsing ending of the Vietnam War, which cost 58,220 American lives over a ten-year period – two of my friends from Helena were among those lost.   The chaos of the photos associated with the fall of Saigon reminded us of the great chasm that had been opened in American society because of the Vietnam War, a chasm which still permeates our culture.  We gained very little in that war, and we lost, oh so much.  At least the war had been approved by Congress in the Gulf of Tonkin resolution in August, 1964, the same month that the bodies of Chaney, Goodman, and Schwerner were found in shallow graves in Neshoba County, Mississippi.  

Caroline and I were pastors in St. Columba Presbyterian Church in Norfolk, Virginia when Saigon fell.  We had just arrived there as the first clergy couple to serve in a local church in the former Presbyterian Church (US) in the South.  We were not aware that soon several Vietnamese families would be arriving at Robin Hood Apartments, where St. Columba Church was located.  We would get involved with several of those families as they encountered poverty and a new system of family life.  The Vietnam War was also the war which led me to seek conscientious objector status, which I received in the fall of 1970.  I did my alternative service at Opportunity House in Nashville, where I was director of a halfway house for men getting out of prison.  I participated in many protests about the Vietnam War, and I joined millions in those protests.

The Trumpster brought up the Vietnam War last week in talking about his war of choice in Iran.  When he got questions about the length of the Iran war, he noted that it had not nearly been as long as the Vietnam War.  In bringing up the Vietnam War, he also inadvertently reminded many of us that both wars are similar in that there never was any clear motive or objective or even national interest in these wars.  While we were told that the Vietnam War was being fought to protect us from communism, we are being told now that the Iran war is being fought to protect us from a nuclear Iran.  One big difference – with the new technology, we can drop bombs on people without having to use ground troops.  However, like Vietnam, if we want a “victory,” we will need troops on the ground, and if we go there, it will be Vietnam all over again – or, at least the Iraq War all over again.  The Viet Cong were not overwhelmed by our “shock and awe” demonstration of the bombing campaigns, and as we are seeing now, neither are the Iranians.  Let no one hear that I am defending the Iranian government – they are brutal and inhumane.  Yet, they play the long diplomatic game rather than the short, social media game at which we are accustomed in the West.

Like Lyndon Johnson with Vietnam, the Trumpster seems out of his depth with the war in Iran.  It is a war run by political Americans who have never been in a war, and who - because of that – seem to glorify war and the killing culture that it brings.  Like the hubris that brought us down in Vietnam, there is a similar hubris in the Trumpster and in the Secretary of Defense.  Do we have lethal power? Yes.  But will it win us this war? Using Vietnam and Iraq as guides, there is no “winning” this Iran war, and that is why the Trumpster has been so equivocal in his goals on the war.  He did not know what he was getting into, and he does not know what “winning” would look like.  The Vietnam War brought down the great presidency of LBJ, after he had ended neo-slavery in 1965 with the passing of the Voting Rights Act.  Though I am ready for the Iran war to be over, I’m also aware that it may be a turning point in the support for the Trumpster.  As Sweet Honey in the Rock put it in their song “Battle for My Life,”: “Your hunger for war is nothing new, Cowboy.”

The connecting dots are that we believe in the power of death, and we now have a president and a Congress that use this power of death to seek to deepen power and a hold on our hearts.  Let us hear a different song in our battle for life.  And, if you haven’t picked up your implement of resistance which I mentioned a few weeks ago, please do so now.

"EARTH DAY"

 “EARTH DAY”

This year marks the 56th anniversary of the official beginning of Earth Day.  I remember when Earth Day was officially recognized in 1970.  It had been semi-officially started in 1969 by Iowa native and later Californian John McConnell.  Senator Gaylord Nelson of Wisconsin got it going nationally by calling for a country-wide teach-in on the environment on April, 22, 1970, using the model of the teach-ins against the Vietnam war.  It caught on, and I remember that Caroline and I started observing it in worship in our church in Norfolk in 1976.  As we all know now, we are at a crucial point in the earth’s life, and many think that it is already too late. 

And, of course, the Trumpsters are pushing hard to retract all the scientific truths about climate change and the destruction of life on earth as we know it.  The New York Times published an article last week entitled “Climate Change Denial Is Back in Washington.”  The article noted that a conference held in DC hit hard on the idea of climate change, and the article began in this way: “Climate change is a hoax perpetrated by ‘leftist politicians.’  Fossil fuels are the greenest energy sources.  More carbon dioxide in the atmosphere will be harmless.”  We all know that these are deliberate lies, just like the lies told by the tobacco industry in the days before smoking was not as regulated as it is now.  Indeed, in Atlanta we were projected to hit 90 degrees last week, the earliest that we have ever hit 90 since records began to be kept in the 1870’s.  The second earliest was in 1980, that horrible, heat-filled, drought dominated summer when our son David was born.

We are at a crucial time now in the life of the earth, and no matter what the Trumpsters tell us, the climate is warming, and our abuse of the earth is the cause of it.  So, on this Earth Day, we are asked to find ways to lessen our impact on the life of the earth, so that our grandchildren and great-grandchildren will have a chance.  There are many steps and many options, but perhaps the best place to begin is to change our attitude towards the earth and all its inhabitants.  No one better supplies that opportunity to make the change than did Mary Oliver in her poetry.  So, here is one of her many poems about the appreciation of the earth and all its creatures.  It was first published in 1979 in her book “Twelve Moons.” It is called “Sleeping in the Forest.”

Sleeping in the Forest

I thought the earth remembered me,

she took me back so tenderly,

arranging her dark skirts, her pockets

full of lichens and seeds.

I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,

nothing between me and the white fire of the stars

but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths

among the branches of the perfect trees.

All night I heard the small kingdoms

breathing around me, the insects

and the birds who do their work in the darkness.

All night I rose and fell, as if in water

grappling with a luminous doom. By morning

I had vanished at least a dozen times

into something better

Mary Oliver

"THE POWER OF RESURRECTION"

 ‘THE POWER OF RESURRECTION!”

Yesterday’s lectionary Gospel reading was from John 20:19-31, in which the Risen Jesus appears to the disciples on the day of resurrection.  He has already appeared to the disciple Mary Magdalene, and she has shared the great news that Jesus is risen from the dead.  The other disciples do not believe her, and in the reading from John, they are huddled in fear in a locked room, terrified that the religious leaders may come for them, as they did for Jesus.  The risen Jesus appears among them in that room, and they are amazed and full of joy.

Thomas the disciple, however, was not among them for that appearance.  When they tell Thomas that they have seen the Risen Jesus, he does not believe them.  Indeed, he tells them strongly and bluntly that unless he can put his fingers into the wounds on Jesus’ body, he will not believe.  He doesn’t feel the power of resurrection – he feels the power of death.

About a week later, Thomas is with the disciples when the Risen Jesus appears among them again.  Jesus seems to be appearing specifically to confront “Doubting Thomas” and to bring him along, so that he too will know the power of the Resurrection.  Thomas is convinced and responds, “My Lord and my God.”  Jesus is glad to have brought Thomas around, but he also adds some primary words for the rest of us: “Blessed are those who have not seen and who yet believe.” 

I grew up wondering about “Doubting Thomas,” but as I reached adulthood, I began to think of him as “Thank you, Thomas,” rather than “Doubting Thomas.”  I shifted because doubts have often filled my heart and my mind.  If Jesus is risen from the dead, why will 30,000 children die today of hunger around the world?  If Jesus is risen from the dead, why are the bombs still falling from the sky?  How can a mean narcissist like Trump be president of the USA?  Where is God in this crazy and scary world?  So, yes, I understand the doubts of Thomas very well, and I am grateful to the writer of John’s Gospel for including this story – it speaks to the doubts that all of us have. 

As I have written before, Caroline has helped me to understand the power of resurrection in this context of doubt and death.  When I was preparing for ordination exams in 1975, I asked her what she thought about the resurrection of Jesus.  She replied that she was not sure what happened to Jesus of Nazareth in the Resurrection, but that she understood the Resurrection as a doctrine that speaks to us not about what happens to us when we die, but rather what happens to us when we are living.  The power of Resurrection is that it calls to us to help us to find new life now, not in the afterlife.

In hearing this, I felt like the scales had fallen from my eyes, to borrow Paul’s description of his own coming to believe in the power of Resurrection.  I began to see that the power of Resurrection is not so much in our dying, as in our living.  I could begin to experience a new life in the midst of my captivity to racism, and I could begin to find some liberation in which I could see others not as enemies, but as sisters and brothers.  I could begin to experience a new life in relationship to the power of gender identity – women were daughters of God, not property of men.  The power of Resurrection is that the Risen Jesus is always appearing to us, asking us to have eyes to see and ears to hear about a new life, a new life based not in racism or sexism or materialism or militarism, but rather a life based in justice and mercy and equity.

In these Trumpian days, when we are being dragged back into the domination of the Army of the Patriarchy, we are asked to be on the lookout for the Risen Jesus appearing in our midst.  We are asked to open our hearts to the power of the Resurrection.  The Army of the Patriarchy does not define us – the Risen Jesus does.  The power to seek new life, to stand in resistance to the strong wave of white supremacy, the power of speaking up and acting out in solidarity with those on the margins  - these come from the Power of the Resurrection.  May we see it and believe and act on it in these perilous days.