Sunday, December 31, 2023

"ANOTHER CHANCE ALLOWED"

 “ANOTHER CHANCE ALLOWED”

As 2023 ends, I am giving thanks for making it through another year. I am, however,  anticipating with dread the new year of 2024.  I’ll address that more next week, but for now I want to stick with the celebration of Christmastide and the gratitude that goes with it.  We are blessed to have our family here for a long visit, and it is especially fun to watch our granddaughters grow up and turn into young women.  We also enjoyed participating in David’s and Susan’s going through their old elementary and middle school boxes that we had saved over the years – much laughter and gratitude, and some poignancy as we noted the passing of time.

I also listened to Christmas music, which I love to do – there are many old favorites, and I especially like newer ones like “Rebel Jesus” by Jackson Browne and “Nothing But a Child” by Steve Earle.  Earle’s song especially reminds us of the fragility of the story of the birth of Jesus – born to a woman who got pregnant before marriage, born on the streets, hunted by the government soldiers, a Palestinian refugee crossing borders in order to escape execution.  The glory of a King born to rule the earth is stunningly absent from the details of the birth story of Jesus.  

“Nothing But a Child” puts it this way:

“Once upon a time

In a far off land

Wise {men} saw a sign

And set out cross the sand

Songs of praise to sing

They travelled day and night

Precious gifts to bring

They were guided by the light


They chased a brand new star

Ever towards the West

Across the mountains far

But when it came to rest

They scarce believed their eyes

They’d come so many miles

The miracle they prized

Was nothing but a child


Nothing but a child

Could wash those tears away

Or guide a weary world

Into the light of day

Nothing but a child

Could help erase those miles

So once again we all can be children 

     For a while

So, as we approach the new year with trembling, let us remember the fragility of this story and how radical it is.  It challenges our point of view of ourselves and the world itself.  And it asks us to remember how fragile life is, how precious life is, and how, like Mary and Joseph, we are asked to be bold and courageous and visionary in a time that looks dark and dreary.  And, indeed that’s why the church chose the holiday of the Sun to attach this Christmas story.  We are asked to be like those magi who set off on a journey, looking for a vision that will fill us and sustain us, and which will make a stunning claim about the power and force at the center of the universe.  It is powered by visionaries high on love.  And, most of all, we will find that vision in very surprising places.


Sunday, December 24, 2023

 “THIS IS THE SEASON OF PROMISE”


We face a huge and tough and scary year ahead.  On this Christmas weekend, may you and your loved ones know the power and promise of this time.  Here is Howard Thurman’s poem “The Season of Promise,’ from his book “The Mood of Christmas,” published in 1973.  This poem is at least 50 years old, but it could have been written today.  


“This Is the Season of Promise”

Let the bells be silenced

Let the gifts be stillborn

Let the cheer be muted

Let music be soundless

     Violence stalks the land

     Soaring above the cry of the dying

     Rising above the whimper of the starving

     Floating above the flying machines of death

          Listen to the stillness:

          New life is stirring

          New dreams are on the wing

          New hopes are being readied:

     {Humankind} is fashioning a new heart

     {Humankind} is forging a new mind

     God is at work.


This is the Season of Promise.


Monday, December 18, 2023

"WHO IS THIS GUY?"

 “WHO IS THIS GUY?”

In the second chapter of Matthew, the magi come to Jerusalem, having been led by a star to find the One born “king of the Jewish people.”  Their GPS system fails them, and they must stop by King Herod’s place to inquire about this young boy.  Herod is taken aback – who are these foreigners bringing news of a rival to the throne?  Matthew’s account tells us that Herod is troubled and frightened – and that all Jerusalem is troubled and frightened also.  Is this a new order of life coming into the world?  Who is this guy?

Who is this guy?  That is the question at the heart of the Advent and Christmas seasons.  We are asked as individuals to respond to the question and to provide our own answers.  We are asked as communities to respond to the birth of Jesus and to provide our answers.  Who is this guy?  The great humanitarian Albert Schweitzer proclaimed in 1906 that Jesus comes to us as “One unknown,” and in many ways, he was right.  Jesus is not a blank slate – there are many clues to his identity in the birth stories – but we are asked to take up the question for ourselves in this season:  Who is this guy?  Or, as Jesus himself puts it later on in his adult life: “Who do you say that I am?”

Herod gives us his answer – this guy is a threat to me and to the social order.  Herod lashes out as the violent and vengeful leader that he is – he has all the baby boys of Bethlehem slaughtered in an attempt to wipe out this threat.  It is a gruesome scene at the end of Matthew’s 2nd chapter – the mothers crying out for their babies, who are lost in a flurry of vengeance and violence.  Though it is hard to read, this account does remind us that the birth of Jesus stays in the real, violent world – no sugar-coating here.  This story also reminds us that Jesus is a threat to the political orders of the world – unless such orders are based on justice and equity, Jesus will always be a threat.

Some of us go the opposite way of Herod in our answer to the question:  “Who is this guy?”  We prefer an individualistic, spiritualized Jesus – sweet, little Jesus boy, who comes to save us from going to hell after death.  Jesus becomes an ahistorical, philosophical figure, dabbing his toes into human existence, just enough  to provide some salvific energy, making no demands on our lives – interested simply in what happens to us when we die – are we going up, or are we going down?  

This was the Jesus I grew up with – unconcerned with historical life, unconcerned about justice issues, concerned only with my salvation after death.  Because I grew up immersed in white supremacy, this Jesus was the one who allowed my forebears to hold human beings in slavery, who allowed me and other people classified as “white” to continue to receive the benefits of the neo-slavery in which we lived.  I could not hold Jesus back, however, even with the powerful white church world seeking to keep our feet on his neck.  He kept coming around, and he kept asking me and others:  “Who do you say that I am?”  I remember vividly praying to God early in my teenage years, as the hormones hit and as the Civil Rights Movement began to take hold:  “God, please let me keep believing in You as I do now – don’t make it too complicated.”  Of course, that prayer was not answered in the way that I wanted it to be answered.  It did become complicated, and I did change my view of myself, of others, and of Jesus and of God.  I knew it, but I didn’t  want to affirm it - the world was about to change.

As we move through this Advent and Christmas season, let us recall this fundamental question about the birth of Jesus.  Each of us and all of us are asked to find our answer to the question:  “Who Is This Guy?”  May Jesus move in our hearts to help us see a vision of justice and equity, and to be like the dreamer Joseph, who not only had dreams but acted on them.  As we think about these things, let us consider how Schweitzer put it in his 1906 book “The Quest for the Historical Jesus”

“He comes to us as One unknown, without a name, as of old, by the lakeside, He came to those {people} who knew Him not. He speaks to us the same words: "Follow thou me!" and sets us to the tasks which He has to fulfill for our time. He commands. And to those who obey Him, whether they be wise or simple, He will reveal himself in the toils, the conflicts, the sufferings which they shall pass through in His fellowship, and, as an ineffable mystery, they shall learn in their own experience Who He is.”


Monday, December 11, 2023

"LAND ON FIRE"

 “LAND ON FIRE”

John the Baptizer does not make it into Matthew’s version of the Christmas story, but he plays a prominent part in Luke’s.  Luke’s version of the birth of Jesus begins not with Jesus but with the backstory for the birth of John the Baptizer.  John’s conception is not quite as stunning as Jesus’ conception, but it is miraculous nonetheless.  The mothers of John and Jesus are cousins, and the boys become cousins, with some scholars arguing that Jesus becomes a disciple of John the Baptizer.  Other Gospel accounts, like John’s, portray them as rivals, but whatever their relationship, all four Gospels see John as the precursor for Jesus, as one who prepares the way for Jesus.

John the Baptizer was a man on fire.  He took the warmth of the love of God and channeled it into a burning call for repentance and justice and equity.  He challenged the Temple as a site of renewal and religious sanctity.  He offered the idea of baptism in the river as a source of renewal and repentance.  By “repentance,” he didn’t mean only the ceasing of doing bad things – he meant a complete re-orientation of our will and imaginations, a re-orientation towards God and not towards the powers of the world.  It was here, in this idea of death and rebirth that is part of the ritual of baptism, that people could find the fire to renew their lives.

John not only used fire as image of renewal – he used it also as an image of consequences and punishment.  His sermon went like this in Luke 3, as he chastised the religious leaders who came out to hear him:  “You children of snakes!  Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?......Even now the axe is laid to the root of the trees;  every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.”  When the leaders and the people asked him what they could do to escape this kind of fire, he told them to share food and clothes with the poor, to refrain from cheating people and to stop robbing people.  For John, the warmth of God’s love was a fire that burned for justice and for equity.

As the fences were cut and people slaughtered by Hamas in Israel on October 8, and as the bombs drop and the fires rage among the Palestinians in Gaza, I think of John the Baptizer and his fiery prophecy.  Israel was established as a nation in response to 20 centuries of horrors against Judaism by Christians, culminating in the still unfathomable Holocaust.  Unfortunately, there were people already living in the lands where Israel was established as a nation, and those people were removed in what is remembered as “Nakba,” or catastrophe.  They were not compensated or given land.  They are now called the Palestinians.  In the right wing movements that seem to sweeping the world, Israel now has a leader who seems determined to kill his way to the decimation of the Palestinians, not unlike what my European ancestors did to the people living in this land.  Thousands and thousands have died and will continue to die until some semblance of justice is established.

What would that justice look like?  It is complex, but at least two elements must be present for there to be a foundation of peace with justice.  First, the state of Israel must be recognized.  Jewish people rightly feel that they must have a state, a safe haven to protect at least some of them from the 20 centuries (Yes, I said centuries) of death and persecution at the hands of the world, persecution influenced heavily by the followers of Jesus the Jew.  The idea of a Palestinian state from the river to the sea is not a possibility that will lead to peace.  Antisemitism is embedded deeply especially in the West, but indeed throughout the world.

Despite there being no Palestinian state from the river to the sea, the second element for peace with justice is that a Palestinian state must be carved out somewhere in the area.  The horror and brutality of October 8 arose out of the cries of injustice and suffering on the part of the Palestinian people.  Hamas was not acting as savages, although they did incredibly savage things.  That fury grew out of the suffering and anger, and though the Palestinians do not have the firepower to match the Israelis, they do have that same deep well of suffering and injustice, a well that will always feed groups like Hamas until some justice is established.

The Holy Land is now a land on fire, as John the Baptizer predicted.  I don’t know what John’s thoughts on the current conflagration would be, but he clearly gives us the answers to end the burning and bombing and slaughter – do justice, share kindness.  Because the suffering is so deep on both sides, establishing justice will require people of faith and endurance and commitment to make difficult decisions.  They must be made, however, lest we all fall into the pit of fire.


Monday, December 4, 2023

"JESUS WAS A PALESTINIAN REFUGEE"

 “JESUS WAS A PALESTINIAN REFUGEE”

We have begun the Advent season, with all its promise and peril and demanding qualities and danger of being sentimentalized.  When we were preaching, Caroline and I rarely ever used the lectionary passages for the Advent season, because they were so disconnected with the season itself.  We preferred to concentrate on the Biblical stories about Advent and Christmas, and there are two main ones in Matthew and Luke, though John has a spiritualized  one also.  Not using the Biblical Christmas stories in Advent allows the culture to take them over, which we obviously have allowed.

The first Christmas story in the Bible comes in Matthew’s gospel, in which the author begins with a genealogy of Jesus – dull reading until you notice that Matthew infuses the usual “male begetting” genealogy with 5 women – and what five women they are!  If you haven’t encountered their stories, take time to do so in this Advent season:  Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, the wife of Uriah (also known as Bathsheba), and Mary.  All of them “tainted” in one way or another, but Matthew wants them in the genealogy of Jesus – why?  

Then, Matthew moves to Joseph and his struggles over his fiancĂ© Mary telling him that she was pregnant by someone other than him.  She indicates that God did it, using an excuse for the ages.  Joseph is a decent man, so instead of dragging Mary out in front of the elders to have her admonished (or stoned to death), he decides to  send her back quietly to her family to have the baby in shame.  Yet, his name is powerful – Joseph the dreamer from Genesis – and this Joseph too begins to hear God speak to him through dreams.  He is told to take Mary as his wife and to adopt the baby as his own, which he does.

Matthew’s account continues with the story of the magi coming to visit the baby.  On the way, they stop in to see King Herod, who is mightily disturbed to hear of a rival king being born.  After their visit, the magi return to their home by another way – a whole sermon in itself.  Herod is threatened and is furious and sends soldiers to Bethlehem to kill the baby.  In the meantime, Joseph has another dream message from God, telling him to take his family to Egypt, for Herod is coming to kill them.  The baby Jesus becomes a Palestinian refugee, and the family is blessed that Egypt is willing to accept them as refugees – no razor wire, no wall, no armed guards to keep them out.  

    The family is blessed because Herod’s soldiers do arrive in Bethlehem and slaughter all the baby boys in an attempt to stop this new baby from rising to power.  And, though the story of the slaughter is horrific, I do appreciate Matthew’s keeping it in the narrative, because it is a mitigating but realistic factor which should keep us from sentimentalizing the Christmas story.  It helps to prevent us from concentrating on “sweet, little Jesus boy.”  The baby Jesus comes into the real world, our world.  He is on the run from his earliest days.

The bombs dropping on the Palestinians in these days remind us also of the cost of this story and its horrific consequences.  Jesus was a Palestinian refugee also, and he too weeps for this ongoing struggle of terror and murder.  Yet, into these horrible events comes a possibility of hope and even visions and dreamers.  Let us be among those dreamers in these days and listen for God’s voice speaking to us, even as we welcome Jesus the Palestinian refugee. 


Monday, November 27, 2023

"A SONG OF MYSELF"

 “A SONG OF MYSELF”

Today is my 77th birthday, having been born in the Methodist Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee, which was the capital of eastern Arkansas and northern Mississippi at that time. I was born to Mary Elizabeth Armour Stroupe and Gibson Preston Stroupe.  Soon, she would be a single, working mom, raising me in a patriarchal world.  So, on this day, I am grateful for my life and for my mother, who persevered in raising me after my father abandoned our family.  I am grateful to Caroline, who has put up with me almost 50 years now, and to David and Susan, who have had to endure my jokes all of their lives!

I also give thanks that Wipf and Stock Publishing Company has agreed to publish my memoir on my mother and me, in her raising me as a single working mom in a man’s world.  Wipf and Stock is the same company who published my book of sermons “Deeper Waters” in 2017.  I am grateful also to Collin Cornell who helped facilitate “Deeper Waters” and is helping on this manuscript, which I hope will be ready to publish in 2024.  I also want to thank John Blake, who pushed me to think about and to write this book.  I have two tentative titles for it: “Mother and Me: A Southern Story of Agency, Race, and Gender,” or “A Single Mom in a Man’s World: A Southern Story of Agency, Race, and Gender.”  Let me know which title sounds best to you.

I’m also starting work on another book ( my 7th!).  Caroline has finally agreed to work with me on writing a manuscript on our pioneering ministry as a clergy couple.  We were the first clergy couple to work in a local church in the former PCUS Southern Presbyterian Church.  I’m just starting out on it, but the tentative title is “Pioneers and Partners in Ministry”.  Let me know your thoughts on that too.  And, if you have any stories or insights on our ministry as a clergy couple or individually, share them with us as we build this manuscript.  

I’m grateful to our longtime friend and colleague Inez Giles, who has given me a birthday party every year (except the Covid year of 2020) since 1996, when I turned 50.  We used to do the Electric Slide at my birthday party, but lately we have been subbing Stevie Wonder’s version of “Happy Birthday.”  Last year in my birthday blog , I shared part of a Walt Whitman poem, “Song of Myself,” which I still love as the name of one’s birthday.  This year I want to share the familiar but ever powerful poem “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver.

“Wild Geese”

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees 

For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mind.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees, 

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

The world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.


Mary Oliver, “Dream Work,” 1986


Monday, November 20, 2023

"SIXTY YEARS AGO"

 “SIXTY YEARS AGO”

I entered my segregated high school as a freshman in 1960.  We were required to take civics in that year, and our teacher Ms. Frizzell had a creative assignment for us.  It was a presidential election year, and the two main candidates were Republican Richard Nixon and Democrat John F. Kennedy.  Ms. Frizzell’s assignment was for each of us to do our research, then use that research to choose which candidate we would vote for, if we could vote.  The assignment was due about November 1 of that year.  I did my due diligence, and I decided that I would vote for Richard Nixon, if I could have voted.  I chose Nixon because I liked Ike, the previous Republican president, because Kennedy was Catholic (would he obey the pope or be loyal to the USA?), and because Kennedy seemed to lean towards social justice too much (after all, I was still in deep captivity to white supremacy).

Three years later in 1963, I began my senior year, and things were in flux in my heart and mind.  The March on Washington had occurred in August, and in mid September, my white supremacist culture answered MLK’s “I Have a Dream” speech by blowing up Sixteenth Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, killing four young girls in Sunday school:  Addie Mae Collins,  Denise McNair, Carole Robertson, and Cynthia Wesley.  Even in my continuing deep captivity to racism, I was appalled by this senseless killing.  

On Friday, November 22 of that year, several of us were changing classes at Central High School, and our janitor Mr. Ellis, whom we called “Dude” (before the advent of The Big Lebowski), came up to us in the hall to tell us that President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas.  Dude was always joking and pulling pranks on us, so at first we thought that he was joking on this too.  Only a few minutes later, the intercom came on to announce that President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas and was not expected to live.  We later got the news that he had indeed died.  We were all in shock.  Though few of us liked him because of his work on civil rights, we simply could not believe that anyone would shoot the President of the United States.  Kennedy was not our favorite President, but we took it personally that someone had the temerity and the arrogance to shoot the President. They were striking a blow at the nation itself.

School let out early that day, and the nation began a three day mourning period, and it seemed to me that the earth itself had changed – Kennedy’s assassination was that kind of shock.  School was out on Monday, November 25, for the funeral and memorial services for President Kennedy.  I stayed home to watch the service, and Miss Martha, a Black woman who cleaned the beauty shop for Mother, was with me, doing some ironing for Mother one day a week.  She and I both watched the service together on TV, and my racism showed itself to me that day.  As the caisson made its way down Pennsylvania Avenue with the President’s body, we both ended up crying.  I noticed Miss Martha’s crying, and I said to myself:  “Wow, she is crying like me.  Can Black people actually be like us?”  I am ashamed to admit that now, but it was one of many revelations to me about my captivity to white supremacy and about the humanity of people classified as Black.

It is hard to overestimate the impact that the assassination of President Kennedy had on me and on so many others of my generation.  Though the civil rights movement was hitting its stride, that had not yet reached our consciousness, as it would just a few years later.  The assassination of Kennedy was a jarring blow that told us that the calmness and stability (and repression) of the 1950’s was over.  What we thought was a stable order and a stable world had been shattered in Dallas.  For me, the 1960’s would be the beginning of a powerful force calling me and many others out, calling us to seek a more just and equitable world.  I still feel a bit of sadness when I watch that caisson – it was a great loss for the Kennedys, for me, and for all of us.

I still don’t know who killed President Kennedy – I don’t believe that Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone.  Yet, to borrow from a fine song by John Prine - “we lost Davey in the Korean War, still don’t know what for, don’t matter any more,” – it don’t matter any more.  All of our lives were changed on that November day in 1963, much in the same way that 9/11 changed us and so many lives.  The assassination shattered any naivete that we had about the stability of life, and part of the chaos that ensued in the 1960’s was, for me, a direct result of those consciousness-shattering events of that day in 1963.  It was as if the earth had broken open, and new revelations were coming.  In many ways, we are still living out that impact on American culture – will we be able to go back to the 1950’s when everyone knew that white males should reign supreme, or will we affirm that tectonic shift that seeks a more inclusive, welcoming society, that seeks to live out the ideals that President Kennedy outlined in his famous inaugural speech in 1961?  


Monday, November 13, 2023

"HARRIET TUBMAN"

 “HARRIET TUBMAN”

In finishing up this Veterans Day weekend, I want to remember Harriet Tubman as one of most distinguished yet least recognized veterans.  She was a Union spy during the Civil War and led the Union Army in a raid of the Combahee Ferry in South Carolina in 1863, freeing more than 700 people who were enslaved. She had put out the word to those who were enslaved that a raid was coming, letting the people know to be ready.  She gave the signal, and hundreds of enslaved people came out of the woods to the waiting Union Army in boats.  When the Confederate army chased the enslaved people, there were greeted with hundreds of Union soldiers, some of whom were Black.  The Confederate soldiers shrank back into the woods.

Tubman worked for years to get her pension as a soldier in the Union Army, finally receiving $20 per month in 1899.  This past summer we started our human rights tour in Auburn, New York, where Tubman established her home with assistance from Martha Wright Coffman (sister of Lucretia Mott) and Frances Miller Seward.  Her home served as a base for people escaping slavery, on their way to Canada.  She also brought her parents and much of her family up out of slavery to Auburn and on to Canada.  We were grateful to see the land and geography where she did her work against slavery, work for rights for women, and work for establishing a home for aged people on her property in Auburn. 

Through our daughter Susan’s locations in Westfield, New York and in Baltimore, we have been blessed to touch and be nurtured by the witness of Harriet Tubman.  We have visited her birthing grounds on the eastern shore of Maryland, a place where she learned the ins and outs of the countryside, so that she could become comfortable enough to make the many raids that she made by herself to free people who were enslaved in the South.  She began that career early on, when she prevented a slaveholder from catching a person running away from being punished.  She herself was punished for that deed by receiving a hard blow to her head, which almost killed her.  Even that, however, led to grace for her.  It led to visions from God for Tubman, visions telling her to seek freedom for herself and for many others.  It began a pattern of mysticism for Tubman, in which she always consulted God before going on a trip South and also in the middle of trips where she was confused or trapped.

We also visited her home and her church in St. Catherine’s, Canada, on one of our trips with Susan to Niagara Falls.  Then, finally this summer we were able to visit her American home in Auburn, a home centered in justice, compassion and fire.  Her home for aged people has been restored, and there is work being done by the AME Zion church to restore Tubman’s personal home.  We were grateful to have a passionate AME Zion pastor and his spouse as our guides on the Harriet Tubman grounds.  I learned there that Harriet Tubman and Ida B. Wells met at the National Association for Colored Women in DC in 1896 – talking about intersectionality – wow!  Tubman lived a simple life, but her life was rich and complex.  We were also privileged to visit her grave in the Fort Hill Cemetery in Auburn, and we brought home pine cones from her grave.  

Harriet Tubman was a veteran who did not sit around talking about the past and what she had done way back when.  She kept her fires for justice burning, and she kept walking and working so that all might know the power of the idea that all people are created with equal dignity before God.


Monday, November 6, 2023

"WHEREAS"

 “WHEREAS”

During Native American Heritage Month, I am sharing some of the work of Layli Long Soldier in response to an apology issued by the US government in 2009, an apology not only weak in content but almost secretive in publicity.  Long Soldier wrote a book of poetry/prose called “Whereas” in response.  I am repeating my other introduction to her from my blog of October 9.

{The following are short excerpts from a much longer work of poetry and prose by Layli Long Soldier from her book “Whereas,” drawing on the official US government language of the Resolution and Apology.  She is a recipient of a Lannan Literary Fellowship, a Native Arts and Cultures Foundation Native Artist Fellowship, and a Whiting Award.  She lives in Santa Fe. She is a member of Oglala Lakota. I was introduced to her work by one of her poems in worship at North Decatur Presbyterian Church.  As I write this, Israel and Hamas are at war, and I am thinking of the many parallels of the white treatment of Native Americans and the Israeli treatment of the Palestinian people.}


WHEREAS I shy. Away from the clichĂ© my friend an artist”emotes” at my table. I shy. Away too I worry and second-guess.  ClichĂ©’s what’s list its original effect and power

Through overuse over-reliance I wash the dishes.  I smell the citrus scented.  In ordinary tasks I can’t help the thoughts that lead me elsewhere.  We chat while I rinse our cups then I bubble my hands into a pigeonhole.  I remember the summer I armed myself with yellow rubber gloves and a bucket of bleach to scrub an abandoned pigeon nest on our porch.  My eyes stung raw with my fear of mites. Crawling in molten feathers layers of droppings hardened cakes of white.  Whereas a pigeonhole is aka a white hole the dictionary says. A white hole’s known as the white     space          between    words   set     too     far     apart     in    letterpress

printing       a term synonymous with pigeonhole we don’t want it.  Ever to say we 

suffer the assignment of a stagnant place in the system my friend avoids this as an artist.  She convinces me.  I definitely don’t want it either the stigma of a place I shy.

Away from admitting to her what’s in my work:  this location.  Where I must be firmly positioned to receive an apology the spot from which to answer.  Standing here I regard an index finger popping up pointing out a reminder:


Whereas in the infancy of the United States,

The founders of the Republic expressed their de-

sire for a just relationship with the Indian tribes,

as evidenced by the Northwest Ordinance en-

acted by Congress in 1787, which begins with 

the phrase, “The utmost good faith must always

be observed towards the Indians”;


Because when unconvinced           from this pigeonhole and no other            I can

  bleach and scrub           forehead sweat                 rubber arms        physical effort

mental force     art and shape        muscle my back    languageness     a list of moves 

            to loosen the hold         yes I can            shake my head wag      my finger too

     at that good faith       white cake             in a white           hole

                        that stained            refusal to come                     clean.   


Monday, October 30, 2023

"ALL SAINTS DAY: MARY STROUPE, BERNICE HIGGINS, JAMES JEFFERSON"

 “ALL SAINTS DAY – MARY STROUPE, BERNICE HIGGINS, JAMES JEFFERSON”


We are at the time of the year when we remember the dead – the saints, the sinners, people who have had profound effects on our lives, as individuals and as communities.  We have two days in a row for engaging the dead – Halloween (derived from All Hallows Eve) and All Saints Day on November 1, also known as

“Day of the Dead” or “Dia de los Muertos” in Mexico.  The Mexican approach is much communicative and celebrative, whereas ours is often more horrifying and puzzling.  As the old saying put it, “The Victorians repressed sex and were obsessed with death, whereas we in the modern world repress death and obsess with sex.”

Whatever your approach to these subjects, I hope that you will take time this week to give thanks for those who have nurtured you, who have nurtured your family, and have nurtured your community.  Make a list and give thanks for them, and if you are not already doing it, seek to live those attributes that you admire in them.  I’m giving a sample list for me today.  The first saint in today’s list (and in every list that I will ever produce) is my mother Mary Armour Stroupe.  I’m so grateful that Wipf and Stock has agreed to publish my memoir on her and me – it should come out sometime next year.  It’s tentative title is “Mother and Me: A Southern Story of Agency, Race and Gender.”

    Mother was born in Byhalia, Mississippi in 1919 and was valedictorian of her high school class.  She had hoped to go to college, but her family had no money for it, especially in the grips of the Great Depression.  She scraped up enough money to go to beauty school (now cosmetology school), and she worked in that profession until her retirement in 1986.  During the last 10 years of her work life, she was the lead instructor at the school of cosmetology at Phillips County Community College.  There she worked with many women – and a few men – seeking to become cosmetologists, helping them to navigate that journey but also assisting them on managing their life journeys.  But, for me, her sainthood lies in her raising me in a patriarchal world as a single, working mother after my father abandoned her and me.  She dedicated so much energy and time and love to me, and I will ever be grateful to her for all the gifts that she shared with me.  She died on October 28, 2004.

The second person on my list is the other woman who helped to raise me in the patriarchal world, my great-great aunt, Bernice Higgins.  My mother and I moved in with her in her smaller house in Helena, Arkansas, in 1947, when I was a year old.  “Gran,” as I called her, was my great-grandmother’s sister, and she was a formidable force in our lives until her death in 1959.  For all intents and purposes, she was a grandmother for me. She was born in 1880 in Cayce, Mississippi, and she often regaled me with tales from her mother, Mrs. Brown, about Civil War days.  She cooked supper for us on weeknights, and she was there at home for me when I came home from school.  She was a conservative Presbyterian and sometimes refused to take the Lord’s Supper (served 4 times a year in my childhood church) because she did not think that she had lived a life worthy of the sacrament that quarter.  I was sitting with her at the breakfast table when she died of a thundering heart attack on May 20 at age 79.  

The third saint for me this year is an African-American Oakhurst member named James Jefferson, part of the foundational Jefferson family at Oakhurst – last year I featured his sister Azzie Preston.  “Jeff,” as he was called, was a retired Air Force veteran and worked at Lockheed.  Though he was conservative, he was a great leader for us as we sought to make the transition from a white church with Black members to a multicultural church, where power was shared.  He was elected as an elder on the Session (our governing body), and he helped us to navigate tricky waters.  We brought a recommendation to the Session in 1989 that we change the color of the stained glass Jesus from white to Black, and he was a strong supporter of that. We brought a recommendation in 1990 to the Session about openly welcoming LGBTQ+ members, and I was afraid of a difficult discussion ahead because the culture had not yet changed on this issue.  Jeff spoke up first and said: “I just think that we should welcome anyone whom God sends to us, no matter what their classification is.  We’re in the saving business, not the judging business.”  His statement ended the discussion, and we began to advertise that we welcomed all people, including LGBTQ+ people.  Unfortunately for all of us, Jeff died of a rare blood disease in 1991, but he left his mark, including the fact the Fellowship Hall at Oakhurst is named after him.  

So, it’s All Saints Week, All Hallows Eve, and Day of the Dead.  Find time this week to name and remember those saints who have helped to give you life and vision.  


Monday, October 23, 2023

"CONGRESS AND THE WILDCAT GROWL"

 “CONGRESS AND THE WILDCAT GROWL”

In 1995 Georgian Newt Gingrich was elected Speaker of the House after the Republicans had taken control of the House in the 1994 elections for the first time in 40 years.  He drove the second nail in the coffin of American democracy, the first having been driven by the Reagan Revolution in 1980.  Gingrich had been a back-bencher in Congress, but he came to understand the power of the media (CSPAN) and the growing anxiety and anger of white men who felt that they were being replaced and being pushed out.  Gingrich was not so much interested in governing as he was in airing white grievances.  He lasted as Speaker only 3 years and was replaced by his own party in 1998.

Gingrich’s pattern of complaining and whining became a part of American culture, and Fox News and other news outlets latched onto that method – there was money to be made and votes to be had in this approach.  That led to the third nail in the coffin of American democracy – the election of the ultimate grifter, Donald Trump, to be President in 2016.  The two-term presidency of Barack Obama and the possibility of Hilary Clinton as the first woman president sent chills into the hearts of white men, especially white supremacists.  The election of Trump by a slim Electoral College margin (though he lost the popular vote) led us into the wilderness in which we now find ourselves.  Trump, like Gingrich, had no interest in governing or in the common good of the country – as he has continued to demonstrate, he only cares about himself and the grift that has been his approach to all of his life.  

The current chaos in the Republicans seeking to find a new Speaker is directly related to this whining and complaining culture established by white men, who feel like our entitlement is slipping. Kevin McCarthy was part of this, and it is a sad reflection of where we are, that now we wish that McCarthy were still the Speaker.   As his record indicates, Jim Jordan was not interested in governing, just dictating, modeled by his hero and mentor Donald Trump.  I don’t know if Tom Emmer will be able to gather the votes this week or not to become Speaker, but he at least knows something about governance.  Perhaps the Republicans will see a light and will work with Democrats to craft a somewhat coalition government, but in our age of juvenile white males running around proclaiming about blowing everything up, that does not seem likely.  All we seem to be getting is the “wildcat growl,” as Bob Dylan put it in his song “All Along the Watchtower.”

All of this makes 2024 seem like a really scary year.  Joe Biden has been a good President, but his age is showing, and his ego is showing – he can’t turn loose of the power to a younger leader.  Biden’s fragility and vulnerability gives life to Donald Trump’s bid for election for another term as President.  Again, perhaps the Republicans will come to their senses and nominate someone who is not so thoroughly corrupt and narcissistic as Trump.  At this juncture, that does not seem likely, though I do find some solace in Sidney Powell and Ken Chesebro pleading out here in Georgia rather than going to trial next week.  Perhaps Trump’s criminal liabilities will bring him down after all – that wildcat is growling too.

As many have said, if Trump is elected president again, we can kiss democracy good-bye, because he intends to be dictator this time.  Our white supremacist culture has coupled our complaints and fears with a narcissist who intends to rule his own way, not to govern in a democracy.  I indicated a few years ago that the 2020 election was crucial, and it was.  Now the 2024 election seems even more crucial.  We all have work to do.  Yet, I can’t let the moment pass without sharing the lyrics of that powerful Dylan song, written in 1968, that includes the wildcat growl.  It is entitled “All Along the Watchtower,” and it was given a great cover by Jimi Hendrix, but for me, no one gets the essence of this song like Bob Dylan – go listen to it.  

“There must be some way out of here,” said the joker to the thief

“There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief

Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth

None of them along the line know what any of it is worth”


“No reason to get excited,” the thief, he kindly spoke

“There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke

But you and I, we’ve been through that, and this is not our fate

So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late”


All along the watchtower, princes kept the view

While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too

Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl

Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl


Monday, October 16, 2023

"THOUGHTS ON THE MIDDLE EAST"

 “THOUGHTS ON THE MIDDLE EAST”

In the spring of 1967, my college friend Sidney Cassell and I decided to  take an extended summer tour of the West.  He was from Tunica, Mississippi, and he had attended the University of Michigan, but his mom got seriously ill, so he transferred to Southwestern (now Rhodes) for a year.  During that time, we became friends, and I learned that his was the only Jewish family in Tunica.  His parents ran the Tunica Motel.  On June 5, the Six Day War broke out between Israel and Egypt, eventually drawing Jordan and Syria into it.

    We had planned to leave for our trip on June 6, but on June 5, Sidney called me from Tunica to tell me that he might not make the trip because he might have to go to Israel to defend what he called “the homeland.”  We delayed our trip for a week to see what would happen, and as it is called, it only took 6 days for Israel to defend itself and secure its borders.  I did not realize then that this was a second “Nakba,” or “catastrophe” for the Palestinians (the first being in 1948) when they were forcibly removed to form the state of Israel).

    We then went on our trip out West for two months. I was impressed with Sidney’s dedication to Israel – it was at a level that I did not have for my country.  Ironically enough, I would have to make the same decision 3 years later during the Vietnam War, and I became a conscientious objector and did two years alternative service.

    Because of my enlightening friendship with Sidney and because of the Jewish connections that my Mother and I had in my hometown, I have always leaned towards Israel in any Mid East conflicts.  But, over the last few years, Israel has gradually turned into an apartheid nation, and that has given me great pause.  Having grown up in a land where the original residents were either killed or dispossessed of their land by my ancestors and then that same land was worked by people who were enslaved, I have trouble keeping the same level of support for Israel, which dispossessed the original Palestine peoples without compensation.  The “Palestinian problem” continues to plague the nation of Israel, and it led directly to the horrible and brutal attack on Israel by Hamas on October 8.  Here are a few of my thoughts, as I try to take in the depth of the attack and Israel’s response to it, which is ongoing as I write this blog.

    First, Israel became a modern  nation in 1948 in some of its original territories as a result of lobbying by Jewish leaders, but most of all because of the horrors of the Holocaust, horrors which were a culmination of centuries of mostly Christian oppression and brutal policies toward Jewish people.  The problem is that there were people already living in those lands, and for the most part they were removed.  They have become known as the Palestinians.  Since Israel took their lands 75 years ago, no adequate provision has been made for the Palestinians.  They have been squeezed into the West Bank and into Gaza, much like the Native Americans were squeezed into “reservations” in our country.  There does not seem to be a viable solution to this issue.  The “two state” theory has long since been dropped, and Israel continues its repressive policies towards the Palestinians – Jewish settlers continue to move into Palestinian areas.  

    Even those who support the Palestinians were shocked by the brutal, terroristic nature of the attacks by Hamas on October 8.  It is hard to justify the killing of so many civilians at a music concert, and nothing justifies the killing of babies.  Yet we must also recognize the level of desperation and rage that was at the heart of those attacks.  That level does not come because the attackers are savages, as the mainstream Western media is calling them.  That level is reached because of a deep and continued wounding of the human heart, a wounding so deep that it makes the attacker willing and able to do inhuman acts.

    I am not justifying the Hamas attacks, but I put their rage on the same level that Nat Turner, Denmark Vesey, and John Brown had in their attacks on the institution of slavery.   Until there is adequate compensation and justice for the Palestinians, these attacks will continue to rise.  At least two things must happen in the Middle East for any semblance of peace with justice to arise.  First, the nation of Israel must be recognized as a legitimate state – many Palestinians still see Israel as an occupying force over these 75 years.  Those who attacked Israel on October 7 did it as a liberating act against the occupying oppressor.  That can no longer be the rubric of the Middle East.

    Second, justice must be found and established for the Palestinian people.  I don’t know what that would look like at this point, but Israel and the West must make a strong commitment to it.  I have not seen such commitment from the leadership of Israel since Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated in November, 1995.  Yet, that commitment must be renewed, or the war that is now playing out in Israel and Gaza will be repeated many times.  

There is deep hatred, anxiety, and fear now in the Middle East.  May God raise up the justice and peacemakers, and may we all listen to them.  If not, hell awaits us.


Monday, October 9, 2023

"INDIGENOUS PEOPLES DAY"

 “INDIGENOUS PEOPLES DAY”

{The following are short excerpts from a much longer work of poetry and prose by Layli Long Soldier from her book “Whereas,” drawing on the official US government language of the Resolution and Apology.  She is a recipient of a Lannan Literary Fellowship, a Native Arts and Cultures Foundation Native Artist Fellowship, and a Whiting Award.  She lives in Santa Fe.  I was introduced to her work by one of her poems in worship at North Decatur Presbyterian Church.  As I write this, Israel and Hamas are at war, and I am thinking of the many parallels of the white treatment of Native Americans and the Israeli treatment of the Palestinian people.}


“WHEREAS” BY LAYLI LONG SOLDIER

“On Saturday, December 19, 2009, US President Barack Obama signed the Congressional Resolution of Apology to Native Americans.  No tribal leaders or official representatives were invited to witness and revive the Apology on behalf of tribal nations.  President Obama never read the Apology aloud, publicly – although, for the record, Senator Sam Brownback five months later read the Apology to a gathering of five tribal leaders, though there are more than 560 federally recognized tribes In the US.  The Apology was then folded into a larger, unrelated piece of legislation called the 2010 Defense Appropriations Act.

My response is directed to the Apology’s delivery, as well as the language, crafting, and arrangement of the written document.  I am a citizen of the United States and an enrolled member of Oglala Sioux Tribe, meaning I am a citizen of the Oglala Lakota Nation – and in this dual citizenship, I must work, I must eat, I must art, I must mother, I must friend, I must listen, I must observe, constantly, I must live. 


Whereas at four years old I read the first chapter of the Bible aloud I was not a Christian

Whereas my hair unbraided ran the length of my spine I sometimes sat on it

Whereas at the table my legs dangled I could not balance peas on my fork

Whereas I used my fingers carefully I pushed the bright green onto silver tines

Whereas you eat like a pig the lady said setting my plate on the floor

Whereas she instructed me to finish on my hands and knees she took another bite

Whereas I watched folds of pale curtains inhale and exhale a summer dance

Whereas in the breath of the afternoon room each tick of the clock

Whereas I rose and placed my eyes and tongue on a shelf above the table first

Whereas I kneeled to my plate I kneeled to the greatest questions

Whereas that moment I knew who I was whereas the moment before I swallowed”


Monday, October 2, 2023

"PEACEMAKING"

 “PEACEMAKING”

Yesterday was World Communion Sunday, and in the Presbyterian Church, it is also Peacemaking Sunday.  Earlier this year the PCUSA  asked me to write a short meditation on peace as part of a series for the month of September.  I wrote mine on II Corinthians 5:16-21, and here is that Scripture passage and my meditation on it.

II COR 5:16-21

“16 From now on, therefore, we regard no one according to the human point of view. Even though we once regarded Christ in this way, we regard him thus no longer. 17 Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, they are  a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. 18 All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to God’s self and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; 19 that is, in Christ, God was reconciling the world to God’s self, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. 20 Therefore, we are ambassadors for Christ, God making an appeal through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. 21 For our sake God made one to be sin who knew no sin, so that in Christ we might become the righteousness of God.”


The Biblical idea of peace points us toward a connected community of humanity, centered on inclusion, justice, and equity.  Our Scripture for today reminds us that developing such a community is very difficult.

Paul begins by saying that he previously saw Jesus (and everyone else) from a human point of view, using the categories of the fallen world to judge others.

I grew up with this human point of view – racism, sexism, materialism, militarism, nationalism – I judged others to be inferior to the white, straight guy that I took myself to be. It was deeply imbedded in me because people who loved me and whom I loved, taught me this perspective, this “human point of view.” To use the biblical image, I was captured by these categories, and I had no idea how to find the way to peace.

But, as Paul puts it so well in this letter to the Corinthians, Jesus was coming for me, not the white Jesus whom I had been worshipping, but a new and surprising Jesus whom I had trouble believing.  Jesus sent prophets to me again and again, and I began to shift my perspective to view Jesus and everyone else from God’s point of view, not from my human contextual point of view.  These ”fallen categories of the world” are still deeply imbedded in me, and I am wrestling with them all the time, but I know that Jesus continues to come for me and for all of us in our captivity.

PLAN OF ACTION – We are asked to become ambassadors of reconciliation – to recognize our captivity, to trust others to point out our continuing captivity, to begin to trust ourselves to become those prophetic voices, to be those ambassadors of Christ to others, seeking to build a community built on inclusion, justice and equity.  These are the building blocks that lead us all on a path of peace.

PRAYER

     O God, thank You for calling us to walk on a path of peace.  Send us Your Spirit so that we may comprehend the joy of seeking to see others as You see them.  Strengthen us so that we may persevere in the times when we are asked to be prophetic voices. Help us to hear that we are the ones we’ve been waiting for.  We pray in Your holy name. Amen.  

BRIEF BIO

 I was a conscientious objector to the Vietnam War 1970-72. I am a retired Presbyterian minister, having been pastor of Oakhurst Presbyterian in Georgia for 33+ years.  My spouse, the Rev. Caroline Leach, and I were recipients of the Peacemaking Award from Greater Atlanta Presbytery.  We also received the Church Women United Human Rights Award. I am the author of 5 books, including the award winning “Passionate for Justice: Ida B. Wells as Prophet for Our Time.”



Monday, September 25, 2023

"COFFEE COUNTY, GEORGIA"

 “COFFEE COUNTY, GEORGIA”

There are many smoking guns in the massive indictment issued by Fulton County, Georgia over Donald Trump and others attempting to interfere in the 2020 election results.  Nineteen people, including Trump, were indicted in the news conference announced by DA Fani Willis on August 16.  Not only were there many smoking guns seen in those indictments – there were also at least two blazing guns seen.  One was the infamous phone call that Trump made to Georgia Secretary of State Brad Raffensberger, “asking” him to find 11,870 more votes for Trump.  When Raffensberger told him that the votes were not there, Trump began to make all kinds of veiled threats to Raffensberger.  Trump later described it as a “perfect phone call.”

The other blazing gun was seen in a video from the elections office of Coffee County, Georgia, which is in rural south Georgia, about 200 miles south of Atlanta.  On January 7, 2021, the day after the violent and murderous insurrection of January 6, a team from Sullivan/Strickler showed up in broad daylight at the Coffee County elections office in Douglas, Georgia.  Their mission was to commit the obvious crime of copying all election data and the inner workings of the voting machine systems used by Coffee County and the state of Georgia.  Sullivan/Strickler had been hired by attorney Sidney Powell’s company to do this work.  I’d like to say that the elections supervisor blocked them at the door, telling them that their request for such information was not only irregular but also illegal under Georgia law.  

The video shows something different, however.  It shows Republican Party county chair Cathy Latham waving them in, and elections supervisor Missy Hampton welcoming them in and assisting them in their efforts to commit an elections crime in Georgia.  All of the participants in this process were white, and the information taken on January 7 was shared all around the country.  None of this was known until the video was released as part of the evidence in another case.  This happened in a county that voted 70% in favor of Trump in the 2020 election, so it was not a case of seeking to discover voter fraud in the county.  It came technically on the same day that the US House of Representatives had voted to certify the 2020 election results, a vote that had been delayed until 3 AM because of the attack on the Capitol by Trump supporters, seeking to overturn the election results at Trump’s urging.

I’d like to say that Coffee County was a very isolated case, but as we are coming to learn, Trump and his team of Powell, Eastman, Giuliani, and others were pressuring several states in the same way.  Coffee County also has a long history of voter intimidation and suppression, and that 70% vote for Trump mirrors the white population of Coffee County. The county was named for Maj. John Coffee, known as a famous fighter in the “Indian Wars” of 1833-36, which led to the removal of Muskogee and Cherokee tribes, who lived on the land prior to the European invasion.  This removal came to be known as “The Trail of Tears.”

Coffee County was part of the voter suppression in post-Reconstruction days and maintained that stance throughout the days of neo-slavery, until the Voting Rights Act of 1965 began to end that era.  It is the county where segregationist governor Lester Maddox gave many speeches in the neo-slavery days, because he thought that it was safe territory.  Progress was made late in the 20th century because of courageous Black leaders like Gladys Coley, but the election of Barack Obama as president brought out the neo-slavery voices and efforts.  Olivia Coley-Pearson, a Black Douglas city commissioner and daughter of Glady Coley, knows that oppression first hand.  She was arrested in 2011 on elections interference charges because she assisted people at the polls, but the state of Georgia declined to prosecute her.  Coffee County brought the charges forward and tried her twice in 2012, one trial ending in a hung jury and the second in an acquittal.

Coley-Pearson had these comments about the current situation in Coffee County (and throughout the rural South, for that matter):  “In terms of voting rights, I’ve definitely seen regress,” Coley-Pearson said. “Back in the 1960s, we had to  count the jelly beans; this, that and the other. We aren’t still there, but where we are is a more sophisticated means of voter suppression. We might have progressed some at one point in time, but we are currently moving backwards.”

We are definitely at a crucial point in our democracy, and the events of 2023 and 2024 will determine our future.  Keep your eyes and ears open – the forces of white supremacy have given us notice that they intend to take us back to neo-slavery.  It will be up to us to prevent that.  


Monday, September 18, 2023

"BIRMINGHAM SUNDAY"

 “BIRMINGHAM SUNDAY”

Sixty years ago, I was a senior in high school in the fall of 1963, and I had listened to MLK’s “I Have a Dream” speech at the March on Washington on August 28.  That speech and that March had moved the dial a little bit for me.  I was not converted yet from my captivity to white supremacy and its interpretation of life, but that day had opened the window just a tad.  I was beginning to think that there was more to the story of race and white superiority, which I had been taught from infancy, and which I believed.

Almost 3 weeks later came the white supremacist answer to the March on Washington, to the Birmingham campaign in the spring, and to the growing calls from the civil rights movement to put the idea of equality back on to the map of American history and landscape.  On Sunday, September 15, 1963, many Black families in Birmingham headed to church, including Pastor John Cross and his family at Sixteenth Avenue Baptist.  They were not aware that a splinter group of the KKK had planted 19 sticks of dynamite underneath the stairs on the east side of the church, wired to a timer set to go off on Sunday morning.  

At 10:22 AM on Sunday, September 15, the dynamite went off, injuring over 20 people and killing 4 young Black girls getting ready for worship:  Addie Mae Collins, Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson, and Carol Denise McNair.  It was a heinous act, designed to terrorize the Black people who led the civil rights movement in Birmingham.  Sixteenth Street Church was a hub of that movement, and later I would meet Reverend Cross in our work at Oakhurst Presbyterian.  He was a member of nearby Oakhurst Baptist, and his wife, Mrs. Cross, was a leader at the Girls Club, housed at our church.  He had many stories to tell of that fateful day and of the cost that the bombing extracted in his heart and in the hearts of many others.  Filled with grief and anger, they remained determined to be witnesses to the necessity of moving towards the great uncashed check of equality in American history.  Rhiannon Giddens recorded  a very moving song about this time – a song called “Birmingham Sunday,” written by Richard Farina.  Here’s a link to it: 

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4_T5KlTpvoM

The four cowards were white men named  Thomas Edwin Blanton, Herman Frank Cash, Robert Edward Chambliss, and Bobby Frank Cherry.  The FBI investigated the bombing, and they determined the identities of the men who did the bombing.  But FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover would never allow them to be prosecuted, and the case was closed.  The first one prosecuted was Chambliss in 1977.  Alabama Attorney General William Baxley had reopened the case in 1971 and led the prosecution.  Chambliss was convicted and sentenced to life in prison, where he died in 1985.  Blanton and Cherry were later convicted in 2001 and 2002 and died in prison.  In his closing argument, prosecuting attorney and future U.S. Senator Doug Jones said that although the trial was conducted 38 years after the bombing, it was no less important, adding: "It's never too late for the truth to be told ... It's never too late for a man to be held accountable for his crimes." The fourth coward, Herman Cash died before the cases were ever reopened.  

I remember hearing about the Birmingham Sunday bombing soon after it happened in 1963, and I had a split reaction to it.  I was horrified at the violence, at the violation of a church itself, and by the cowards who did it.  Yet, I also felt that if Black people would only leave things alone and let equality come gradually to the South, then heinous acts like this would not happen.  I could understand the horrible loss of life, but I was still held in deep captivity to the power of white supremacy.  Since the people who died were children in church, I could not say that they deserved it, but I did feel like Black people had brought this upon themselves.  I had a long way to go until I could find my true center, not as a racist, white supremacist but as a child of God, called to live and fight for equality and equal dignity for all, no matter one’s racial or gender or economic classification.

We are now in a time when white supremacy is regaining strength – in some states, this history about Birmingham Sunday would not be allowed to be taught in schools.  Racial violence is growing, and Trumpism is calling forth the spirits of the cowards who slinked into Sixteenth Street Baptist Church to plant the explosives.  Don’t recall their names – recall Addie Mae Collins, Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson, and Denise McNair.  Don’t be of a split mind like I was in 1963.  Find your place to work for justice and equality.  Pray about the craziness in which we now find ourselves – and practice what you pray.


Monday, September 11, 2023

"SUSAN STROUPE!"

 “SUSAN STROUPE!”

This Tuesday is our daughter Susan Stroupe’s birthday – we give thanks for her!  She has been such a gift to us over these many years, from her quick delivery at birth to her recent navigation of our summer trip to New York state to see human rights sites.  She traveled in David’s shadow for awhile, being almost 3 years younger than him.  Having different gender identities cut down some of the rivalry between them also, but soon Susan began to develop her own identity and path.  She was born in Nashville, but we moved to Decatur when she was 6 months old, and she found her place here.

When she was in the first grade, she had the magnificent Debbie Miller as her teacher, and they quickly bonded.  Ms. Miller contacted us to see if we would allow Susan to star in the school play (grades 1-5 at that time).  We were flattered, but we replied, “Are you sure Susan can do this?  She’s so shy, and she would have so many lines to memorize.”  Ms. Miller answered:  “I don’t think that you have to worry about that – she comes alive on the stage, and she not only has all her lines already memorized;  she has memorized everybody else’s lines as well.  She is already acting like an assistant director.”  We agreed, and of course, Susan was wonderful in the play.  Her love for all things theater was born and nurtured there.  

She surprised us many times, including her driving test, which she took as soon as she was eligible.  I had taught her to drive, using the lower parking lot at the church to teach her parallel parking with two plastic garbage cans as the markers.  When we went for the test, she aced the parallel parking, and indeed the tester told her to go ahead and finish up after that.  I was fearful at the rapid conclusion, thinking that she had somehow failed, but the instructor was so impressed (and so hot – the ac in our car was not working), that she gave her a 93 on the test.  She has shared her skills of parallel parking with many friends in Baltimore, where it is a necessity. 

At her high school graduation, she earned salutatorian, and she won the Atlanta Journal Constitution Cup as the Outstanding Senior of Decatur High, considered the crowning achievement of the class.  She wanted to get out of the South for weather reasons (too hot) and for spiritual reasons – she was tired of the blatant white supremacy, the acceptance of patriarchy, and the lack of sensitivity to gender identity, so she went off to cold Minnesota to attend Macalester College in St. Paul/Minneapolis.  It would be one of several places where she would move which gave us opportunities to visit and experience new locales – later there would be Albuquerque, Westfield New York, and Baltimore, with internships in Los Angeles and Vermont in between.   During one of our visits to Minnesota, we went up to the headwaters of the Mississippi River, which began with a little overflowing from Lake Itasca to become the mighty River in American history.  I was amazed to walk across the beginnings of the Mississippi, since it is a mile wide in my hometown of Helena, Arkansas.  

She has been in Baltimore for 14 years now – wow, I had not counted those up before.  She has acted and directed in many plays there, has helped to form a cooperative for an immersive theater company (Submersive Productions), and she has been blessed so far to find day jobs that are related to the theater.  She joined Brown Memorial Presbyterian Church, sings in the great choir there (along with Taylor Branch, among others), taught several confirmation classes for the youth, was elected to be an elder on the Session and now serves as co-clerk of the Session. She teaches part-time at University of Maryland in Baltimore County, and she is working on expanding the theater canon from an all-white men’s club to include many other varieties of playwrights.

She has blessed our lives in so many ways, including our trip this summer to central and upstate New York to see human rights sites that included Harriet Tubman’s home, Susan B. Anthony’s home, Gerritt Smith’s home in tiny Peterboro, the Shaker Heritage Society, and John Brown’s Farm in the Adirondack Mountains.  We also took a side jaunt to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown – quite a trip.

    So, in this week, we give thanks for the great Mary Susan Stroupe!  She is a powerful gift to us and to many others – Happy Birthday, Susan!


Monday, September 4, 2023

"WE WHO BELIEVE IN FREEDOM"

 “WE WHO BELIEVE IN FREEDOM”

“We who believe in freedom cannot rest until it comes…” those are words spoken by Ella Baker in the 1960’s as part of the struggle for human rights for African-Americans.  I first encountered them in a song called “Ella’s Song,” written by Bernice Johnson Reagon for Sweet Honey in the Rock.  If you haven’t heard that song or heard of Ella Baker either, please take time on this Labor Day to engage them.

And, yes, Labor Day is a time of rest to honor the workers of America.  It has been a national holiday for almost 130 years, being signed into law by President Grover Cleveland in 1894.  Workers had been agitating for unions and rights in the mid to late 1800’s in response to the rapid industrialization, the growing exploitations of workers (see my blog last year on the Atlanta Washerwoman’s Strike of 1881 https://nibsnotes.blogspot.com/2022/09/washerwomans-strike-1881.html), 

and the yawning pay gap between the super-wealthy and the workers. The first celebration of Labor Day was in New York City in September, 1882, but the crux came in 1894 when Eugene V. Debs led the Pullman Railroad Strike, which paralyzed much of the railroad traffic.  President Cleveland sent in US Army troops to stop the strike, and there were violent confrontations, resulting in the deaths of dozens of workers.  Debs ended up being prosecuted for his leadership in the strike, and he served time in federal prison, despite being represented by Clarence Darrow and others.  

In order to placate the workers’ anger and movement, Cleveland persuaded Congress to pass a law establishing a national holiday for workers, known as Labor Day.   They chose the first Monday in September rather than May 1 because they did not want it to be associated with the International Workers Day.   Their desire to tame it seemed to work well.  Labor Day is largely seen as the day to mark the end of summer and to have the last of the sales before the Christmas rush of sales begins.  And, membership in labor unions has been diminishing over the last 50 years, down from 35% of workers to 6% of workers today.  Indeed, the marking of Labor Day did not establish the foundation for unions – that would not come until 1935 with the passage of the National Labor Relations Act in 1935.

Yet this year there seem to be some parallels between the roots of Labor Day and the current atmosphere.  Writers and actors are on a national strike, UPS just concluded tough negotiations with the Teamsters Union drivers and workers, and airline and auto workers have given signals that they expect to call for strikes if working conditions and pay are not upgraded.  The early roots of the labor movement had its Carnegies and Rockefellers to contend with, and now it’s the Musks and the Bezoses who are the bosses in another period of rapid change and exploitation and resistance.  Plus, we’ve had a recent president who wanted to send out the Army for many domestic situations, so Grover Cleveland is being channeled by the Trumpster.

So, on this Labor Day, as you relax or shop or meditate, take time to give thanks to the workers and organizers, who over the decades have labored and fought to develop rights for those who labor.  Though union membership has dropped considerably and is especially low in the ironically named “right to work” states of the South, let us renew our commitment to justice for the workers.  The success of the union movement has been so great that they have almost put themselves out of business, but the need for them remains deep and great.  Let us acknowledge their legacy but also the need for continuing work.  We who believe in freedom cannot rest, except for perhaps on Labor Day.


Monday, August 28, 2023

'THE MARCH ON WASHINGTON"

 “THE MARCH ON WASHINGTON”

Sixty years ago today, over 250,000 people gathered in Washington, DC, for the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom.  It was the brainchild of A. Philip Randolph, the great union organizer, and his assistant Bayard Rustin, the conscientious objector and civil rights leader.  There were many moving parts to organize in order to get this many people from all over the country to DC.  Randolph had wanted to do this kind of march in the 1940’s, but President Roosevelt talked him out of it.  A smaller version was held in 1957, but this one in 1963 was the send-off for many people in the movement.  

President Kennedy tried to talk Randolph out of doing the march in 1963, fearing that bringing 100,000 Black people to DC would lead to violence and maybe even rioting.  Randolph and Rustin cited their lifelong commitment to nonviolence and virtually guaranteed that it would be a peaceful march.  Other civil rights leaders wanted to ban Rustin from the March because he was gay, but Randolph said “no Rustin, no Randolph.”  Rustin stayed on as the principal organizer, and while Randolph worked on the political aspects of the March, Rustin worked on the logistics of getting people into DC and getting them back out again.  

He contacted labor unions, churches and synagogues and other places of worship, and civil rights groups, hoping to draw the 100,000 people to DC for the day and the March.  The time was right – in June, Medgar Evers had been assassinated in Mississippi the day after Governor George Wallace had stood in the door at the University of Alabama to prevent the entry of Black students Vivian Malone and James Hood.  The Children’s Crusade at Birmingham in the spring of 1963 had showed the nation the depth of hatred and racism in us, and MLK’s “Letter from the Birmingham Jail” had called out white moderates and liberals who thought things were moving too fast.  People all over the country began to organize to come to the March.  We found out at the funeral of Azzie Preston that as a teenager she organized a busload of people to ride to DC from Dekalb County.  

This work of Azzie’s was repeated all over the nation, and the turnout was astonishing.  Thousands traveled by road, rail, and air to Washington, D.C., on Wednesday, August 28. Marchers from Boston traveled overnight and arrived in Washington at 7am after an eight-hour trip, but others took much longer bus rides from cities such as Milwaukee, Little Rock, and St. Louis.  A total of 450 buses left New York City from Harlem. Maryland police reported that by 8:00 a.m., 100 buses an hour were streaming through the Baltimore Harbor Tunnel.  Organizers had hoped for 100,000 participants – they were stunned but gratified to see 250,000 line the mall between the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial.  There were many struggles over who would be speaking at the March – one obvious glaring omission were women speakers.  None were allowed, though Daisy Bates was allowed to say 200 words in replacing Myrlie Evers, whose plane was delayed.  John Lewis, who was head of SNCC at the time, wrote a fiery speech condemning the federal government for its lack of interest in the suffering of Black people.  The organizers did not want to offend President Kennedy or Attorney General Robert Kennedy, but Lewis would not back down.  Finally, A. Philip Randolph, for whom Lewis had great respect, talked Lewis into modifying his speech just enough to make it palatable.

The main event (other than the 250,000 people) was Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech to conclude the March.  I have written previously in this blog that I listened to King’s speech in my home in Arkansas by myself, because I did not want my friends to know that I was listening to this speech in the week before I entered into my senior year in high school.  King’s speech had a profound effect on me and on many in our nation.  He framed the American vision of equality in a way that I had never heard before, and I was not alone in thinking this.  King opened a window into my head and heart, so that my imagination could begin to see the world and myself differently from the white supremacy that I had been taught and which I believed.  

Our friend John Blake wrote a fine column on King’s speech earlier this year in his work for CNN.  Here is part of what he wrote:  

“The speech King gave 60 years ago in Washington has been endlessly replayed, dissected and misquoted. It’s his most famous speech. But here’s another way to look at it: It is also the most radical speech King ever delivered.  That declaration might sound like sacrilege to those who will point to King’s thunderous takedowns of war, poverty and capitalism in other sermons. But “I Have a Dream” has arguably become his most radical speech — not because of what he said but because of how America has changed since that day.  Forget the nonthreatening version of the speech you’ve been taught that emphasizes King’s benign vision of Black, White and brown Americans living in blissful racial harmony.  The core concept in King’s dream is racial integration – and it still terrifies many people 60 years later.”  For the rest of John’s fine article, here is the link:  

https://www.cnn.com/2023/01/15/us/mlk-i-have-a-dream-speech-blake-cec/index.html

    John is correct – many of us classified as “white” do not accept the idea of equality and integration that is at the heart of March on Washington and at the heart of our lives today.  As we celebrate this powerful March, let us rededicate ourselves to continue to develop that dream of equality, lest the Trumpsters take us back to the 1850’s.


Monday, August 21, 2023

"AN ACTIVIST BEFORE HE WAS AN ARTIST"

 “AN ACTIVIST BEFORE HE WAS AN ARTIST” 

Harry Belafonte (HB) died in April at age 96 after a long and prolific career as an artist and an activist.  I knew that he had been involved in the human rights movement, but I had no idea how deeply he had been involved nor how long he had been involved – he was active right up until he died.  He broke into my consciousness in 1956 when I was 10 – not as an activist, but as an artist.  His “Banana Boat Song” with its “Day-o, Day-o/Daylight come an’ me wan’ go home” burst on the American consciousness, and for a while he battled Elvis to be the #1 artist in the country.  His album “Calypso” became the first one in history to sell over a million copies. From this point on he was a giant on the American artist scene.  If you have not read his remarkable memoir, “My Song,” published in 2011, go find it in your library.

Harry Belafonte was born in poverty in Harlem in 1927 to illegal immigrant parents from Jamaica, who had moved to NYC.  Harry’s father left the family before he was born, and Belafonte was raised by his single mom Melvine Love.  They went back and forth to Jamaica where Harry spent much of his childhood with relatives.  He went to high school in New York but dropped out to join the Navy in 1944 in the middle of WW II.  In his segregated barracks, his mates began to share with him pamphlets written by WEB Dubois, and he became hooked on the human rights movement.  His mother, however, had planted the seed long before this when she told him as a boy:  “When you grow up, son, never ever go to bed at night knowing that there was something you could have done during the day to strike a blow against injustice, and you didn’t do it.”

When his Navy term was up, he chose not to re-enlist, and went home to live with his mother and work as a janitor.  He was afraid that he would be stuck there for the rest of his life, but there was intervention coming.  He did a favor for one of the tenants, and as a tip, she gave him tickets to a play at the American Negro Theater (ANT).  He had never been to a professional play before, and he was mesmerized and transformed by it.  He put it like this:  “When the curtain rose and the actors appeared….they radiated a power that felt spiritual to me.  The play, titled “Home is the Hunter,” by Samuel Kootz, was freshly written, about Black servicemen trying to establish postwar lives in Harlem.  I knew these characters…..This was a whole new world – an exhilarating world.”  

    It changed Belafonte’s life – he began to volunteer at the ANT, and he met Sidney Poitier there.  The leaders noticed his magnetism and presence, and he began to act in plays.  On one such occasion, Paul Robeson came to see the play, and afterwards, Robeson came backstage to praise the cast, and he and Belafonte met.  It began a lifelong friendship between them, and Robeson had a huge effect on Harry Belafonte:  “Paul Robeson had been my first great formative influence; you might say that he gave me my backbone.  Martin Luther King was the second.  He nourished my soul.”

    Belafonte’s artistic career had begun, and he went back and forth between singing and acting, but eventually he became a star and made a comfortable living.  He never forgot his roots, however, and he never forgot the call to justice, instilled by his mother at an early age.  All during his early career in show business, he worked for human rights, supporting the labor union movement, refusing to perform in the segregated South, constantly raising money to support many human rights causes.  In the spring of 1956, in the early months of the Montgomery bus boycott, Belafonte received a call from someone who said: “You don’t know me, Mr. Belafonte, but my name is Martin Luther King, Jr. “  Belafonte replied:  Oh, I know you – everybody knows you.”  

    King asked to meet him at Abyssinian Baptist Church in Harlem, where King would be preaching soon.  They met and began another lifelong friendship.  He supplemented MLK’s salary during the civil rights years.  The reconciliation meeting between King’s SCLC and SNCC in 1962 took place in Harry Belafonte’s apartment in New York.  Belafonte took out a life insurance policy on MLK, with Coretta Scott King as the beneficiary.  Belafonte helped to fund the Montgomery Improvement Association, SCLC, SNCC, and the Freedom Riders. He provided the entertainment for the Selma March.  MLK would write his famous anti-Vietnam speech in Belafonte’s apartment in New York.  Belafonte would also assist Coretta in picking out the suit for MLK to be buried in after King’s assassination.  

    Like many others in the human rights movement, Belafonte received his share of threats and harassment.  One such threat came in Baltimore, when he found a Maryland state trooper standing in his dressing room, glowering at him.  The trooper was there to provide security for Belafonte, but he seemed like a menacing presence to HB. When HB got back to his hotel room, he found an envelope with these words:  “Dear Mr. Belafonte, I give you these six bullets because they will never be used.  None of them will take a human life, because my experience listening to you and Dr. King made me realize I have been serving the wrong forces. I should be in your ranks.  Tonight was transforming for me.”  It was signed by the state trooper who had been with him that night.

    Belafonte also felt his heart turning towards Africa, and he got deeply involved in the African freedom movements, especially in South Africa, when it was still controlled by European powers.  He co-founded TransAfrica, which created the economic sanctions against South Africa.  He became a leading spokesperson for seeking an end to apartheid. He had become friends with Nelson Mandela while Mandela was still in prison.  After Mandela’s release from prison, he asked HB to coordinate a tour of America. Belafonte agreed to share the duties with Roger Wilkins, and in 1990 Nelson Mandela came to America.  The tour was an astonishing success.

    Here's how he humbly described his work:  “All of us see the world as it exists; fewer envision what it might look like if made to change; and fewer still try to put together the people and ideas that make change happen.  Paul Robeson was one; Martin Luther King, Jr. was one;  Bobby Kennedy became one.  And, of course, Nelson Mandela.  I had just enough vision to see that they were visionaries, and to do what I could to help.”  Harry Belafonte had eyes to see and ears to hear – as Jesus once put it, “If you have ears, then listen!”  Belafonte listened and acted, and we are all so grateful that he did.



Monday, July 31, 2023

"MORE THAN I IMAGINED"

 “MORE THAN I IMAGINED”

Today’s title phrase is the title of my friend John Blake’s newest book, whose full title is “More Than I Imagined: What a Black Man Discovered About the White Mother He Never Knew.” It was released in May by Random House, and it is a memoir about his growing up as an interracial child in the rough streets of Baltimore.  His previous book “Children of the Movement” was also a fine book.

I first met John when he came to Oakhurst in 1996 to do a story on us for the Atlanta Journal Constitution, for whom he was a reporter.  The AJC gave us a full page story by John, and he became interested in us and in the church’s story.  He started worshipping with us and became a member.  Later her became an elder on the Session.  I officiated at he and Rev. Terrylyn Pons’ wedding at her church on the other side of Atlanta.  In his new book, John credits Oakhurst with helping him to recover his faith.

John describes his journey in “More Than I Imagined,” and he begins it in his upbringing on the tough streets of Baltimore, streets that were depicted in “The Wire.”  John and his brother Patrick lived with his father in Baltimore – he did not know who his mother was.  Learning her identity and her story is part of the “more than I imagined” of this book, as well as John’s reconciliation with his mother (and his father) and parts of his mother’s white family who had previously rejected him.  John’s father was a merchant marine, and so he traveled a lot.  When he traveled, John and Patrick would be farmed out to various relatives and the underground foster care system.  One of those foster care givers, Aunt Fannie, was a person who terrorized John and Patrick and caused them to be filled with resentment and anger. But another Aunt (this aunt, a biological aunt), Aunt Sylvia, treated them with love and respect – she was tough but fair, demanding but compassionate.  She knew that she was raising Black boys in a white world, and she wanted them to be tough but to also have love at the center of their hearts.

John grew up amidst violence, despair, and struggle, but people like his brother Patrick,  Aunt Sylvia and even his father helped him to find his center as a child of God – a child who was illegal when he was born, a child whom the institution of white supremacy told was worthless, a child abandoned by his mother.  Yet he heard that he was a child of God.  Reading and books were also a prime way that he escaped the pain and his seeming destiny of street life.  Many people threw seeds of love and vision along his path, and he was fortunate enough to find some of those seeds and nourish them in his heart.

He eventually found his mother, but I will leave it to you to read the book to see how her love prevailed in his heart, even under the worst of circumstances.  He also had encounters with his racist maternal grandfather in ghostly, eerie encounters, which forms one of the big mysteries of his book.  He also met his mother’s racist sister, and their developing relationship is one of the powerful stories in the book, giving us hope in a hopeless world.  John discovered in his journey a truth that becomes one of the mantras of his book:  “Facts don’t change people; relationships do.”

John’s story speaks to our system of race which targets those classified as Black - especially black males – to be put on the road to the prison/industrial complex.  His story is an inspiring one, but those of us classified as “white” must take care not to judge the system by John’s (and Patrick’s) remarkable escape from it.  We are so invested in denying that the system of race exists, and John’s story can be used as an antidote to that.  John puts it like this towards the end of his book:  “A choice is unavoidable.  I once wrote that America is in the middle of another “irrepressible conflict” where white Americans will eventually be forced to choose between becoming a vibrant, multireligious, multiracial democracy, or a “hollowed out” democracy where one racial group rules the rest.  The status quo will no longer be sustainable.”

I highly recommend John’s book, and I hope that you’ll get it and get taken into its narrative – as Caroline put it, it is a page turner!  It will anger you, make you wonder, and inspire you.  Most of all, it will call you to give thanks for the vision and possibility of America that John calls us to see in this fine memoir.