We live in a world that puts profit over people and bull markets over breathing souls. A world where screens and mirrors are more important than the humans behind them. When we stand before the Judge on the Day of Judgement, we will hear the words: “Take off your shoes, you are standing on holy ground.” White people posting and protesting for the protection and affirmation of Black lives: We are standing on holy ground — sacred spaces that our people have been trampling on for centuries.
I feel as though I’m walking into a sacred space with unwashed hands, grasping sacred objects and claiming them as my own. I’m a pastor--I hold the sacred stories of another people in my unclean hands. I’ve read sacred words. The sacred stories tell about the ancestors (mine?) who ransacked the Holy of Holies. Today, Christian pastors ransack the holy of holies within vulnerable souls, using sacred writings to justify oppression, and to condemn the most sensitive organs of the human body (our sex and our love) with a one-size-fits-all sledgehammer of condemnation. All this in the name of "Love." Empire engages in the destruction of a holy place, then appropriates the sacred words of the revolution, giving meaningless gestures to soothe the ransacked people.
I feel as though I’m walking over a sanctified people with my boots on their neck. I know “our” cops stand with boots on people’s necks. I condemn their heinous actions. But, I’m not talking about cops. I’m not talking about our racist, “pussy-grabbing” President either--though his boot is also on our necks. I’m talking about my own new boots. I’m staring at my “perfected” reflection on this iPhone with trendy new protestor’s boots on my feet. The Sanctified People have been speaking, resisting, fighting, and prophesying long before I took my first beautiful-blonde-baby-girl’s breath. But, I can’t see them when I’m busy staring at my own reflection. I don’t want to die--I prefer to share the insights of people who have already died. I prefer trendy protestor’s boots before they are muddied with soot and blood and dirt. I’m too busy walking with my new boots to stop and listen. I’m too busy posting *my* opinions on the matter, and re-posting trendy memes. It’s uncomfortable to look into the eyes (the windows of the soul) of a sanctified people because they might not like me, my opinions, or my memes. So, I gaze at a mirror of my own reflection, new boots and all, and stay safe among easy-going people who look a lot like me. Come to think of it, I always feel victimized when someone asks me to take my boot off their neck.
I feel as though I’m walking through a sacred moment in time; the day the Lord has made for (un)rest. It’s Judgement Day. I’m unprepared. I’m not ready for justice to rain down like fire. There’s so much work I didn’t do! I knew I needed to do my homework, but I was too busy playing, eating, and shopping last week. I knew people were weary, hungry, and naked. But, now that the time for justice has come, the people on the streets don’t want what I have to give. I’d like to bring “them” in (it’s always they/them/their, except when someone politely asks). Let me open the door of my home that I shut in their face last week. Let me give my extra food I’ve always had to the stranger who I’ve never invited to dinner. The vintage clothing stores are closed (‘cause, the plague), but let me give what I have of last year’s trends. The problem is that the people in the streets on this Sacred Day of (Un)rest don’t want my home, my food, or my coat. So, I’ll join them after I catch up on my homework. I promise I’ll be able to understand. I truly want to be part of this historic moment. I’d like to join the movement. In fact, I’d like to lead. Yes, let me lead. Let me remind you that I’ve always done things the right way--they say my image is pretty perfect. Today is a Sacred Day of (Un)rest. Stop the protests! I need more time to do what I should have done yesterday, but cannot do today.
