As I've followed the news surrounding the terror attack in Charleston, SC, I have felt a strong, but familiar sensation overtake me. As the news cycle progressed, the media began to exploit the usual terminology to describe the situation like "lone gunman," "mentally disturbed lone," "violent tragedy," and then "forgiveness, healing, unity." What became a terror attack based on racism was successfully changed into a debate about gun control and mental illness. Now, that is not to say that those issues aren't related, but America will find any issue to distract itself with in order to avoid the topic of racial violence.This familiar sensation that overtook me was righteous anger- the rage of moral indignation. It finally came to a head for me when I was sitting in the duty room watching CNN while eating breakfast and a political commentator appeared and exhorted people to view this as a time of coming together and unity in the wake of a tragedy. I exploded angrily at the television "But this attack clearly illustrates that we are not united! That we are divided; there are divisions in our society that has been and is costing people's lives!"
Like many people, I stewed, fists clenched, in a cauldron of my own righteous rage. Many say that the attacker responsible was sick in his head. That may be true, but we as a nation are sick in the heart with racism and hatred. I was astonished to see how quickly the media went to mental illness and gun safety issues rather than basic human rights. This man made his agenda clear- it was an agenda of hate and racial provocation. Instead of being labelled a terrorist, he became "the lone gunman" in an "isolated incident." What's isolated about it? This AME church has been at the center of racially motivated violence since it's inception. And again, I heard the calls for healing and forgiveness. I was touched by the response of the victims' families when facing the terrorist to proclaim that they forgave him. However, as a nation I find the calls for healing, forgiveness, and unity entirely premature. We are not united. If there's anything this year has illustrated, it's that America couldn't be more divided and tense over the subject of racial justice. Why don't we start by honoring that? I know that my anger is more than just anger, but also sadness and shame. I hear the cry of lament wailing deep within my soul: "How long, O Lord, must we wait until you deliver us?"
The anger mixes with the sadness and shame as I feel helpless. I feel as though I'm watching my country sink deeper and deeper into the very depths of a hell we have created for ourselves. Where do we go with our righteous anger? Is that the only fuel for our calls of justice? What else speaks to us? Like many people in a time of tragedy and crisis, I look to do something. I've noted that many people on social media have focused their attention on removing the Confederate flag from a nearby memorial in Charleston, SC along with other symbols of oppression that serve as what Jon Stewart termed "racist wallpapering." While I find all that commendable, I cannot help but wonder if we are not seeing the forest for the sake of the trees. It's amazing to see how much activist energy went to the Confederate flag and not to the media, law enforcement, the judge who presided over the hearing, etc. I know why: it's a visible sign, and when something is visible it is concrete and it makes it easier to deal with. You can't fix racism the way you would remove a flag. It is a disease of the heart, nurtured and nuanced over the ages. In my continuing anger, I cannot help but feel as though the action is akin to putting a band-aid on an open knife found.
And so I try to talk about it, to raise awareness, raise consciousness, and find avenues to work. I am inspired by the black community's capacity for hope. Some commentators have charged that black people go too quickly to forgiveness and hope, an assessment with which I agree to an extent. However, I think the subtlety is the nuance between positivism (as many view hope) and the hope that comes in the lament. Hope is a ragged edge, not a triumphal parade. The hopeful are often the dejected stragglers of a broken army who long to see their native land and faith in their cause restored. Hope is a madness, because it is the desperate clinging to a greater truth and reality beyond this one.
In the New Testament, there are many accounts of spirits testifying to the identity of Jesus as the Messiah. They cry out to him and call him the Son of God, and Jesus responds by rebuking them and sending them out of the person they possess. In Acts, Paul does the same when a woman possessed by a spirit of prophecy continually annoys him by following him around and marking him as an apostle of Jesus. The Holy Spirit silences the other spirits, evil or otherwise, in this world because God does not wish for them to speak on God's behalf. And if God can listen then He can certainly speak. When God does speak, it is to testify to hope. God gives voice to the hope in the lament that there is a better, more excellent way to go about things. God silences the unclean spirits of racism and hatred to remind us of love, hope, and peace.
However, this call to peace is not a call to order. The call to peace should not be one to pacify or placate. The people in this country who cry out for justice and deliverance are not petulant children refusing to go to bed on time. They are human beings- fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, daughters, sons, teachers, preachers, social workers- who refuse to be slaughtered, refuse to be silenced, and refuse to be targets. The call to hope is a grim one. In Romans 12:21, Paul challenges us to not be overcome with evil, but to instead overcome evil with good. That is a bitter challenge when you feel as though the water is at your neck, or that you have no safe place to lay your head, to pray to God, or even to walk your dog or attend a pool party. The righteous anger that boils out of our shame and sadness is different from other forms of anger because it is the outcry of our ragged hope in the midst of our howling lament. Let's just take a moment to honor the anger, to honor the lament, and heed seriously the cries for deliverance from the suffering people in our midst.
