Have you ever heard of the name Bryan Stevenson? He is a black civil rights lawyer that has helped 140 people to get off of death row.
During an interview he did with Mel Robbins he recounts a phone call he had with a death row client when he was informing the client that all the appeals had been exhausted and there was no way to avoid his execution.
His client was intellectually challenged, and when upset had difficulty getting his words out, which he was upon hearing this news.
The man began to sob on the other end of the phone, with Bryan quietly and sadly held the space, he was reminded of a moment – a life-changing moment -in his past when another person had trouble getting words out.
A ten-year-old Bryan had been taken to church by his mom and was with some of his friends when he noticed a skinny younger unknown kid off to the side.
When he went over and said, “Hey man, what’s your name?” the younger boy stuttered as he tried to answer, at which time Bryan began to laugh at him.
Bryan’s mother, who witnessed this, marched over, pulled her son aside and after admonishing him for laughing at someone who had trouble articulating, instructed him to go back over to the boy and apologize.
“OK”, Bryan complied. As he started over to the other boy his mom stopped him. Dissatisfied with the original plan, she said, “After you tell that little boy that you’re sorry, I want you to hug him.”
Bryan rolled his eyes. “Alright.”
But before he took more than a step, his mom stopped him again. “After you tell that boy that you’re sorry and hug him, you will tell him that you love him.”
“Mom, I can’t tell that kid that I love him!” But when his mom gave him the look that says This is not negotiable, Bryan slogged over.
He said to the little boy, “Look man…I’m sorry” and he describes lunging at the kid, giving him a little-boy version of a man hug.
Then, as insincerely as he could, said “Um, I don’t know, well, um… I love you.”
At that, the little boy hugged Bryan back, and then whispered flawlessly in his ear, “I love you too.”
Bryan the attorney was remembering this while his death row client, momentarily inconsolable, had tried to get his words out.
When his client collected himself, he said, “I want to say thank you for all that you’ve done for me. And I want to say I love you for trying to save my life.”
After that the phone was hung up, the man was pulled away by guards, strapped to a gurney, and was executed.
About that experience Bryan says he came to a fundamental understanding. His self-realization was that he doesn’t do this work because of his training, or even just to fight human rights.
At the heart of what drives him to do this work for these flawed people is his recognition that he too is broken.
He does this difficult work because he knows he knows of his own flaws, and because of his deep belief – as he personally has experienced it – in the power of redemption, of grace, restoration, reconciliation and mercy.
This man, about whom a film was made entitled Just Mercy, makes a powerful statement that each of us are so much more than the worst things we’ve done. This applies to us as individuals, as families, as a nation.
Recently we’ve celebrated the nation-centered holiday of Memorial Day. Yesterday I saw many stars and stripes at the No Kings Rally on Flag Day. July 4th Independence Day is coming up. So is Juneteenth, a new holiday commemorating the end of the enslavement of people in our country.
One of, if not the worst thing we’ve done as a nation has been not only enslaving people but also continuing to mistreat people of African descent.
Wouldn’t it be great if the crux of ‘Make America Great Again’ had to do with our sorrow and reconciliation efforts around that?
I think of Juneteenth both as an observance and as a celebration. It’s unique in that there are two sides to this holiday… joy, freedom, resilience, all laid against the dark backdrop of enslavement.
We’ll hear more about that in a moment.
First, I want to share another story that Bryan tells, this time about when he was a law student, nervous to be visiting death row for the first time.
He had been sent to inform a condemned man about the postponement of his execution.
When the man was led into the visitation room by guards Bryan remembers being struck by how burdened he was with restraints… handcuffs on his wrists, a chain around his waist, shackles on his ankles.
The young student and inmate shared the exact same birthday…month, day, year. It was a point of connection, and they fell into a conversation, asking and sharing about each other’s lives.
Before they knew it, the visitation period scheduled for one hour stretched to two, then to three. By then the waiting guards were angry. They burst into the room, threw the man against the wall, and, despite Bryan’s earnest objections, roughly put back on the chains and cuffs.
When they were done, they began pushing the shackled inmate out of the room.
Bryan recalls the unforgettable moment just before they shoved him through the door. The man planted his feet, bringing the movement to an abrupt halt. After taking a moment to console the worried young law student still at the table, the condemned man threw his head back and began to sing a hymn.
I’m pressing on the upward way,
New heights I’m gaining every day;
Still praying as I onward bound,
“Lord, plant my feet on higher ground.”
Finally he was muscled through the door, but you could hear his voice continuing to sing down that prison hallway…
Lord, lift me up, and let me stand
By faith on Canaan’s tableland;
A higher plane than I have found, Lord, plant my feet on higher ground.
My friends, do we plant our feet? If so, what is the imperative of that planting?
It can go in one of two ways…either our feet are planted in status quo where there is no movement, no marching across the room as Bryan’s mother did that day at church so long ago, no rallying as thousands did just steps from here yesterday.
If we approach Juneteenth as an observance as well as a celebration, then what do we observe? What parts of our history do we really expose ourselves to?
When I was a minister of a Unitarian church in Louisville – the same church that provided sanctuary for the protesters of Brianna Taylor’s murder – I suggested on more than one occasion that we discern whether to issue a statement of apology for our church’s contributions to the marginalization of people of African descent.
You might wonder why that would be necessary, coming from a progressive UU church that offered safe space for civil rights activists.
It wasn’t always exactly that way. In Louisville there is a prominent family named Speed. When we were there a couple of months ago we visited the Speed Art Museum, the premiere museum in town. Dating back generations, this is one of the premiere families in town.
Joshua Fry Speed roomed with Abraham Lincoln as a young man in Springfield, Illinois, Lincoln becoming a close family friend. James Speed was appointed Attorney General of the United States by President Lincoln.
Yes, movers and shakers. Two other details about the Speed family…
They “owned” and benefited from the labor of enslaved people. And they were members of the First Unitarian Church of Louisville.
The Speeds were generous donors to the church, and we all know that that kind of money can open doors figuratively and literally for congregations.
Needless to say, some of their wealth came from the labor of those whose freedom we celebrate on Juneteenth.
The idea of a statement of apology never gained traction in my tenure there.
As we, especially people – a vast majority of us here – born into white privilege, approach this Thursday’s Juneteenth holiday…
…as we hopefully accept the invitation for it to be an observance, it’s imperative that we look at the realities of our individual and collective histories.
Let me give you examples from my own history.
How on many occasions I’ve told some story, unnecessarily specifying the ethnicity of black people but not white ones, and thus inadvertently othering them
How, as a middle schooler, I told the black young man that my older sister was dating, in an upbeat, complimentary fashion, how noteworthy it was that he didn’t talk like most black people that I had been around.
And some years later, telling a black office manager at my college, in the same complimentary manner, how cool it was that she had done so well for herself to have this job.
The looks on both these people’s faces following my well-meaning and white-privileged observances of them, communicated 1,000 words, although few were spoken in response.
I’m not suggesting that we here at NCC consider issuing a public statement of apology. I’m not suggesting that we center our experience of this holiday as one of self-flagellation.
I am suggesting, though, that, for Juneteenth to be truly meaningful for us whose ancestors created a need for this bittersweet holiday…
…for us who in our own personal and affiliated histories have made contributions to racial discrimination to some degree…
…we must look closely enough to determine if, and then why, we plant our feet.
Does the planting of our feet represent a self-allowance of disengagement, especially during these times when diversity and protection against the marginalization are being callously ripped away daily?
Or do our planted feet more resemble the steadfast determination of the inmate that day, to at least attempt to put a halt to the abuses of powerful authority…
to self-empower by using our voices to sing about pressing on the upward way, by singing We Shall Overcome at rallies in our town…
…by heeding the words of Jesus as He spoke about true power when he said to those persecuting the adulterous woman, “Let you without sin cast the first stone.”
Jesus allowed himself to be close enough to the sinners, lepers, outcasts to to behold the humanity, the complexities, the inherent worth and dignity of people.
In this clip we will hear Bryan speak of this love that Jesus had, that we are called to.
After such powerful, grace-filled words, I don’t know that there’s a lot more to say.
I’ll conclude my reflections here to say that there is much power and redemption and mercy in the five simple words we’ve heard today…I’m sorry. I love you.
As we move toward this day we call Juneteenth, may these words resonate – in our hearts, out loud, through our actions.
I look forward to hearing your thoughts about these words, and this fine man who gives us a shining example of what it means to continue in our time the work that Jesus began in his.
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