There’s an informal practice that’s organically emerged between us, and I like it. When one of you comes across something – an article, poem, song, etc… that moves you, sometimes you share it with me.
I assume it’s for my own spiritual deepening, along with the possibility that it might be more widely shared in our newsletter. And a majority of the time it is.
It has never occurred to me to seek the ‘permission’ of the Steering Committee to post something you’ve shared.
Until now, that is.
Monday I received something written by Matt Moberg, the chaplain for the NBA Minnesota Timberwolves. He had posted it January 7, the day Renee Good was killed.
I wondered about having it put on our social media. But it’s feisty. I wanted to take the temperature of our leaders before going rogue.
Here’s what Mr. Moberg said….
If you’re a church posting
prayers for peace and unity today
while my city bleeds in the street,
miss me with that softness you only wear when it costs you nothing.
Don’t dress avoidance up as holiness.
Don’t call silence “peacemaking.”
Don’t light a candle and think it substitutes for showing up.
Tonight an ICE agent took a photo of me next to my car, looked me in the eye and told me, “We’ll be seeing you soon.
Not metaphor.
Not hyperbole.
A threat dressed up in a badge and a paycheck.
Peace isn’t what you ask for
when the boot is already on someone’s neck.
Peace is what the powerful ask for
when they don’t want to be interrupted.
Unity isn’t neutral.
Unity that refuses to name violence
is just loyalty to the ones holding the weapons.
Stop using scripture like chloroform.
Stop calling your fear “wisdom.”
Stop pretending Jesus was crucified
because he preached good vibes and personal growth.
You don’t get to quote scripture like a lullaby
while injustice stays wide awake.
You don’t get to ask God to “heal the land”
if you won’t even look at the wound.
There is a kind of peace that only exists
because it refuses to tell the truth.
That peace is a lie.
And lies don’t grow anything worth saving.
The scriptures you love weren’t written to keep things calm. They were written to set things right.
And sometimes the most faithful thing you can do
is stop praying around the pain and start standing inside it.
If that makes you uncomfortable—good.
Growth always is.
Clearly this is an unapologetic call to action.
It speaks directly to our reading extoling works over faith, active engagement over theoretical theology. Or, often heard in Unitarian circles – deeds not creeds.
This ideology has never been more relevant, and in these difficult January weeks since Renee’s death, I’ve been reminded of my experience as minister of the church that provided sanctuary to protesters after Brionna Taylor’s killing.
Five nights of protests, surrounded by riot-geared police. One night in jail surrounded by fellow arrested protesters.
First Unitarian Church of Louisville heeded the call to action that already resided in our heads and burned in our hearts.
While many accolades were received about our fortitude and faith during those days and nights, I knew that others would’ve done the same.
We were in a hot spot during the heat, and we said yes in that way.
Needless to say, the heat of circumstances varies, depending on location and timeframe. A myriad of other factors plays into how a church responds to situations such as the Black Lives Matter crisis (so to speak) of 2020 and the ICE crisis of 2026.
Certainly the heat is different in Central Illinois than in south Minneapolis.
Despite the varying externals, there remains the choice for faith communities to take a stand in a capacity that fits for them…
for churches as collectives, and individuals that comprise those churches.
I admit to you that I am disappointed in my choice regarding showing up this time around. The other local Unitarian minister, Rebecca Gant, contacted several progressive colleagues about going to Minneapolis last week.
There was a nationwide call for a clergy showing of solidarity. She was going, and did anyone want to join her?
I decided against going, rationalizing that I had done all that before, and now was doing start-up things here at home…
…hosting a Disciples of Christ clergy gathering to show them our new space, and working to renovate our religious exploration classrooms so a visiting prospective-congregant parent would be impressed with our offerings.
I regret that decision. Had I postponed the clergy gathering I would have had much more to share with my colleagues.
And more importantly, which do you think is the more important messaging to a potential congregant – if the toddler chairs are painted two-tone teal or if she comes to learn that the minster of this church chose to prioritize showing up where messaging from faith leaders is critically important?
If I could have a do-over I would choose to put my energy for those few days in what gives meaning to identifying as progressive…radically progressive.
I’m not muddled in the mire of that miss. I’ve moved on to musing about our messaging.
In my short tenure with you, we’ve gone from acclimating to the new minister, to discernment and decision about affiliation, and moving into our new home.
A heavy lift for two and a half years. But we’re not done. In fact, we’re just now hitting our stride!
We’ve always known our heart. We figured out our labeling – Christian Unitarian and Disciples of Christ. And hallelujah, we’re finally home!
Now it’s time to have a presence, to make known who we are.
Recently our Marketing Team doubled in size and meets multiple times a month, working to shape our messaging and branding. But it goes beyond a group of 5.
While our congregational culture has been in place for some time now – yes, we know who we are – the question now is….
What’s our message to everyone else about who we are?
This time of our emergence coincides with a time when our country is on fire. And the hearts of many, like our own, are broken.
How do we let them know that we’re here?
The Marketing Team is considering leading with a strong tagline –
Uncommonly Christian ~ Radically Progressive.
Uncommon in our non-traditional Jesus theology, and super-charged in our progressive positioning.
Such language is designed to set us a little apart. We know that we are different.
“Why, when you wondered if you should stay in existence or not, did you stay?”
“Because where else would we go?”
That’s great! It’s also theological and theoretical. And internal.
Are we comfortable describing ourselves as different/uncommon? Are we okay saying we’re radical?
Are we comfortable reflecting, repeating, responding to radical messaging, such as the chaplain’s poem?
Here are a couple of examples of real-life considerations:
Should we advertise on Centennials’ sign out front (until we get our own) that our January theme is Practicing Resistance, even if that accompanies our initial ‘We’ve arrived!’ messaging?
Also, there was a nativity scene in a Catholic church in which the priest removed the figurines of Jesus, Joseph, and Mary – the refugee holy family – and replaced them with a sign saying “ICE was here.”
One of our congregants sent me this story and a photo, and said, “Now THAT is a church!” Indeed.
Uncommon. Radical.
While we may see it through a positive lens, is it positive and powerful for them, but maybe a little too ‘out there’ for us?
Would such a statement in the supposed-to-be joyful season of Christmas be a bit of a killjoy?
It makes me think of the Christmas carol “God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman.”
The first verse basically says…
Rest and be merry.
Don’t be dismayed.
Remember Jesus was born
To save us from Satan when we sin.
So be comfortable and joyous,
Yes, comfy and joyful
Oh tidings of comfort and joy
It’s a comfortable song to sing, isn’t it? And yet, in these days of bloodshed and loss of life, of ongoing protest and near uncontested power, as suffering abounds in our land, where is its relevance?
Whose words, this song’s or the chaplain’s, would you guess Jesus would endorse?
My friends, these are not comfortable times.
Our ‘coming out’ party happens to coincide with one of the darkest periods in our lives.
What do we want the invitation to our faith party to say?
Some might ask how much of a difference any this makes.
When discerning our plan, what can be done to respond to the call to action, will any of it end up mattering?
The answer keeps running through my head in the form of a mom statement. You know how kids will make a case for some off-color thing, and the mom refutes and replies, “What if everybody did that?”
We’ve all been that kid, and many of us have been that parent.
I keep thinking, “What if all the protesters stayed home? What if the response from the masses was radio silence? Where would we be then?”
I have no doubt – none! – that it matters, even if my little presence/our little presence only accounts for two tiny grains of sand next to this Tsunami.
Presence. Resistance. Resilience.
It just so happens that, on this very day, we are transitioning from the theme of Practicing Resistance to Embodying Resilience, our February theme.
Resistance and resilience. AND, not or.
In that spirit I leave you with this poem, entitled Listening for the Singing.
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Never have I heard so many congregants speak of the importance of being a part of a group as now.
We are not alone. Accompanying us, this very day, this very moment, is all the peace that has ever been and will ever be. Yes, along with the noose.
And so, it is ours to hum, to call to others, to let them know we are here, and that they are not alone either.
What will the melody of our tune be, to best let them know that we are here, and who it is that is here?
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