A couple of months ago I picked up Bound for Cannon: The Underground Railroad and the War for the Soul of America. History is one of my weakest subjects, but as I see over and over again that the life we live is not isolated in a vacuum, I've begun to wish for a better understanding of the world we live in.
Specifically, I picked up Bound for Canaan after listening to a multiethnicity webinar and hearing the names of men and women who gave up their lives, reputations, and careers in both the abolitionist movement and eventually the Civil Rights movement. This book fascinated me and my own ignorance astounds me -- it lays out the slave trade before the Union was even formed, highlighting the many who opposed it or knew it would threaten the Union later on yet were unable to give it up. It walks through the early days, long before a sophisticated network was formed, before the railroads were invented and thus before language of stations and conductors were in use. It tells the story of countless men and women, slave and free, rich and poor, named and nameless who either believed deeply or were merely sympathetic enough to help a human gain his freedom. It does not shy away from the fact that even when fugitives made it to the safest of northern states, they were still never truly free (Canada wins here).
There is so much I can say about what I am learning and what I do not know. One of the earlier themes that struck me: the heart of the abolitionist movement was driven by Quakers and Protestants, by people whose faith drove them to form Anti-Slavery Societies, to shape laws, and even to break them. The abolitionist movement was a way that many people found an active way to live out their faith and their prayers. Many were driven by their conviction.
"We may perform works of benevolence and kindess that are 'acceptable to God and approved of men,' which require but little self-denial. But wen duty calls us to engage in such, that are unpopular, and in the discharge of which we risk the loss of friendship of those we love to be faithful therein, requires more devotion to principle and more firmness than many possess, and yet it is the path which leads to the enjoyment of that peace and consolation which the world can neither give nor take away." -Isaac Hopper
"I was led to show that the Gospel, if complied with, led every true follower of Jesus Christ to endure every burden, break every yoke, and let the oppressed go free," he proclaimed, "and those who did not comply therewith, were not true Christians, but deceivers of themselves, and therefore, anti-christians." He preached to everyone he met, drilling away at complacency, sanctimony, and self-justification. He had only contempt for those who "chose to stop, curl down on their fathers' sins, making that a couch of security," by condemning slavery in principle, but accommodating it in practice as a "burden" laid upon them by their ancestors and now impossible to change."And here we are, in church pews that must work intentionally to connect our faith with social action. Here we are, congregations stagnant, apathetic, or worse--completely unaware of the movement that is Black Lives Matter. Of social media bringing to light, trying to wake us up to a reality that our brothers and sisters have known all along.
I am trying to hold back from impassioned statements, from letting my love for words fuel this post on its own. But I'm going to keep going. Because I read these stories in this book and have to, have to draw a parallel. Have to ask if we are missing a moment to step out.
And then, Charleston.
Since Darrell and I got engaged in April, progress through this book has been slow. I brought it with me to Disneyland and to SUP, but otherwise leisurely reading (not that reading about slavery is leisurely) has been replaced with wedding plans and ideas and dreaming. And in some ways, I feel like my ability to leave this book on my nightstand and not touch it for weeks parallels my attitude towards McKinney, Rachel Dolezal (of significantly less importance), Charleston. As in, I have a choice. I have a choice to engage. I have to choose to still learn, I have to choose to still care.
I don't know where to go from that sentence.
Somehow with a white man shooting six black women and three black men at a historically black church in South Carolina where the Confederate flag is still flying, something inside me tells me to press in. I do not feel lament. I have felt frustrated but anger is not stirring deep within my soul if I am to be honest. Maybe I am numb. Maybe it is hard to hold tragedy in one part of my brain and excited anticipation for marriage in the rest of it. Maybe I know I should care but I have to try to. I don't know, I'm trying to be honest. The most honest thing I know is to pull up this unfinished journal page from Multiethnic Staff Conference and tell myself that every person Imago Dei, an image of God. And I force myself to click a few links on the victims and #saytheirnames and to read and to learn, even when I'd rather work on our wedding website. But press in is the call for these things, right? And right now pressing in...is finishing this book.After making some progress this afternoon, tonight I am recalling and piecing together these sentences I have been telling myself about "this book I'm reading about the Underground Railroad" (the words I've used to tell others what I'm reading these days). And I'm realizing there are some lies and this is why I'm writing. Because I need to remind myself of the truth.
I have told myself that I, that we, have the choice to learn about our nation's history. Parallel: Likewise, it feels like I/we have the choice to care about Ferguson/Baltimore/Eric Gardner/McKinney/Charleston/Walter Scott/Trayvon Martin/is the list long enough yet? Like we get to choose if (1) we want to remain ignorant of racial reality, or (2) if we want to choose to care. But that is a lie. That is a lie because (1) the gospel compels us to care and to hurt when another part of the body is hurting, and (2) it is a lie because these things hurt us all. White supremacy and racism and model minority all form and shape our nation. all hurt the people who are in it, and (3) the half-quote you see on that entry says, "Acts of treason we see against people are acts of treason against our God." This sin and violence we see towards others. is sin and violence. against our God. and so. Do I have the option to not care? I don't. I have to learn. I have to pay attention. I am a part, whether I want to our not.
But you know what else is true? How easy it is to leave this book untouched. How engagement and my personal life and exciting and happy things keep me away from pain, lament, suffering with those who suffer. Jesus, you did those things so much better than I do.
I've also told myself and others that I am reading this book to learn about those who lay their lives down in the abolitionist movement. But as I formed that sentence again in my head in the shower tonight (I have told many people this because everyone asks because it seems an unusual topic to be reading about), I realized - No. More importantly than reading about the underground conductors, the leaders, the speakers, the pastors...regardless of black or white...the stories I must learn to treasure are that of the slaves. The lives lost, the lives captured, the deep treason and injustice of imago dei. How easy it is to marvel at the leaders who sacrificed so much, when in those very pages are the stories of such injustice and wrong. Not to say those stories have not stirred me or angered me...but even so. My verbal response has been I am learning about the leaders. But to hold that with integrity, I must acknowledge, pay even deeper attention to honest truth about slavery. The stories and names and lives lost and dignity destroyed in the horrible uncountable number of slaves.
And when I think about Black Lives Matter - will I listen to those stories? Countless lost. Countless families hurting. A whole subculture I don't know about or understand (made obvious through the #askrachel twitter feed). Parallel: Grow my heart to care about these untold stories. About this injustice that I...am turning a blind eye to? That I am accommodating, like the excerpt above? I don't know, but I know that in my suburban world I don't know how to pay attention.My friend/colleague posted his album of lament, asking us to listen only if we will try to lament. [His words: Please only listen to this if you intent to TRY to lament. You don't have to know how. Just try. Tell the Lord how terrible this is. Tell him how you feel about it. Tell him to do something, NOW. Tell him to bring justice. Don't ask. Tell. And when you run out of words and all you have are tears, give those to Jesus too.] Yesterday, I couldn't click the link. There was the bustle of home life, there was soaking in the excitement of parents and future in-laws, there was a red wedding dress hanging in my old room, there was a little brother at home. There was a temptation to not care. There was feeling like a hypocrite for thinking I should post something on social media yet knowing my family and my friends around me didn't hear me talk about it or "do" anything. I didn't listen.
I think I'm ready to try. I think I'm ready to listen. I think I'm ready to try even if I sound fake or hypocritical but I have to at least try to speak and call others to pray. I think, I think in picking up this book again, in realizing how I thought I had the choice to care, how I've externally/with my words paid less attention to the stories of the slaves/the stories of those under oppression...I find myself caught in this too. Find myself here, at the end of this blog post, saying Jesus, I need you too.
