“For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ.”
Many gifts, many members; diverse, and yet united; mutually connected, interdependent. We are one body in Christ – not just as members of this congregation, or as members of the Southwestern Pennsylvania Synod, or the ELCA. We are one body in Christ with all who have been called by the Holy Spirit, across the world.
We are one body in Christ, and part of our body can’t breathe.
We are one body in Christ, and part of our body can’t breathe because of a virus that is a danger to all of us. Part of our body can’t breathe because this same virus is also disproportionately killing people of color in this country. These lopsided statistics are a result of deeply rooted inequality and systemic oppression, which includes access to food and medical care, as well as employment patterns. Christ’s body can’t breathe.
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| Photo by Obi Onyeador on Unsplash |
We are one body in Christ, and part of our body can’t breathe because the knee of white supremacy is on the necks of Black people, and has been for 400 years. We cry out in anguish at the murder of George Floyd in Minneapolis, and remember also Breonna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery, and too many others who have been killed because of hatred and the internalized bias about the color of their skin, often by the very people called to protect and serve. Christ’s body can’t breathe.
Addressing racism is the work of everyone, but it is especially the work of the body of Christ, and in particular the work of those of us who are white. It is our work, because of the commandment to love our neighbor. It is our work, because we remember the creation stories in which God breathes life into a human body made in God’s own image. It is our work, because in baptism we have been joined to the body of Christ. Fellow members of the body of Christ are dying, and when one part of the body suffers, the whole body suffers. Christ’s body can’t breathe.
Christ’s body can’t breathe, and it is our own pain. In the midst of the anguish of this world, in the midst of a virus that hinders breathing, in the midst of white knees on Black necks in literal and figurative ways, we find hope in Jesus.
We find hope in Jesus, who himself suffocated and died on the cross, executed by the state, and who is found with us in our suffering and pain. We find hope in Jesus, who spoke assurances of peace to his dear friends, fearful and grieving, hiding behind locked doors. We find hope in Jesus, who breathed on his disciples so that they might receive the Holy Spirit, the same Holy Spirit who strengthens and empowers the people of God with diverse gifts that enrich our life together. We find hope in Jesus, whose promised Holy Spirit intercedes on our behalf with sighs – with breath – too deep for words.
On the Day of Pentecost, we celebrate the presence of the Holy Spirit coming to the believers. Through fire and wind, cacophony and crowds God’s presence is made known. It has been scary to watch the news – scary to see large crowds, fire and smoke, broken windows and hollow shells of buildings. All of that pales in comparison to how scary it is to see Black lives fearful and struggling to breathe, to survive, to thrive. How might we witness God’s presence, witness the wind and fire of the Holy Spirit in the midst of this destruction? How might we look at suffering Black bodies and see the crucified Christ?
God’s presence is made known to us, too, and we have received the gift of the Holy Spirit in baptism. Through her presence, we are empowered to live out the covenant God made with each of us in baptism: “to live among God’s faithful people, to hear the word of God and share in the Lord’s supper, to proclaim the good news of God in Christ through word and deed, to serve all people, following the example of Jesus, and to strive for justice and peace in all the earth.”
Strengthened by the Holy Spirit and united as one body in Christ, we use our breath to pray and act fervently for justice and peace. We use our breath to rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep. We use our breath to proclaim God’s love and grace and welcome for all, and especially those who are vulnerable, marginalized, and hurting.
We use our breath to read, to watch and listen, to learn and unlearn. We use our breath to insist that black lives matter, and use our breath to call out racism when we see it – even when it’s hard, and especially when it comes from people who are close to us. Christ’s body can’t breathe, and our silence is complicity.
These are uncertain times for so many reasons. Anger, fear, pain, and grief are palpable everywhere. Christ’s body can’t breathe. And yet, even now, the Holy Spirit is breathing in us and through us. It is a breath that offers peace, proclaims forgiveness, and calls us to love God’s beloved children with our words and our action.
The work to which we are called is not comfortable, not easy, not optional. White supremacy will not dismantle itself. We will make mistakes, and get it wrong. This is the work to which we have been called, and we do not do it alone. For the Holy Spirit, the living breath of God, which breathes in us, we give thanks.
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