Rev. Jenny Shultz-Thomas
Genesis 45:1-15
Aug. 20, 2017/Ordinary 20A
Josephine1
To our horror, and amazement events such that occurred in Charlottesville last week will continue to erupt as the veil of our humanity and scandalous, brutal, violent affair with racism is lifted. As Traci Blackmon said, the “dying breaths of white supremacy will be long and arduous and violent. I know that there will be casualties on all sides.”2 Church, Now is the time for us to look hard, rather than shut our eyes or add another veil on top of this one which is being ripped to shreds as the tug-of-war continues. We need to pay attention, to open our eyes, to look through a new lens.
Black Liberation Theologian, James Cone says that, “Black Theology knows no authority more binding than the experience of oppression itself”.3 Which he uses as the ultimate authority in interpreting religious matters.
In order to understand black, or liberation, theology we have to have a fuller understanding of what blackness means in Cone’s theology. Ron Rhodes explains in this way: “Cone notes two aspects of blackness: the physiological and ontological. In the first sense, black indicates a physiological trait. It refers to a particular dark-skinned people in America.
In the second sense, black and white relate not to skin pigmentation but to one's attitude and action toward the liberation of the oppressed black people from white racism. Blackness is thus an ontological symbol for all people who participate in the liberation of people from oppression. Seen in this light, blackness can be attributed to people who do not have black skin but who do work for liberation.”4
In the second sense, black and white relate not to skin pigmentation but to one's attitude and action toward the liberation of the oppressed black people from white racism. Blackness is thus an ontological symbol for all people who participate in the liberation of people from oppression. Seen in this light, blackness can be attributed to people who do not have black skin but who do work for liberation.”4
You might remember NAACP civil rights leader, Rachel Dolezal, who was in 2015 caught somewhere in the middle of this mess; rejecting race as a construct and identifying with the libration attitude of blackness, who then at 37 was outed by her parents for pretending to “be black” though her fair-skinned blonde childhood pigtails told a different story, while leading the civil rights organization in Spokane Washington5. Her identity was in crisis; rejecting whiteness which at the time was described by one New York Times journalist in saying, “Whiteness is on a toggle switch between ‘bland nothingness’ and ‘racist hatred’.”6 But rather than choose blackness as the framework for her activism and work towards liberation, she was unable to see herself as both white and anti-racist. Dolezal’s physical manifestation of her own internal struggle put her at odds with those she was trying to set free, yet what became clear was that her struggle was not with those cast in any particular hue, but with the system which perpetuates an either/or, slave or free, black or white… oppressive structure to which we have all been enslaved.
By contrast, whiteness in Cone's thought symbolizes the ethnocentric activity of "madmen sick with their own self-concept” — And thus blind to that which ails them and oppresses others— ? For Cone, Whiteness symbolizes sickness and oppression.7
Like Black Liberation Theology, The same can be said for queer theology which is largely founded on and influenced by Latin American Liberation Theology for whom, in 2015, Pope Francis has named Archbishop Oscar Romero a martyr clearing the way to sainthood for this hero and advocate for the poor.
Scholar Elizabeth Stuarts asserts that, “From liberation theology gay theologians absorbed the notion that God is always on the side of the oppressed and that theology consists of critical reflection upon active involvement in the struggle for political and social justice.”8
In Mase’s poem which I read, Josephine9, we heard the interpretation of the Joseph story through the lens of a young black/trans/queer poet… who as Jo, experiences their blackness in both the physical and the ontological sense. Out of a place of oppression, Muse gives context to the black experience of a queer/trans child sold into slavery, Josephine, and thus a victim of human trafficking in ancient Israel, and points to the centralizing paradigmatic event within the Judeo-Christian tradition which depicts salvation as the Exodus road from slavery to freedom, from oppression to liberation— not the superimposed evangelical claim of salvation as a means of eschatology.
What if as part of our own deconstructing work we approached each sacred story, through the lens of blackness? What if we approached every conversation, through the lens of blackness as an attitude, as we work to liberate ourselves from the whiteness that enslaves nazi and free? What if we understood our own stories in this way? To see, those of us privileged, our whiteness as part of a system rather than a reflection in the mirror, and our blackness as a part of an identity for which to claim as the vehicle of both understanding and finding liberation from a whiteness that neither belongs to or own us— especially for people who are both physically and ontologically white, rather than pretending to be black as Dolezal did, owning blackness and choosing blackness as a means to liberate and become liberated. The starting point? Who are your friends? What do they look like?
Neither is Antifa, an extreme leftist anti-fascist group who sees violence as a necessary piece of liberation in the fight against white supremacist nationalists, nor the Proud Boys, an alt-right pro-West fraternal organization for young “lost boys” whose name proudly comes from the Aladdin Musical, and whose initiation rights include being proudly punched in the face, are on the right side of liberation, but it is up to us, to each of us, to the church, to decide how it is that we will voice, internalize, and be persuaded to mobilize as part of freeing Josephine from oppression, and Joseph from oppressing.10
You see it is the same Jo in this story who is both the victim and the victimizer… victim to our need for a storybook mythological hero, and the victim onto whom we project our rags to riches white fantasy or American Dream… who becomes the hero, victimizing those upon whom he has trampled in his assent to power. Joseph is the hero propelled by a whiteness that depends upon an unjust system, a disequilibrium, whereby Josephines will continually be relegated to the margins; but to whom we still preach a story of exceptionalism; liberation via the mythical hero….the white man riding in upon the black stallion, who we are still waiting on to save us.
My friend and brother, Rev. Michael Crumpler preaches truth to power from this text saying, that through our whiteness “The story of Joseph teaches us that no matter what happens to us as long as we respond rightly we will prevail…kind of like the magical negro, the immaculate undocumented immigrant, the assimilated native or the virtuous woman of the 31st Proverb. It demonizes his brothers while diminishing the system responsible for his plight.”11
Remember, we can either short-sightedly see whiteness as the plaid-plaited golf shirts whose video-game born god known as KEK has devolved into an aggressive acronym where power takes the form of a shield and frog-headed meme — or the system that has been enemy to even those “lost boys” who seek only the superficial mythical projection of heroism that our own deeds and energy and non-deconstructed lives has built. The system which is spitting out a dozen a day of these lost boys who Brian McLaren described from his experience in Charlottesville saying, “I was struck by how often the term “balls” comes up [for them]: these seem like insecure young men who are especially eager to prove their manhood, recalling election season bragging about “hand size.”12 Lost Boys.
Michael’s words remind us that “This story of Jacob, of Leah and Rachel of Dinah and Zilpah, of Joseph and his brothers is a story of scarcity and limited resources and vulnerability and violence and abduction and human trafficking amongst a people existing on the margins of wealth and abundance, seducing us to settle for systemic violence and victimization and terror as the status quo and the hope that one day Joseph will rise and deliver us all.”13
No matter which is the native-lens through which we view scripture, or our own position or plight with power or poverty, if we fail to see and experience the sacred story through the eyes of the oppressed it will be our own souls that struggle for a liberation or salvation in this life, to be freed from the role our suits and ties, pale-poached cheeks, or brilliant-blue eyes informs us to play.
Like Joseph’s, a love story full of magic and pain, our own romance with imperialism and progress, greed and lust can offer us nothing more than hollow platitudes and promises rich with the blood and sweat of our heroes who either stand in stone red-flagged and helmeted across a confederate landscape or broken and trampled underfoot with the felon-ous mischief of a street-lined people for whom blackness, ownership and relationship with their impoverishment, has set them free.
Will We be proponents and advocates for justice, working on behalf of liberation for all marginalized black and brown people? Will we stand on the side of murdered justice… or justice that murders? If we are to be raised to a consciousness that calls for unification of spirit of body, of mind, of love, we must begin to re-imagine the narrative through the lens of the oppressed, and that means seeing liberation as through the eyes of both Josephine and Joseph, and then we must move from imagining to dreaming, from dreaming to being, from being to living and loving-into-being the Beloved Community where all are free.
What does that look like? I know many people across this country are afraid, many afraid for their lives…others, afraid of not doing the right thing, not doing enough. I ask myself every day, what can I do today that speaks love yet stands resistant and holds accountable those who profess whiteness and maintaining the status quo as their god to which they are beholden and for whom they have taken up arms. Thursday, I read a FB post by a friend of a friend who had posted about the flood of Durham residents lined up to confess to vandalizing the Confederate soldier statue as a means of activism; standing in solitary with Takiyah Thompson. She said there was a parking garage opposite the Durham County Sheriff’s Office where nazi soldiers stood armed with guns, and that people were leaving because the threat of being shot was very real. — I read the post, and re-read it several times, and really felt more paralyzed than I have since last Saturday… First, I thought about putting on my collar and driving down there to support those who were gathered, but then I thought about my children and about safety, about theirs and mine… and about my call, our call as the Church. It was definitely fake news— for now, but the thing is, I know a time will come when that question will be real, for all of us… do we stand and go, do we run and hide, do we hold our babies tighter and turn off the news and media posts? —Or do we show-up and fight for something better?
“The dying breaths of white supremacy will be long and arduous and violent”.14 There are many reasons to fear, but we must remember, today and every day, what holy scripture has lifted up, what Jesus taught and lived— “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out all fear.”15
Spirit is leading the way…are we? Let us pray.
footnotes:
1, Mase III, J. (2016, Feb. 2). Josephine: Reconciling my queer faith. Huffpost, THE BLOG
2. Blackmon, Traci (2017, Aug. 16). The dying breaths of white supremacy: Witness to Charlottesville outlines the way forward for anti-racists. [Editorial]. The St. Louis American, stlamerican.com.
3. Ron Rodes (Spring 1991). Black Theology, Black Power and the Black Experience; Part-two in a three part series on Liberation Theology. Christian Research Journal, page 27.
4. Ron Rodes (Spring 1991). Black Theology, Black Power and the Black Experience; Part-two in a three part series on Liberation Theology. Christian Research Journal, page 27
5. Botelho, Greg (2015, June 17). Ex-NAACP Leader, Rachel Dolezal: I Identify as Black.
6. Painter, Nell Irvin. (2015, June 20). What is Whiteness? [Opinion]. The New York Times, Sunday Review.
7. Ron Rodes (Spring 1991). Black Theology, Black Power and the Black Experience; Part-two in a three part series on Liberation Theology. Christian Research Journal, page 27
8. Stuart, Elizabeth. Theological Trends, Christianity is a Queer Thing: The Development of Queer Theology. (1997)
9. Mase III, J. (2016, Feb. 2). Josephine: Reconciling my queer faith. Huffpost, THE BLOG.
10. Sommer, Will. (2017, Feb. 5). The fratty Proud Boys are the alt right’s weirdest new phenomenon, A Medium Corporation. (Excerpted from Right Richter, a weekly newsletter on right-wing media)
11. Crumpler, Michael Rev. (2017, Aug. 13) Joseph is black…and his brothers too! [Sermon] Genesis 27:1-38.
12. McLaren, Brian. (2017, Aug. 14). What I saw in Charlottesville.
13. Crumpler, Michael Rev. (2017, Aug. 13) Joseph is black…and his brothers too! [Sermon] Genesis 27:1-38.
14. Blackmon, Traci (2017, Aug. 16). The dying breaths of white supremacy: Witness to Charlottesville outlines the way forward for anti-racists. [Editorial]. The St. Louis American, stlamerican.com.
15. The Bible (1 John 4:10, NRSV)