If you are like me, you have grown weary of hearing the comments of Barack Obama's former pastor, Jeremiah Wright. Still, something about his comments and the story are so compelling that I can't leave them alone.
I understand that we need to be understanding. Rev. Wright speaks from the seedbed of Black Theology, or Black Liberation Theology, which, itself grew from Latino Liberation Theology. All that, I get. (See articles on page 7).
I understand, too, that preaching in black churches is usually more emphatic and energetic than in white churches. African-American preachers require and are granted a certain poetic license, I am told. They are given to hyperbole as a legitimate means of making their points. I understand.
Jim White
I also understand that black preachers typically get a lot more encouragement from folks in the pews than white preachers do.
I understand that “prophetic” preaching often is edgy and makes people mad by exposing their sins to the light of God's judgment. Folks tend to get riled by such sermons. All those are points well taken.
I also understand there are parts of Rev. Wright's pilgrimage that I simply can't understand. I did not grow up black. I have not had racial slurs applied to me — unless “honkey” counts. To my knowledge my ancestors were not slaves (or slaveholders, either). I don't know what it's like to be denied justice or rights or even simple services because of my skin color. I can't understand the anger that festers as indignities are endured. I cannot understand what he, and countless other African-Americans, experienced for decades of decades.
But there are other things, too, I can't understand. Should Rev. Wright's own unacceptable behavior be excused because of his past experiences when he obviously seemed unwilling to apply that same standard to the persons and country he so vehemently condemned?
He might have understood that all human beings come with a set of past experiences which mold, shape and limit us. As surely as he was shaped by the injustices of Jim Crow laws and the indignities of segregation, others were shaped and limited by the seedbeds from which grew assumptions and presuppositions repugnant to us now.
Others were molded, shaped and limited by their phobias or their ignorance or their own stubbornness — all products of their times and cultural norms.
But it is more than just background. It is the refusal to put oneself in the place of another. People celebrated their obedience to the first and greatest commandment while refusing to practice the second.
What we condemn in those who wouldn't allow the light of the gospel to flood into their prejudices could also be applied to Rev. Wright. Couldn't it? Shouldn't it?
In much of church history, judgment and grace have stood in tension. Judgment demands that punishment be delivered. The price for transgression must be paid. Grace does not take issue with the justice of judgment. But grace bears it and redeems it. And in the end, grace reclaims, restores and reconciles.
I understand that Rev. Wright and his contemporaries suffered in ways I will never understand. I understand that the natural and even appropriate response to those injustices is anger. I understand his pronouncement of judgment in light of that rage.
But I can't understand the absence of grace.
Perhaps that is the element missing in the 30-second sound bites served ad nauseam in the media. Perhaps that, too, is the reason Obama refused to reject outright his former pastor. Perhaps he experienced that grace first-hand. Perhaps he observed its presence in other powerful sermons delivered by his preacher.
I can only assume this is the case.
As I reflect on excusing our behavior based on background, I ask myself, “Who suffered the worst of the past?” History reveals that regardless of the era or the culture, the powerful took advantage of the less powerful and sought to manipulate to their own advantage a system that kept the two in their places. An axiom based on human nature is that the socially and politically powerless are taken advantage of and are kept in inferior status to keep them from fighting back.
Could it be that the sermon excerpts we have heard, as awful as they are, simply illustrate his way of fighting back? Was the pulpit his means of neutralizing and repairing the damage done to his people? Ah, now that I can understand. Like Obama, I repudiate the specific words of the messages we've heard, but any pastor worth his salt would try to lift his people out of the hole others dug for them.
And, other pastors worth their salt will encourage their people to stop digging the holes. That glorious day is coming when we all extend hands of grace to help one another get out of our holes and onto level ground.
All my life I've heard it: the ground is always level at the foot of the cross. That's something we can all understand.