The Public Murder of an Innocent Man
A sermon preached on May 10, 2020 via Zoom with St. James Episcopal Church in Arlington, Vermont.
A video of the sermon is available on YouTube.
A long time ago, there lived a man named Stephen. Stephen was full of “grace and power” and “wisdom.”[i] He had the “face of an angel.”[ii] Stephen told people about how God calls us to another way of being.
And the powers that be, made comfortable by the current way of being, arrested Stephen and asked him to explain himself.
And there, before a crowd of Roman citizens, Stephen responded by telling the story of his people. A story of oppression, exile, misrule, violence, enslavement, mistreatment and persecution. Also a story of faith, persistence, shared identity, excellence, love and hope. A story about the history of God and God’s people and the way in which earthly power kills God’s prophets.
And the representatives of earthly power present to hear this testimony became “enraged.” They “ground their teeth.”[iii] The air filled with the white hot electricity that occurs in the moments before a charged situation turns to violence.
And in that moment, God came to Stephen. God was right there, making God’s self visible for this child of God in his moment of need. And Stephen, as he always did, testified to God’s presence. “Look,” he said, “I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!”
And the people covered their ears.
Testimony to the presence of the God of love and justice was too frightening for them. Too uncomfortable. Impossible to live with. It had to be destroyed. Stephen’s very existence offended them. This man who insisted his own life and the lives of all those marginalized by this crowd have value. Sacred value. They drowned out the sound of God’s love with a “loud shout.”
They killed Stephen in a bold and public act of deadly violence. Far from being punished, the murder was approved by the authorities.
“Saul approved of their killing him,” the text tells us.[iv] Saul – a person of elite education[v] and the privilege of Roman citizenship. He witnessed and approved of an act of deadly public violence against an innocent man. A man with so many gifts. A man of so much promise.
In our lifetime, there lived a man named Ahmaud. Ahmaud was “kind,” “humble”[vi] and “a person full of laughter and joy.”[vii] He was handsome – photos show a man with a bright smile and the hopeful eyes of a young, talented person. Ahmaud was a gifted athlete, a former high school football player and a dedicated runner. He attended South Georgia Technical College, where he was pursuing a career as an electrician.[viii]
In February, Ahmaud was out for a run in his Georgia neighborhood. This young black man was not given the chance to narrate the story of his people with words, but words were not needed here. His very presence as a healthy, promising black man in this neighborhood told that story on its own. A story of oppression, exile, misrule, violence, enslavement, mistreatment and persecution. Also a story of faith, persistence, shared identity, excellence, love and hope. Each pound of his sneakers to the pavement sang of the history of God and God’s people and the way in which earthly power kills God’s prophets.
And two white men – a father and son – saw this beautiful testimony running through their neighborhood and they became “enraged.” They “ground their teeth.” The air filled with the white hot electricity that occurs in the moments before a charged situation turns to violence.
And in that moment, I know God was with Ahmaud. I know God was right there, making God’s self visible for this child of God in his moment of need. As the Very Rev. Dr. Kelly Brown Douglas wrote of the murder of Trayvon Martin,“God was where life was crying out to be free from the crucifying death of stand-your-ground culture.”[ix]
And these men covered their ears. Testimony to the presence of the God of love and justice was too frightening for them. Too uncomfortable. Impossible to live with. It had to be destroyed. Ahmaud’s very existence offended them. This man whose very presence insisted his own black life and the lives of all those marginalized by whiteness have value. Sacred value. They drowned out the sound of God’s love with the sounds of a shotgun.
They killed Ahmaud in a bold and public act of violence. Far from being punished, the murder was approved by the authorities. These white men have only been arrested just now, months later – following the public release of a video clearly documenting the killing.
I have not watched the video, but in taking in this story I have as a white American woman been part of a collective witness of this act of deadly public violence against an innocent man. A man with so many gifts. A man of so much promise.
And this week, I have been asking myself this hard question: “have I, too, approved of this killing?” It’s a question I invite my white friends to ask themselves along with me.
As for me, the answer is yes. I have been too complacent. I have been too silent. Too busy with other things. I have been too comfortable with the benefits a system of white supremacy grants me. I have covered my ears too many times.
This is a difficult truth to reckon with, but it is not an impossible truth to reckon with because I am a believer in the hope of God in Christ.
Many of us are more familiar with Saul’s Latin name: Paul. That Paul. The great evangelist. The writer of the letters. The Christian saint. That Paul witnessed and approved of the public murder of Stephen. Friends, repentance is real, conversion happens, and God’s invitation to love is for all of us and it is ongoing. This is Christian hope.
So what does accepting that invitation to love look like? For a start, it looks like taking our hands from our ears and listening to black people. If what we hear makes us feel defensive, it looks like examining that response closely and with care rather than asking black people to engage in the internal emotional, spiritual and intellectual work that is ours to do. It looks like amplifying the voices of black people. It looks like putting your white body on the line in a situation that reeks of that white hot electricity of pre-violence. It looks like demanding black people be included in civic and church decisions, in leadership positions and on governance bodies. This week alone, the video of Ahmaud Arbery’s murder surfaced and we learned of the murder of another young black man in Indianapolis named Sean Reed[x] and of the murder of a black trans woman named Nina Pop[xi] and of an armed lynch mob showing up at a black family’s home[xii], all while it was revealed our highest office of government seems to be okay with a deadly plague simply running its course because its victims are largely people of color[xiii] . So right now this work also looks like checking in on your black friends. Don’t have any black friends? Then it looks like thinking about spending time in some places and spaces where you might make some.
It looks like joining and following local organizations like Central Vermont Showing up for Racial Justice, Lost River Racial Justice, the Rutland Area NAACP, the Vermont Racial Justice Alliance, and I am Vermont Too. It means reading work by black Vermonters.[xiv]
It looks like having tough conversations with your white friends and family members when they promote racist or anti-black ideas. It means supporting black-owned businesses.
It looks like hearing the story of black Americans. A good place to start is reading Ibram X. Kendi’s book Stamped from the Beginning: The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America. While you’re at it, read his book How to be an Antiracist. If you would like a copy of either (a physical copy, digital copy or audiobook), please let me know, and I will get it to you at no cost.
White friends, what we are doing now is sinful. What we are doing now is continuing to play by the rules of a racial contract that deems white lives -- our lives -- of far greater value than black lives.[xv] What we are doing now is covering our ears to God’s call to another way of being. What we are doing now is approving the killing of innocent people.
But I believe there is hope. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here. I believe Christ is calling us, in this most unusual Easter season, to do better. Which means Christ knows we can. We can, and we must do this work. The problem is ours. The problem is with us. We are the ones who need repentance and conversion. Let’s get to this Gospel work.
[i] Acts 6:8
[ii] Acts 6:15
[iii] Acts 6:54
[iv] Acts 8:1
[v] Acts 22:3
[vi] https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/08/us/ahmaud-arbery-shooting-georgia.html
[ix] Douglas, Kelly Brown. Stand Your Ground; Black Bodies and the Justice of God. Orbis Books. Kindle Edition.
[x] https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/07/us/sean-reed-indianapolis-shooting.html
[xi] http://nbjc.org/media-center/releases/statement-tragic-death-nina-pop
[xiii] https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2020/05/americas-racial-contract-showing/611389/
and https://features.propublica.org/chicago-first-deaths/covid-coronavirus-took-black-lives-first/
[xiv] I commend you especially to Black is the Body: Stories from my Grandmother’s Time, My Mother’s Time and Mine by UVM professor Dr. Emily Bernard.
[xv] https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2020/05/americas-racial-contract-showing/611389/