Here are a few highlights from our event at The Riverside Church this past weekend, on the anniversary of Dr. King’s historic speech, “Beyond Vietnam: A Time to Break Silence.” We had 27 faith leaders read portions of King’s original speech, including his daughter, Rev. Dr. Bernice King. I’ll also highlight a few of King’s quotes from the speech below (along with who read them) … but you really should watch the recording of the whole evening if you missed it. It was epic.

We kicked off the evening with a gathering of about 40 clergy and leaders from around the country, and spent some time reflecting together, listening to what the Spirit is doing among us, especially as we remember King’s words in 1967 and his assassination a year later.

Bishop Herbert Daughtry shared with his daughter Bishop Leah Daughtry. He was there in 1967 when Dr. King delivered the original sermon. He shared about how powerful it is to be together on the 55th anniversary. He also shared about how courageous and unpopular it was when King first delivered it.

Here’s the backdrop… One year ago, Red Letter Christians hosted a virtual reading of “Beyond Vietnam.” Afterwards we said, “What if we did it in person next year?”

Then we said, “What if we did it AT RIVERSIDE?”

Then we said, “What if Rev. Bernice King would join us?”

And here we are…

Because Dr. King names the many of the manifestations of violence calls us to comprehensively confront violence and the conditions that lead to violence, we made those connections throughout the night. The stations of the cross on the altar are painted by men on death row. It is also Lent, a powerful reminder that Jesus subverted all our systems of violence on the cross.

“We were taking the Black young men who had been crippled by our society and sending them eight thousand miles away to guarantee liberties in Southeast Asia which they had not found in southwest Georgia and East Harlem. And so, we have been repeatedly faced with the cruel irony of watching Negro and white boys on TV screens as they kill and die together for a nation that has been unable to seat them together in the same schools.”

–MLK read by Lisa Sharon Harper

“As I have walked among the desperate, rejected, and angry young men, I have told them that Molotov cocktails and rifles would not solve their problems. I have tried to offer them my deepest compassion while maintaining my conviction that social change comes most meaningfully through nonviolent action. But they ask — and rightly so — what about Vietnam? They ask if our own nation wasn’t using massive doses of violence to solve its problems, to bring about the changes it wanted. Their questions hit home, and I knew that I could never again raise my voice against the violence of the oppressed in the ghettos without having first spoken clearly to the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today — my own government.”

–MLK read by Carlos Rodriguez The Happy Givers NPO

“We were agreeing with Langston Hughes, that black bard of Harlem, who had written earlier:

‘O, yes,

I say it plain,

America never was America to me,

And yet I swear this oath —

America will be!'”

–MLK quoting Langston Hughes, read by Rev. Todd Yeary (RLC Board Chair)

“Could it be that they do not know that the good news was meant for all men — for Communist and capitalist, for their children and ours, for black and for white, for revolutionary and conservative? Have they forgotten that my ministry is in obedience to the One who loved his enemies so fully that he died for them?”

–MLK read by Cece Jones-Davis

“They must see Americans as strange liberators.”

–MLK read by Rev. Dr. Shakeema North

“I am convinced that if we are to get on the right side of the world revolution, we as a nation must undergo a radical revolution of values. We must rapidly begin…we must rapidly begin the shift from a thing-oriented society to a person-oriented society. When machines and computers, profit motives and property rights, are considered more important than people, the giant triplets of racism, extreme materialism, and militarism are incapable of being conquered.”

— MLK read by Rev. Dr. Liz Theoharis

“On the one hand, we are called to play the Good Samaritan on life’s roadside, but that will be only an initial act. One day we must come to see that the whole Jericho Road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life’s highway. True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar. It comes to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring.”

“A nation that continues year after year to spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death.”

–MLK read by Rev. Sharon Risher

“These are revolutionary times. All over the globe men are revolting against old systems of exploitation and oppression, and out of the wounds of a frail world, new systems of justice and equality are being born. The shirtless and barefoot people of the land are rising up as never before. “The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light.” …Our only hope today lies in our ability to recapture the revolutionary spirit and go out into a sometimes hostile world declaring eternal hostility to poverty, racism, and militarism.”

–MLK read by Jemar Tisby

“This call for a worldwide fellowship that lifts neighborly concern beyond one’s tribe, race, class, or nation is in reality a call for an all-embracing — embracing and unconditional love for all mankind.”

–MLK read by Phillip Joubert from Common Hymnal

“We can no longer afford to worship the god of hate or bow before the altar of retaliation. The oceans of history are made turbulent by the ever-rising tides of hate. And history is cluttered with the wreckage of nations and individuals that pursued this self-defeating path of hate.”

–MLK read by Stephen Green

“We still have a choice today: nonviolent coexistence or violent co-annihilation. If we do not act, we shall surely be dragged down the long, dark, and shameful corridors of time reserved for those who possess power without compassion, might without morality, and strength without sight.”

— MLK read by Leslie Callahan

“Now let us begin. Now let us rededicate ourselves to the long and bitter, but beautiful, struggle for a new world.

And if we will only make the right choice, we will be able to transform this pending cosmic elegy into a creative psalm of peace.

If we will make the right choice, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our world into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood.

If we will but make the right choice, we will be able to speed up the day, all over America and all over the world, when justice will roll down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.”

— MLK read by Rev. Bernice King

The last section was read by Rev. Bernice King, and we all said the final words together… “justice will roll down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.”

I knew the spoken words of King would be powerful, and they were. But what was also remarkable was feeling a fresh sense of worship, and hope, even revival stirring up among us. Some talented musicians led us in singing– Common Hymnal, Aaron Niequist, and Brian Courtney Wilson…a healthy reminder that this work does not rest on us alone…we are conspiring with God in this revolution of love.

As we challenge to the toxic versions of Christianity, we’ve got to also be ready for God to do a new thing among us. And as I looked out over this audience of faith leaders, bishops, pastors, organizers, elders, activists, authors, historians, and theologians last night I was filled with hope. I AM filled with hope.

We got this. Last night Rev. Bernice King closed us out with an invitation to come back to Jesus. She reminded us that her dad, and mom, were doing their best to reflect Jesus to the world.

We are up against some fierce principalities and powers – the triplet evils of racism, materialism, and militarism are as alive and well as they were 55 years ago. But the love of God is the strongest force in the world. Nothing is more powerful than God’s love.

It was a gift to team up with my brother Michael McBride and the spiritual force known as Rev. Traci Blackmon. There were dozens of groups that worked together to pull it off, including all the fine folks at the Quincy Institute for Responsible Statecraft and at The King Center. Grateful for Rev. Livingston and The Riverside Church for hosting us.

Thanks be to God.

We live in a time of conflict and polarization — in the church in its various forms and in the world at large. In fact, our religious and secular challenges are so enmeshed as to be inseparable. 

In the world at large, the planet is in crisis. From global warming to the great global insect die-off, from the impending tsunami of extinctions to multifaceted ecosystem collapse, the earth is suffering under the burden of too many people demanding too many resources while pumping out too many wastes. As Pope Francis said in Laudato Si, we are sowing filth and destruction into the earth rather than life and beauty.

The poor are also in crisis, as a tiny minority of super-rich global elites control a larger and larger percentage of power and wealth, leaving the poor farther and farther behind to survive on leftovers. Simply put: the wealth rises to the top and the troubles (what economists call “externalized costs”) trickle down to the folks at the bottom of the economic pyramid.

In addition to the crises of the planet and the poor, we face a crisis of peace. Arrogant nationalism, ignorant racism, shortsighted militarism, and post-truth propaganda empower the Putin’s of the world to bomb innocents into rubble while the NRAs of the world proliferate guns. As we pump more and more weapons of increasing kill-power into human societies, as we dump more and more carbon and other pollutants into our skies and seas, as we redistribute more and more wealth and power away from the struggling masses and toward the elite upper classes …  we create a perfect recipe for misery, for us, for our children, and for generations to come. 

We could wish that the leaders of our Christian faith were paying attention to these crises. A few are. But many — too many — are obsessed with preserving their power, protecting their privilege, and perpetuating their institutions. They obsess over liturgical gnats while ignoring existential threats, and we wonder why younger generations are turning away!

The young see our churches as being fueled by theologies of separation, shame, punishment, and damnation. They experience our liturgies as being obsessed with individual salvation, appeasing a demanding God so our individual souls can assure their ticket to heaven when we die. They encounter our institutions as being more concerned with their own power, privilege, and survival than with the common good. Many feel frustration and hopelessness. 

Younger generations know the reality articulated early in the last century by Teilhard de Chardin: “Evolve or be annihilated.” They know the reality articulated late in the last century by Thomas Berry: “We will go into the future as a single sacred community, or we will all perish in the desert.” 

When they read the gospels, they hear a resonance between Teilhard’s call to evolve and Jesus’ call to repent. And they hear a resonance between Jesus’ good news of the kingdom of God and Berry’s “single sacred community.”

When they hear or recite the Lord’s Prayer, the prayer most frequently prayed by every denomination of Christianity, they hear the words, “Thy kingdom come; thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven.” They see what so many of us miss: Jesus’ prayer is not an evacuation plan, praying to get our individual souls from earth down here to heaven up there. This prayer is a transformation plan, bringing God’s good will down here to earth from up there in heaven. The prayer asks us, “How do we join Jesus in his concern for God’s good desires to become actualized on earth?” The prayer directs us to address this world and its injustices, joining God in God’s healing work within this world. 

The Sufi teacher Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee says, “The world is not a problem to be solved; it is a living being to which we belong. The world is part of our own self and we are a part of its suffering wholeness.”  Younger generations wish they could say more in our Christian communities helping to lead the way to bring healing and hope to this “suffering wholeness.”

We have a proposal that addresses both the crises in the world at large and the crises in the Christian church: the possibility of a Franciscan Renaissance.

The first biographer of St. Francis, Thomas of Celano, described Francis’ return to God as reclaiming that which would free him both from a sinful nature and from a perverted society which was Christian in name only. Thomas of Celano could just as easily be describing the state of our world and religion today. 

Neither of us are professed Franciscans. Our deep love and understanding of Franciscan spirituality came from our work and relationships with Franciscan sisters and friars in the US and across the World. When we talk about a Franciscan Renaissance, we are not referring to otherworldly piety and escapist rituals or propping up the status quo of Franciscan institutions. Rather, we advocate a Franciscan Renaissance centered in the spirit of St. Clare and St. Francis, embodied in their examples, further explored in the works of brilliant Franciscan theologians like Blessed John Dun Scotus. 

This renaissance is needed because dominant forms of Christianity are stuck. The Catholic Church is stuck; all the many forms of Protestantism are stuck. Whether you are Catholic, Evangelical Protestant or Mainline Protestant you’ve probably watched with horror from a distance as many of your leaders and fellow members were so easily sucked into Trumpism. It breaks your heart to see how many Christians have wandered into white supremacist backwaters, into QAnon and other conspiracy theories, where they’re in many ways ruled by nostalgia, dreaming of a mythical idyllic past when life made more sense to them. 

Yes, there are beautiful pockets of light and growth and redemption in all our Christian traditions. But so many are stuck in deep ruts, hardly able to see outside. Even when they know they’re in trouble, it’s so much easier to live in denial and keep on with liturgy as usual. Along with ruts of routine, so many of us are stuck in our silos, just worried about our little group. So, Lutherans are worried about renewing Lutheranism and Presbyterians are worried about renewing their Presbyterianism, just as Roman Catholics and Eastern Orthodox can act as if their group is the only group that matters. 

Every week, more and more people, especially young people, leave the stuckness and stagnation, joining the 70 million-plus adult Americans who grew up going to Church but who no longer do. The failure of retention of younger generations brings us closer every day to what we might call a demographic cliff. 

If Christianity were in trouble only because it’s stuck in ruts of routine and silos of sectarianism, that would be bad enough. But we also have to acknowledge that there are dominant forms of Christianity that have become dangerous. Too many preach that Jesus is coming soon, so we don’t need to worry about the environment. Too many preach, ‘The Bible says that the end is going to be terrible, that things are getting worse. That just tells us that we are closer to the end. And after that it is heaven and then we will all be able to party.’ Too many preach an intoxicating cocktail of Christianity and white supremacy, Christianity and nationalism, Christianity and unregulated capitalism. As a result, the earth suffers, people of color suffer, the poor suffer, and ultimately, everyone suffers.

The words of the prophet Jeremiah (8:8) echo in our ears: 

“How can you say, “We are wise, 

for we have the law of the Lord,”

when that law has been falsified 

by the lying pen of the scribes?” 

The vision of Francis and Clare are exactly what we need at this moment of peril and opportunity. Why is that legacy so precious at this moment?

First, at this time of ecological crisis, the Franciscan legacy is powerfully ecological. Living as we do at the precipice of an environmental catastrophe; we need a spiritual vision that integrates love for God and love for our neighbor with love for the earth — exactly the vision of St. Francis and St. Clare and the movements that they gave birth to. 

Francis’ famous friendship with a wolf and his preaching to the birds are easily reduced to cute little tropes, birdbaths if you will. But the ecological vision of Francis was about more than birdbaths. It was about the interconnectedness of all creation, so that we see every creature as sister or brother. As Sr. Ilia Delio OSF wrote in her book, A Franciscan View of Creation, “Francis’ respect for creation was not a duty or obligation but arose out of an inner love by which creation and the source of creation were intimately united…” Francis saw himself as part of creation, as being in relationship with creation, and not having dominion over creation or even stewardship of creation.  

Second, in this time of violence, this time of school shootings and war in Europe, this time when many politicians seem to believe that the more guns, we have the safer we’ll be, or the more bombs we have the safer we’ll be, we need St. Francis’ message and example of nonviolence as never before. If we follow the path of maximum armament … believing that we can never have too many guns and bombs … we will discover that this is a suicidal trajectory for our species: as Jesus said, “Those who live by the sword will die by the sword.”  We need a spirituality that is deeply nonviolent not just in words but in our action. 

It is difficult to preach nonviolence when so much of our religion is focused on the wrath and fear of God. In fact, to many Christians today, world salvation means being saved from an angry God. Carl Jung, one of our greatest 20th century psychologists, once said, “If our religion is based on salvation, our chief emotions will be fear and trembling. If our religion is based on wonder, our chief emotion will be gratitude.”  Over the centuries, many forms of Christianity have become religions of fear. But Christianity wasn’t always like that. It began as a nonviolent peace movement, a community known for love, a community gathered around a table of fellowship and reconciliation, a people armed with the basin and towel of service, not the bomb and gun of violence. A Franciscan Renaissance would invite us to become, in the language of St. Clare, not violent warriors, but nonviolent mirrors of Christ for others to see and follow.

Third, in addition to being ecological and nonviolent, the Franciscan vision is deeply economic. Today, a larger and larger percentage of wealth is being concentrated in the hands of fewer and fewer individuals and families. In spite of calling ourselves democracies and free market economies, many of our nations are returning to a kind of feudal oligarchy, where a small number of powerful families exert great power over governments and collaborate with transnational crime syndicates … all while collaborating with religions that give them cover. St. Francis arose in the early stages of modern capitalism, and he saw its potential dangers. He exemplified an alternative value system where the poor, the leper, and the outcast matter more than money, luxury, and power. Our current economic model places no intrinsic value on creation, except as a source for raw materials that we consume. In so doing, it reduces us to consumers, and values us based on our productivity measured in money.  A Franciscan renaissance would help us “redeem” — which means to re-assess and revalue — everything, so we rediscover the priceless beauty of the earth and its creatures, including our neighbors and ourselves.  

Fourth, we live in a time of exclusion, division, classism, racism, and religious prejudice. We need the example of St. Francis and St. Clare, who clearly modeled deep inclusiveness and solidarity. In the iconic paintings of St. Francis embracing a leper, we do not see a shallow inclusiveness that says, ‘We’re elite and we’re going to bring a few of you as tokens into our exclusive club.’ No, we see in St. Francis profound solidarity with the last, the lost, and the least, with the other, the outcast, the outsider, and even the enemy. In this spirit of solidarity, I see that my life and your life are interconnected. I refuse to settle for my own happiness, because my life is in solidarity with yours as my neighbor. 

The relationship between Francis and Clare modeled this: we’re all equal — male and female, rich and poor, healthy and sick, well-clothed and clothed in rags, Pope and Bishop and lay person. Francis even teaches us to refuse to discriminate between Christian and Muslim, Jew and Atheist, for we all are beloved by God. We see this interfaith solidarity when Francis ventures without weapon or threat into the Sultan’s camp in Egypt, bearing a message of peace – a heart for peace. This vision has been tragically lost in so much of our Christian faith. More than ever at this moment, we need the vision of Francis and Clare for an interfaith solidarity. 

We have experienced this inclusive solidarity. Neither of us are professed Franciscans but we both have been welcomed within the Franciscan community. Not only that: in our work and travels we both have encountered Muslims, Jews, Hindus and even atheists who have a deep respect for St. Francis, his life and works. A Franciscan Renaissance will expand beyond the traditional three Franciscan orders to a fourth order — of Franciscan-hearted people.

A Franciscan Renaissance would be ecological, nonviolent, economic, and inclusive. It would also be creative theologically. Too many Christians still imagine God as a big white guy on a throne in the sky, a cosmic dictator and Zeus-like despot and who will subject people to cruelty if they don’t honor his magnificence appropriately. Looking back over the last eight centuries, it is clear that the Franciscan theological instinct was right, and we need it more than ever. 

The prevalent theology during the time of St Francis was centered around the idea of substitutionary atonement. In this view, the purpose of Jesus’ incarnation was to suffer and die as a sacrifice to appease an angry God. But for Franciscans, Jesus didn’t come to appease an angry God; he came to reveal a loving God, as Sr. Ilia Delio, OSF, says in her book, Franciscan Prayer: prayer “begins and ends with the Incarnation. It begins with encountering the God of overflowing love in the person of Jesus Christ and ends with embodying that love in one’s own life, becoming a new Incarnation.” This fresh vision of God leads to a fresh vision of everything everywhere. 

Thomas Berry wrote in The Dream of the Earth. “The deepest crises experienced by any society are those moments of change when the story becomes inadequate for meeting the survival demands of a present situation.”  We are experiencing that crisis today, in the world and in the church. A Franciscan Renaissance will not come easily; it will be costly, challenging, even disruptive. After all, if renewal were cheap, easy, and convenient, it would have happened already. If we are willing to count the cost, commit to the challenge, and persist through obstacles, we can be agents of a true Franciscan Renaissance.

In most, if not all traditions, it is an affirmation of the desire and hope that we can be, and become, in some ways, fuller and better people.

New Year’s resolutions are notorious for their short shelf-life, but people of faith know that they can be much more than vain attempts to get more fit or eat better.

The premise of virtually every faith tradition is that we can become, somehow, “new” people – any time of year.

It’s fair to say that we all have things to “work on”, to embrace or to leave behind, but more than that, central to most faiths is that we can become entirely new people, born, as the saying goes “again”.

This new person, as some of know directly, is oddly more solid and more porous, more submissive and yet more determined, more “free” but yet more defined, more demanding and yet more forgiving, and perhaps even more sad and somber – with a heart more joyous and celebrative than ever before.

The “converted” person is freer of what binds everyone else, but somehow knows a deeper allegiance to a presence few others seem to comprehend or acknowledge.

Violations and cruelty are seen clearly as an affront to the Creator as much as to any individual.

Injustice is seen, not only as an assault on a person or people, but as an insult and injury to justice itself.

The seeking of “justice” is not a goal or a belief, it is a correcting, a stabilizing, a reclamation that Creation – and the Creator – matter more than we can ever know.

Scriptures of all faith warn of those who are “seeking but never finding” and of those who become more brittle, cynical even cruel and vindictive with a veneer of religiosity. These people, we are told, are the worst.

To use phrases from scriptures, they “block the way”, “poison the well” and “make worse converts than themselves”.

They, like all of us perhaps, make a world in their own image.

And the “fruit” of such a “faith” is all too apparent. Eventually.

But not always before lifelong damage is done.

But the person truly “born again” seeks AND finds. Heals and restores. Requires much – and forgives much. Celebrates and mourns.

And values life, even as they are willing to leave it behind.

Being born “again” then, is much like being born the first time; we find ourselves in a world where we must learn how things work – from gravity to the volume of our own voices – and become a vital, contributing presence in a world that we find ourselves in, fully but not always willingly.

And perhaps that is the point – the world is ours – and not ours. We belong to it as much as it belongs to us.

A New Year is as much about endings as it is beginnings.

Western traditions set the new year in mid-winter, Asian cultures at the “new moon” – the ultimate signifier of spring.

They are both right. A new year, and a new beginning is a celebration of life as much as a mourning of what has cast a lasting shadow over it.

When does the year “begin”, when does it “end”?

Perhaps it only begins when we embrace it and it merges into us so that we, now, then, and all of eternity, all of our hopes, dreams and disappointments become indistinguishable.

The kingdom of God is within us, in front of us, and among us.

It is never far away. And never out of reach.

The memories of the exodus from Egypt and the daily experiences of life in Galilee shaped Mary’s resistance refrains. Accordingly, she wove lyrics together with lament and imprecatory heat. Other verses she filled with praise or gratitude or messianic hope. Pleas for deliverance were common in her songbook. Both trauma and liberation were hallmarks of her hymns. If trauma could be transformed into songs, maybe song could be a part of diminishing the deep distress of Galilean life. Most likely, villagers knew some sacred stories, some psalms and parables from the oral tradition of their culture, but few read or studied all of the holy words. It took time for stories and songs to move among networks of regional villages and to pass down through families. So, Mary in Nazareth began with a handful of old songs circulating in her community, maybe a few from her mother, Anna. Maybe she rehearsed them as she journeyed from Nazareth to Judea’s hills and Ein Kerem.

In the three months Mary spent with Elizabeth, they would have talked about Elizabeth’s descendancy from the priestly line of Aaron, and of Mary’s lineage. Perhaps there were songs Elizabeth taught her—old songs new to Mary. And perhaps Elizabeth helped her learn not only the words of the old songs but also the meanings and histories attached to them. They would have searched and learned together from the matriarchs of Israel, about their suffering and survival and even joys amid struggle.

Together, Elizabeth and Mary reflected on the words of their sacred traditions and likely considered how they embodied the witness of their predecessors now, in their current landscape.  The story would continue with them.

When Elizabeth called Mary blessed, in the words of Deborah’s praise of Jael, it wasn’t only the song but the solidarity between the women that pierced Mary’s young heart. Grafted into generations of women practicing liberation through subversive songs and solidarity, Mary was formed by song, and then she composed song, creating a legacy, weaving herself into the unwritten genealogy of women who birthed the sons and daughters of Israel.

She came to see her place among her people, singing, “From now on all generations will call me blessed.”

And as she sang of God’s goodness toward her, she sang also of generations before who met God’s mercy. And she sang for generations to come. Hers was no solitary song, but a prophetic chorus born of solidarity with many matriarchs, and with Emmanuel, working salvation even now through her.

But the song was personal; it sprouted from her own reversal. In the Magnificat of Luke, Mary sings of her low estate, a status typically translated as “poor” or “humble.” But there is a fuller connotation to this word, tapeinōsis, that refers to humiliation or distress. And this can be seen earlier in the Hebrew Bible, as the word is used to connote the sexual humiliation of Dinah, the concubine in Judges, and King David’s daughter Tamar, to name just a few. It might even be that Luke’s use of this word in Mary’s song is an intertextual nod to a passage in Deuteronomy, where the law directs response in handling the seduced or sexually humiliated betrothed virgin. What if Mary sings of her own humiliation and God’s astounding redemption of her shame in this present moment? Instead of punishment, blessing? What if she sings as the first fruit of God’s grand reversal? What if she goes on to sing of God exalting the other humiliated ones with such confidence because she has already experienced the beginning of such holy upheaval herself?

Mary’s anthem tells of those brutalized by the empire, literally and metaphorically, who will know God’s recompense.

Liberation will overcome humiliation and stigma; God’s justice will have the final victorious word for those like her in the world. Mary understands that her own experience of reversal will be shared with all the meek ones. And her song will set a trajectory for the future, where her humiliation is transformed into incarnation in a way that foreshadows how her son’s death by imperial crucifixion, another humiliation, will be transformed by resurrection. This God of Mary’s song upends all the empire’s violent tactics.

With her advent song composed in the hills of Judea, Mary forged a new resistance movement. The Magnificat grew from her time with Elizabeth, from their conversations and robust singing as they walked the uneven roads of Ein Kerem side by side. As their bellies grew, so too did their convictions about God’s coming deliverance. No surprise then that Mary bursts out with this song, braiding together songs of old with her new understanding of God’s work and celebrating God’s mighty deeds among the meek, like herself and her community.

With boldness, Mary declares an astonishing reversal in which the proud will be confused and the mighty dethroned, while the humble ones will be elevated to those vacated positions. Her song envisions a world order where the village elders, once trampled by menacing soldiers and crooked politicians are vindicated. Local leaders will finally manage their own affairs with equity. The hungry, her neighbors in Nazareth among them, will be seated at tables full of good food. They will be able to savor the bounty from their own fields, the fruits of their own labor. And the rich, who gained their wealth through exploitation of her neighbors, will be sent away with empty pockets, now experiencing the pangs of poverty in this reversal of empire economics.

Mary sings out a new social order that upends the status quo as advent begins to turn tables on those who benefit from the injustice of empires and their economies— long before her own son would himself overturn tables, enacting protest in the temple.

Some songs soothe; others become subversive anthems to galvanize radical hope and future action. The song Mary sang was one of change already afoot.

Together, Elizabeth and Mary, the mothers of advent, shaped the infrastructure of peace. Their bodies, metaphors within the songs they sang, spoke about newness God was birthing into the world. In their flourishing friendship, they collaborated to create and embody novel paradigms. They spoke about possibilities and limitations, challenging one another and allowing hope to generate. Together, they did the work of theology, in cooperation and communal engagement, gestating God’s peace, which reversed the unjust order.

So many of the hymns composed during the Maccabean Revolt sang of nationalistic salvation, of revenge and violence. But the mothers of advent teach about disarming in the move toward God’s justice. In Mary’s advent anthem, we see no vindictiveness. And we find that same spirit in future years in her son, when in the synagogue he reads from the scroll of Isaiah the words of jubilee announced there but omits the words of wrath. In the advent trajectory set by his mother to reverse unjust structures, not with a spirit of revenge but restoration, Jesus followed.

In the company of women peacemakers in Israel and Palestine, I hear ancient cadences in work for justice. Muslim, Jewish, and Christian women all sing of a future birthed by nonviolence, love, and justice for all who call the land home. Some have suffered the loss of children to the violence of occupation or the resistance, yet they come together in their grief to lament even as they compose new songs of hope. Others make music with their feet as they march, arm in arm, to demonstrate the desire for justice across their landscape. Still, other mothers share laughter like a song as they make jam, not conflict, together. Their songs are contagious and keep the lyrics of liberation alive in me.

“The Kingdom Is Yours is a song of hope and a reminder that the poor in spirit will inherit the earth. God honors the heart willing to lay its brokenness at his feet, and the soul that responds to violence, abuse and loss with the love of Christ. Society has its own standard of success, but God still honors faithfulness, humility and love when they’re hardest to do.” (Brittney Spencer)

“In a dog-eat-dog world, where only the strongest survive; where your brother may betray you in order to climb the next ring of the ‘corporate ladder,’ where loneliness threatens to be your closest friend, where abuse seems routine, and hope sounds like a fairy tail, Jesus speaks. He says his kingdom is at hand. He invites us in. It’s a place where the poor forever reign, where the pure finally win, where the peacemakers can rest, and where the persecuted rejoice. ’The Kingdom is Yours’ is a song of hope for those living in the tension of these two realities. It’s a reminder of what is to come.” (Micah Massey)

“The Kingdom is Yours is an encouraging reminder from Jesus’ beatitudes that the kingdom of God belongs to the unlikely: the grieving, the vulnerable, the hungry, the persecuted.” (Aaron Keyes)

VERSE 1
Blessed are the ones who do not bury
All the broken pieces of their heart
Blessed are the tears of all the weary
Pouring like a sky of falling stars

VERSE 2
Blessed are the wounded ones in mourning
Brave enough to show the Lord their scars
Blessed are the hurts that are not hidden
Open to the healing touch of God

CHORUS
The kingdom is yours, the kingdom is yours
Hold on a little more, this is not the end
Hope is in the Lord, keep your eyes on him

VERSE 3
Blessed are the ones who walk in kindness
Even in the face of great abuse
Blessed are the deeds that go unnoticed
Serving with unguarded gratitude

VERSE 4
Blessed are the ones who fight for justice
Longing for the coming day of peace
Blessed is the soul that thirsts for righteousness
Welcoming the last, the lost, the least

CHORUS
The kingdom is yours, the kingdom is yours
Hold on a little more, this is not the end
Hope is in the Lord, keep your eyes on him

VERSE 5
Blessed are the ones who suffer violence
And still have strength to love their enemies
Blessed is the faith of those who persevere
Though they fall, they’ll never know defeat

Written by Terrell Wilson (BMI), Brittney Spencer (BMI), Micah Massey (ASCAP), Aaron Keyes (ASCAP)
© 2017 Common Hymnal Digital (BMI), The Wilson Songbook Publishing (BMI), BSpencer Publishing (BMI), Common Hymnal Publishing (ASCAP), 10000 Fathers (ASCAP) (admin by IntegratedRights.com). CCLI 7109354

Well, I was told that I met her.
I was told that Peace has been around here,
but they must be confused.

Confused with Silence, perhaps,
In fact – I asked her.
I asked Silence and She said

“Naw young man, Peace don’t live here
And I don’t even look like that queen,
She sings and carries a big sword with a smile so clean.
Her hair is natural and rings like bells
And in heels she a little taller than, Justice

I don’t know Justice!
And I have not met Peace.

And Justice, arms are long and his embrace is strong.
And you can hear every step he takes
No, not every step he ask for
Every step he takes
No, not every step that is given
Every step he takes

She said Royce

Go back and tell them they got me wrong.
I’m silent.

My cousins are dumb,
hush,
mute,
quiet,
settle,
shut up,
sit still!

Royce, you know them.

I don’t know Justice!
And I have not met Peace.

I’ve been waiting for them to pull up in one accord
And I can’t afford to wait much longer
These arms ain’t much stronger
But they are strong.
Shoot! I’ll pat myself in the back.
I look in the mirror and don’t know how to act, I’m black!
I’m black!
I’m black!
I’m black!

Black…
What is that anyway?
But a word full of culture and void of identity
So I have to give love to my enter me

Now, don’t get me wrong –  I haven’t always walked around proud
But even when I didn’t, with my fist up I said it loud.

I’m Black …

I don’t know Justice!
And I have not met Peace.

And I can’t help but wonder how would it feel to say it.
If I could ride with peace and justice in dat accord

I want to know them!
I want to see them
I want to talk with them
I want to kick it with the rest of the folks , like Freedom, Liberty, opportunity
I want to breathe
Not In hell
Not in hell
But inhale – exhale

Now listen, you said it and I’m flatter
You even used the hashtag #BlacklivesMatter

But when Yeshua left the many for the one
I known my Black life mattered before The hashtag became relevant
This skin is heaven sent.

But … I don’t know Justice!
And I have not met Peace.

I wish I could walk away, from the microphone telling you I met them
I give the ear an resolve it wants to hear,
But I can’t

I believe in a redeemer
I believe a The God of creation
And I can’t

Because I haven’t met justice
And I dont know peace

But I’ll tell you this
I’m going to keep looking
I’m going to keep pushing
I’m going to keep shaking
I’m going to keep talking
I’m going to keep yelling
I’m going to keep learning
I’m going to keep voting
I’m going to keep grown
I’m going to keep engaging

Because I’m going to meet them

And when I meet them going to bring them
To my school

To my job
To my house
To my hood
To my friends
To my brothers
To my sisters
To my mothers
To my fathers
To the jail
Inhale – Exhale
Inhale – exhale

I don’t know Justice!
And I have not met Peace.

Written by Royce Lovett (BMI), Kevin Dailey, Ryan James Carr (ASCAP)
© 2020 Common Hymnal Digital (BMI), Royce Lovett Music (BMI), Common Hymnal Online, Kip Central, Common Hymnal Publishing (ASCAP), Ryan James Carr (ASCAP) (admin by CapitolCMGPublishing.com). CCLI 7157120.

]]> https://www.redletterchristians.org/i-dont-know-justice/feed/ 0 33955 https://www.redletterchristians.org/stop-lying-on-god-white-evangelical-bible-illiteracy-upholds-status-quo/ https://www.redletterchristians.org/stop-lying-on-god-white-evangelical-bible-illiteracy-upholds-status-quo/#respond Tue, 31 May 2022 21:03:26 +0000 https://www.redletterchristians.org/?p=33747 A year ago while checking my emails for work, I came across an email from Goodwill Rights Management Corp. whose subject read, “Reminder: join us for the webinar “Is Social Justice the same as Biblical Justice?” This was intriguing for someone like me, to say the least. Upon opening the email, my spirit was deeply disturbed when I discovered that the title of the webinar came from a book entitled Why Social Justice is Not Biblical Justice: An Urgent Appeal to Fellow Christians in a Time of Social Crisis by Scott David Allen.

Huh?

I was so confused and went to delete the email, but my curiosity and righteous indignation took over. My initial thought was, “The audacity!” But, I was willing to give the benefit of the doubt. Maybe this was some deep analysis that detailed how what we call social justice failed to live up to the life-giving justice described in the Biblical scriptures. Wrong! What I came across was anything but that.

I have not nor will I ever read the book, however, in doing research on this particular author, I stumbled upon an article on the book and an interview with the author. From the interview, he is quoted as saying social justice is an “ideology” that has come into the “Bible-believing or evangelical church.” This means that he identifies with what is commonly referred to as an “evangelical.” I say what is commonly referred to as “evangelical” because what we commonly refer to as “evangelical” is a particular group of people all over the United States, but particularly in the Bible Belt states (combination of southeastern, southwestern, and some midwest states), that have a particular theology of the Bible and share a very conservative (and republican) political ideology. This is a perversion of what it means to be “evangelical,” which is not about a certain theological and political viewpoint upheld by the interests of an overwhelmingly white and conservative republican movement.

There was one line, however, that really prompted me to write a response to this uninspired, morally reprehensible, gaslighting of a book. It was when Allen says, “What I wanted to do in the book is not just critique social justice. I wanted people to understand it clearly as I could convey. This is not an academic book, it’s for lay Christians who are trying to get their heads around this. It’s so prominent in the culture. I tried to lay out what this worldview of social justice is but wanted to do it by comparing to biblical understandings of justice. I believe what you are dealing with here is a counterfeit justice.”

Y’all, I can’t make this stuff up!
Let’s dive into it…’

One of the things that is so backwards about the author’s logic begins with his definition of “justice” itself. The author, who is honestly representing the sentiments of the “white evangelical” world (generally speaking), expresses an ignorance about the Bible and justice. He takes the term social justice and uses it to create a false divide. First things first, all justice is social.

There is no such thing as justice outside of community. There would be no need for it. It wouldn’t exist. The sin that is injustice can’t be done in isolation. We don’t sin in abstract ways. We sin by going against the will of God but the effects are experienced by others as well as ourselves.

In the interview the author says, “Social justice comes out of a school of thought that is largely theistic, it comes out of idealism. It’s a school of thought that arose in the 1700s. People are probably familiar with Hegel and Nietzsche and some of these folks. So, it has starting points from that. But biblical justice I define this way, its “conformity to God’s moral standard as revealed in the 10 commandments, in the royal law in the New Testament which says love your neighbor as yourself.” Social justice has to do with deconstructing traditional systems and structures that are deemed to be oppressive and redistributing power and resources from oppressors to their victims in the pursuit of an equality of outcome. You can see from those two simple definitions how different these two concepts are even though they use the same word: justice.” He is basically arguing that what we know as social justice comes from a decidedly non-God or even anti-God perspective. This author and “evangelical” perspectives like his never address what the prophets of the Old Testament were called by God to preach to the people. Some examples of this are below:

Micah 6:8, “He has told you human one, what is good and what the Lord requires from you: to do justice, embrace faithful love, and walk humbly with your God.” (CEB)

Isaiah 1:17, “… learn to do good. Seek justice: help the oppressed; defend the orphan; plead for the widow.” (CEB)

Amos 5:24, “But let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” (CEB)

Jeremiah 22:3, “The Lord proclaims: Do what is just and right; rescue the oppressed from the power of the oppressor. Don’t exploit or mistreat the refugee, the orphan, and the widow. Don’t spill the blood of the innocent in this place.” (CEB)

I’m not trying to cherrypick scripture either. The truth is that these are just a few examples, but the scripture passages in Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and many of the other prophets are too much to just write in one blog post. And, I encourage you, as is a practice of mine, to read what comes before and what comes after to fully understand what is being said in these singular verses. Nevertheless, each of these verses comes after the prophets share God’s disgust with the centers of power and the people’s performance of religion and faithfulness to “Him.” The festivals and offerings do not please God when the oppression of the most vulnerable people in society (i.e. widows, orphans, refugees, etc.) or the outright disregard for them as human beings is the norm.

This is an excerpt from a blog post that originally appeared in “In My Ancestors’ Dreams”. 

There are so many stories in Scripture where someone is abused, assaulted or oppressed, and God models to us how to center and elevate that person’s story. God has always cared about our stories; in the book of Judges, for example, we read story after story of injustice, including in chapter 19 the assault, rape and murder of an unnamed woman in the streets of Gibeah. It is a horrific murder. When the people of Israel heard about it, they assembled and then in Judges 20:3 the Israelite leaders said “tell us how this awful thing happened.” In other words, they sought out answers first, before they acted. The heinous, unjust killing of a human being demands a weighty response. But first we must listen.

The story in Judges 19 challenges us, as families seeking to raise our children with the heart of God, to ask the victimized community for their point of view. For example, instead of jumping to talk about grace, forgiveness, and reconciliation with our kids, we need to first do the hard work of encouraging our children and ourselves to hear a person’s (or community’s) pain and even rage. This is what happened after the conviction and sentencing of Amber Guyger, a former Dallas police officer who entered 26-year-old Botham Jean’s apartment and fatally shot him. Botham’s brother, Brandt, responded by saying “I forgive you” and the video of Brandt hugging Guyger went viral. However, many missed footage from the rest of the family, including these words from Botham’s mother, Allison Jean: “Forgiveness for us as Christians is a healing for us, but as my husband said, there are consequences. It does not mean that everything else we have suffered has to go unnoticed.” As author and speaker Dorena Williamson argues, “Listening to the entire Jean family offers us a fuller picture of Christianity. In their words and posture towards Guyger and the criminal justice system, we hear calls for both forgiveness and justice. But if we elevate the words of one family member at the expense of another, we run the risk of distorting the gospel.”

READ: THE SHOOTING IN BUFFALO HAPPENED within a Context of Complicity with White Supremacy 

Much of the news today on everything from Black Lives Matter to immigrants, border crossings, anti-Asian racism and more in this country is steered by the dominant voice. But Scripture challenges us to listen to all the voices. We need to gear our attention in the direction of the marginalized voices and make the conscious choice to listen to the experiences of those who have suffered the most pain. In other words, we can control our own attention and focus to hear from those who are most overlooked.

Telling your own story is a God-given right. Every person of every cultural background and heritage has the right to talk about their experiences, struggles, and joys. Whether the person is an immigrant, a Black man, a Native American, a Latina, a second generation Asian American woman, a white person, or someone who is incarcerated, everyone has the right to be understood in the context of what they’ve been through and in the context of their relationships with others—and even more so for their experiences to be heard and believed.

JOIN: FAITH FORUM WITH THE POOR PEOPLE’S CAMPAIGN 

So the next time a racial tragedy headlines on the news, our posture as a race-wise family should be to listen. The next time a Black or Brown person is killed, the next time immigration is described as a “crisis at the border”, or the next time an Asian is the recipient of racist rhetoric, we must challenge our family to first go to people who represent that community and say, “We must do something! So, speak up!”

We must raise children who value people’s stories. Whether they are named or unnamed on the nightly news or in a viral video, whoever the man or woman is, they are made in the image of God. He or she has a story and their life has meaning. As you watch the news on TV or when you know your kids are scrolling through news feeds, challenge yourself and your kids to lean into what the victim’s family and community is saying. Ask them how the voices of people of color might differ from the news organization reporting the story. Ask them to think about how a community of color’s perspective is different from the dominant white community’s response and consider why that is.

It’s only after fully listening and understanding that we can respond. If we have listened to the voices of hurting people of color, I mean really listened, we will challenge ourselves to see the world through their point of view. Current events, including racial tragedies are always complex, and while there is often room for differences in opinions, it’s important to show love to our neighbor by holding space and even being led by their opinion on an issue. True listening and understanding leads to holistic responses that align with real community needs and desires.

When we hold the Bible in one hand and the news in the other, our posture as a race-wise family will be to listen often and well, and to be slow to speak. We will challenge ourselves to hear all the voices in a news story and then respond in ways that are honoring and loving toward those who have been victimized or who are struggling.

Excerpted from The Race-Wise Family. Copyright © 2022 by Helen Lee & Michelle Ami Reyes. Published by WaterBrook, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC.

We’d lived the Good Samaritan story in Iraq, and as a recent Christian college graduate, I thought it was important to preach that parable’s good news to Christian colleges. Chaplains invited me into their pulpits, and we often shared conversation over lunch with students and faculty about what it means to live the gospel of Jesus in a violent world.

The culture on white Christian college campuses skews conservative, and there were always people who were uncomfortable with my messages—even those who publicly protested them. But as the occupation of Iraq drug on and the truth came out about the lies that had been told to justify the initial invasion, the common sense about that war changed. I had the chance to preach Jesus’ Way of nonviolent love, beloved community, racial equity and economic justice on Christian college campuses. I taught students to sing the freedom songs of the civil rights movement and introduced them to the vibrant faith of Fannie Lou Hamer and Dorothy Day, Clarence Jordan and Rosa Parks. Over the course of two decades, I’ve had dozens of conversations with chaplains and administrators about the challenge of young people who grew up in the Christian faith rejecting it as young adults because they do not see the church living out Jesus’ commitment to love, justice, and mercy. I’ve loved preaching in Christian college chapels because it’s given me the chance to watch faith get reborn in some of those young people.

Because of this experience, I was troubled when I heard from my friend Jemar Tisby that the Board of Trustees at Grove City College had commissioned an investigation that singled out a sermon he gave in their chapel two years ago. The language the report uses is common in right wing political circles right now. It demonizes “critical race theory” as a threat to faith, then finds signs of this imagined enemy in any efforts to address racial justice. Without naming any theological or hermeneutical error in his message to the students, the report names Dr. Tisby as a representative of its boogeyman, then recommends restricting access to the pulpit to prevent others from committing the same perceived error. If you’re interested in the details of all of this, Dr. Tisby has written a gracious response that includes links to the report.

What concerns me about this official action to single out Dr. Tisby and purge a Christian college campus of conversations about racial justice is the answer it implies to the question of what mission Christian colleges serve. Like I said, there have always been people on these campuses who would disagree with me or Dr. Tisby. This is what a college campus is for: critical reflection and honest debate about how we make sense of the world. At a Christian college, that debate is shaped by the shared conviction that the Bible and Christian tradition shape conversations about how we understand the world.

At least, that’s what I’ve always assumed. But in their zeal to appease extremists who’ve made “CRT” their boogeyman, the Board of Trustees at Grove City College seems to have made a public confession that the shared commitment which shapes conversation on their campus is not the gospel of Jesus Christ, but the conversative political ideology that racial equity challenges. Given the reach of the religious right into white Christian institutions, I suspect this board is not the only one that will have to decide which side of this ultimatum it is on.

My guess is that most of the members of the Board at Grove City aren’t happy they were forced to make this choice. The board chair, who also serves as CEO of DuPont, has made public statements on behalf of his company in support of racial justice, and he claims to be implementing a company-wide initiative to achieve racial equity in their workforce. It’s awkward to be put in a position where you publicly contradict yourself, but some powers and principalities persuaded the Board to accept and approve this report.

But having spent time on Christian college campuses, my heart aches for the young people who thought they were learning to follow Jesus and the faculty and staff who show up every day assuming that their mission is to pursue God’s kingdom, not the success of the Republican Party. The Board of Trustees hasn’t only singled out Dr. Tisby in an unfair and un-Christian way. They have also let down a community whose primary obstacle to faith in recent years is the hypocrisy of its leaders.

Since our friend Tony Campolo first called us together 15 years ago, Red Letter Christians have been preaching Jesus and justice on college campuses and in churches and communities around this country. In this moment, we have a chance to say #IStandWithJemar, and to challenge other Christian colleges and institutions to make clear whether their primary commitment is to the gospel of Jesus or to a political ideology. I hope we can do it not only for Dr. Tisby’s sake, but also for the millions of young people in this country and around the world who are genuinely asking whether an authentic Christian faith is possible.

Living in Jubilee, Haiti this was a familiar story to me. I heard it several times a month. Desperate mom, rent was due and she had no way to pay it so she was about to lose her home and her kids. So I read this familiar passage as I’ve never read it before. It had my FULL attention. 

 The widow comes to the prophet with her impossible situation. Needing help. Needing to be rescued. Needing some cold hard cash. But what does he say? How does he respond to this desperate situation?  

“Lady, what do you HAVE?” 

This is what you say to someone in a dire situation? This!?!?

 What do you HAVE? 

 I’m thinking, dang. Man’s got some kind of nerve! Because the only question I was asking day and night was, WHAT do you need?  

 But never this question. Never, What do you HAVE!   

 I read on. 

 And she replies, “Nothing.”

I can hear the Haitian mamma say it. Pa gen anyen. The Kreyol way of saying, I have nothing, as she slaps the backs of her hands to her palms. Over and under. The universal sign for Anyen. Empty. I got nothing.   

 And then these few cautious words slip out of her mouth.  

“Except I do have a tiny smidgen of oil.” 

Great! I can practically see the prophet’s face light up with too much hope. An explosion of joy. You DO have something. More importantly, you can SEE that you do have something. And we can work with that. 

“Here’s what you do,” said Elisha. “Go up and down the street and borrow empty jugs and bowls from all your neighbors. And not just a few—all you can get. Then come home and lock the door behind you, you and your sons. Pour oil into each container; when each is full, set it aside.

She did what he said. She locked the door behind her and her sons; as they brought the containers to her, she filled them. When all the jugs and bowls were full, she said to one of her sons, “Another jug, please.” He said,“That’s it. There are no more jugs.” Then the oil stopped. She went and told the story to the man of God. He said,“Go sell the oil and make good on your debts. Live, both you and your sons, on what’s left.”

I’d like to point out a few things here:

1. Point for the missionary/helper/prophet person. This is not an easy question to ask of someone in need. It does not make them adore you or depend on you or include you in their testimony of how their life was changed. Other fellow helpers can misunderstand you or judge you or call you selfish. It happens. 

 2. Point for the widow. She had to have eyes to see that she did have something. I am a firm believer that the economy of heaven is both abundant and at the same time never wasteful. Extravagant and Responsible. Seems we need to use what we have before receiving more. And we can’t use what we have if we don’t see and admit that we have it. She saw. 

3. Point for the kindness of heaven. A mom’s greatest terror is losing a child. Can you even imagine how terrified this mom was when the authorities were threatening to take her sons and make them slaves until she could pay her debt? Being a mom of many, I know that that threat throws your psyche into a whole new universe. It is the last thing. 

I love the way the story is so particular to point out that he said: 

“Then come home and lock the door behind you, you and your sons. 

Instead of losing them, they were pulled in close and started a family business together! Oh, how I love this.

 4. Another point for the widow. She listened to the advice. And she took it. She didn’t give up. She threw herself into action. What faith! Surely the neighbors shook their heads, whispering “bless her heart” as they watched the drama play out. She likely looked a little unhinged collecting her neighbors’ empty Tupperware containers but she did it anyway. 

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And the result? The oil couldn’t help itself. It multiplied in that environment. I think that is the way of heaven. Standing on tiptoe at all times waiting for an opening. Any tiny opening to pour into. The woman cracked open the door and the sweet ways of heaven rushed in. She filled all the containers. Sold them back to her community and paid her debt. 

She likely then launched her own Oil business, hired several single moms, franchised to Egypt, and sent her sons to good schools in Mesopotamia. 

The big takeaway from this story for me is that when we change the question from what do you need to what do you have, it flips everything. It shows respect. It acknowledges that everyone has something.  

I think it is the single most important thing I have learned. 

And I think it is a critical piece for the world of helpers and the helped today. 

Until we as helpers understand that the person across the table from us needing help has something of value to bring to the equation, we will most likely do harm with our helping.  

Please understand I do not mean when we are doing relief work after an earthquake or storm. In those situations, we are giving, giving, giving! Generously, quickly and with great intention. I am talking about communities that exist in systemic poverty, in generational situations of perpetual need.  

We must begin to change the question.

From:  What do you need?  

To:  What do you have? 

I had the honor of sitting with the two talented artisans who oversee one of the basket guilds. They are brother and sister and have been making baskets for over 20 years. I wish everyone could sit and look into their faces and know them a little. 

The basketmakers. 

They called me into a meeting and asked if we might be able to raise the price a bit on a few of the baskets, citing the cost of materials had gone up and gotten more difficult to find in the aftermath of a destructive hurricane.

I said I would look and see how it would affect our customers and get back to them.

I did. 

And I began to feel this tension.

If we paid them more, it would cause our customers’ price to go up too. How would that work? Most people that shop with us are stretching their dollars as it is.

These talented artisans were very happy to have orders coming in. They would continue to work at whatever price we said we could pay. It is the nature of living at the “bottom of the pyramid.” It is why companies take their work “offshore.” Labor is plentiful and it is as cheap as you want it to be.

It is as cheap as you want it to be. 

Are you weeping yet?

Because I really am? 

It’s no wonder ancient texts warn us, the rich, about taking advantage of the poor. Because we can. And God, the father of all of us, feels pretty strongly about that kind of behavior.

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I sat with them and decidedly told them:

If we aren’t walking justly, we need to close our doors. Period.

So I asked that they be open with me about the time it takes to make them and what is a good and just price. They talked and I took notes.

I went back into our inventory system and I looked. I saw how these changes would affect our customers. These people chose us when there were cheaper brands of baskets out there.  

And I worried a little, will we keep selling them? The last thing I wanted to do was to bring fewer orders to this group of skilled makers. 

I decided to do it. I decided to raise the price so we could pay the artisans more. So we could pay them what they believed was a fair wage. I believed it too. 

A few days later we made this announcement to our customers:  

We’ve raised our prices on our baskets! 

The bargain for our customers was that when they bought one at the new price, they knew that they were paying a just price. A fair wage. And I was betting that is actually what our customers wanted from us more than anything else. And I was right.

Content taken from Painfully Honest: The Tale of a Recovering Helper by Kathy Brooks. Used with permission. Kathy is the director of 2nd Story Goods, one of our partners on the RLC Marketplace.

Find justice based gifts that make a difference at the RLC Marketplace of Missional Businesses. Mother’s Day is April 8th and you can shop from the special gift guides at 2nd Story Goods and Thistle Farms.