Tag Archives: oppression

The Longest March

History is full of marches. Marches for rights. Marches in protest. Some marches have culminated in victory and freedom. Some have disintegrated in violence and oppression. But underlying them all is a pressing need, a problem so deeply felt that it propels limbs and souls into motion.

IMG_8626Sunday morning I awoke with a similar urgency. A march had been organized in our town that I just had to be a part of. Unlike most political or social marches, this one included a large number of children, and the banners we carried were a bit unconventional. As we marched down the old, sleepy streets of St. Andrews, we sang our slogans rather than shout them. But our message was no less pointed.

“We have a King…”

May God arise, may his enemies be scattered; may his foes flee before him…. But may the righteous be glad and rejoice before God; may they be happy and joyful.
Psalm 68:1-3

What at face value must have looked like an odd assortment of Sunday-school children and their overly enthusiastic chaperones was really a continuation of the longest running march in the world. In a way, this march goes back as far as human oppression has been present on our earth. It represents the long trains of sufferers who, for whatever reason, have felt their need for a deliverer and have cried out to God to send one.

Sing to God, sing praise to his name, extol him who rides on the clouds… A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families, he leads forth the prisoners with singing; but the rebellious live in a sun-scorched land. When you went out before your people, O God, when you marched through the wasteland, … You gave abundant showers, O God; you refreshed your weary inheritance. Your people settled in it, and from your bounty, O God, you provided for the poor.
Psalm 68:4-10

The children of Israel participated in this march as they left Egypt. Shuffling along in slave rags with their few earthly possessions in tow, their company hardly had the feel of a triumphal procession. And yet its strength lay in the One riding the clouds at the front of their line. He would lead them right through the midst of raging oppressors and surging seas, tenderly providing for their needs and safely guiding them to a safe haven they could call their own.

…the Lord [has come] from Sinai into his sanctuary. When you ascended on high, you led captives in your train; you received gifts from men, even from the rebellious– that you, O LORD God, might dwell there. Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens.
Psalm 68:17-19

Generations later, their descendants would find themselves straggling along on a similar march. Once again the subjects of political abuse and international displacement, they would trickle out of exile in Babylon and limp towards home in Zion. But what had become of their king? Who would defend them from greedy power pariahs and opportunistic land sharks? Who would organize their economy, oversee their defense, and ensure their rights? Even with Nehemiah’s wall and Zerubbabel’s temple, they needed a king.

Your procession has come into view, O God, the procession of my God and King into the sanctuary…. There is the little tribe of Benjamin, leading them, there the great throng of Judah’s princes, and there the princes of Zebulun and of Naphtali. Summon your power, O God; show us your strength, O God, as you have done before…. Sing to God, O kingdoms of the earth, sing praise to the Lord, to him who rides the ancient skies above, who thunders with mighty voice.
Psalm 68:24, 27-29, 32-33

So centuries later when a rag-tag group of beggars, cripples, and kids started picking up palm branches and laying down clothes, an age-old need was finally being filled. Their impromptu march was a culmination of the ages, a fulfillment of what generations of oppression-weary souls had been sighing for. Finally, the King had come. Only this time He came riding a donkey instead of clouds, wrapped in homespun rather than light, and heralded by children rather than angels.

Jesus entered the temple area and drove out all who were buying and selling there. … “It is written,” he said to them, ” ‘My house will be called a house of prayer,’ but you are making it a ‘den of robbers.’ ” The blind and the lame came to him at the temple, and he healed them.
Matthew 21:12-14

But this King’s gentle, approachable appearance in no way belied His power to accomplish what His people needed of Him. Jesus took immediate action in responding to their “Hosannas” by scattering their oppressors and gathering the weak. With the money barons cleared out and the broken-bodied brought in to the temple, He set to work doing the job of a Liberator: making wrong things right.

Of course we know where that landed Him. But in the grand scheme of things, Jesus’ death on the cross was a blip on the screen, a seeming setback that ultimately cinched His victory over all the powers that oppress His people. Sickness and spirits, sin and shame, tears and tyrants would all be put to flight under His reign of righteousness and peace. And this reign is still in the process of expanding out to the four corners of the earth through the ongoing march of God’s people.

Jesus’ reign is expanding to the four corners of the earth through the ongoing march of His people.

This is the victory procession I got to be a part of enacting in my little town this past Sunday morning. I marched for my brother whose heart is broken with grief. I marched for my sister whose body is broken with cancer. I marched for people in the Middle East and Nigeria who are oppressed by evil terrorist regimes. I marched for others around the world who are tormented by evil spiritual forces.

IMG_8629But unlike most emotionally-charged demonstrations, our march was marked with gentleness, not anger; with celebration, not fear. We walked through the streets of our town singing of the reign of our loving, liberating King. We proclaimed Him as the solution to our problems in this time and place just as He has been through all of history.

“We have a King who rides a donkey, and His name is Jesus.”

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A Unifying Feast

IMG_7822“What is the significance of Thanksgiving?”

Inevitably the question gets asked around our nomadic Thanksgiving table each year, primarily because the guests who fill our mismatched chairs are a constantly varying assortment of races and nationalities. Years ago we established a family tradition of inviting friends from whichever local community we happened to belong to at the time to share our feast with us, largely inspired by our desire to express our gratitude to them for welcoming us in and helping us settle. I have always relished answering this question, getting the chance to draw the parallels between their kindness to us and the kindness of the Native Americans to the pilgrims.

But in more recent days I have been struck with the awkward question: what if in return for our new neighbors’ sacrificial kindness, we abused them, took over their land, and forced them into exile? Is that not how the story of the first Thanksgiving turned out? All of a sudden my warm fuzzies over happy natives and holy pilgrims sharing a peaceful meal together shrivel into a nasty knot in my stomach. Sadly, this is my American heritage.

We perpetuate a heritage of sacrificing other’s best interests for the sake of our own.

But what can I do with it? I can dismiss the rest of the story as an unpleasant memory and choose to focus on the positive. But positive for whom? I hate to admit it, but I’m afraid I have been guilty of remembering history only from the perspective that is most convenient to me. And in so doing, I have privately propagated the very practices that I would publically condemn. Racist assumptions. Double standards. Convenient cover-ups. Selective memory.

When I actually face up to the facts, I shudder at the story of what my ancestors did to the people who inhabited the land they wanted. Their behavior makes Ahab and Jezebel look like saints! In a similar way, I cringe at the story of what my people did to the black people they imported to work their stolen land. I start to read the story of Israel’s slavery in Egypt from a different perspective, recognizing that my heritage is that of the oppressors, not the oppressed.

If you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, … if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and purpose. Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.
Philippians 2:1-4

And trying to separate myself from my ancestors’ actions won’t work either. On varying levels and on different fronts, these racist practices have continued right through the generations and into my day. We perpetuate a quickness to sacrifice other’s best interests for the sake of our own, conveniently slotting them into the category of “outsiders” so that we can be left alone to enjoy the fruit without the guilt. Free-market competitive pricing becomes an excuse for international extortion. Self-defense becomes an acceptable reason for killing someone who makes us feel threatened, even if he was defenseless.

My heart breaks as I witness in the news the physical manifestations of an ever-present rift, both in the racist assumptions that would lead to multiple police killings of African-American youth and in the violent backlash in response to them. But I have to admit that I am not surprised. Generations of divisive attitudes and oppressive behaviors have built this wall, and a smattering of charitable gestures and affirmative actions won’t tear it down.

For he himself is our peace, who has made the two one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility, by abolishing in his flesh the law with its commandments and regulations. His purpose was to create in himself one new man out of the two, thus making peace, and in this one body to reconcile both of them to God through the cross, by which he put to death their hostility.
Ephesians 2:14-16

So what is the way forward in reconciling a history of racial division and distrust? What tiny part can I play in tearing down this too-long reinforced wall? I think the first step is to acknowledge the true story, to listen to my African-American and Native-American neighbors’ retelling of the past and to humbly bear the shame of my ancestors’ role in it. But beyond that, I relish the opportunity to participate with them in a new future.

Each time we gather around our Thanksgiving tables, we replicate Christ’s unifying feast.

Jesus took bread, gave thanks, and broke it. Out of His fragmented body, He drew together people from every tribe, tongue, and nation to become one holy race. Each time we gather around the communion table, we participate in this reality. And each time we gather around our dinner tables, we replicate that unifying feast.

Now there were staying in Jerusalem God-fearing Jews from every nation under heaven.
All the believers were together and had everything in common. Selling their possessions and goods, they gave to anyone as he had need. Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts…
Acts 2:5, 44-47

The early Christians understood the significance of eating together, of gathering around the table and entering into face-to-face communion with people whom they had formerly considered “other.” I can’t help but wonder if this is what the pilgrims had in mind when they initiated that first Thanksgiving meal. And though the communion between European-Americans and Native-Americans would turn out to be pathetically short-lived, it is what we commemorate each time we gather around our Thanksgiving tables.

Tomorrow I look forward to once again eating that meal with the odd assortment of multi-racial guests whom I have the privilege of calling friends. As we break bread and share turkey together, we are practicing for the ultimate Thanksgiving feast, the unity supper of the Lamb.