Day 39

Acceptable levels of death

I never read that the 40-Day Journey was designed as a Lenten devotion. So, I don't know if the editor was aware or perhaps even intended today's reading to occur on Good Friday. If not, the tragic irony of it is not lost on me.

I've spent the last three days, with a dear friend and pastor from Chicago. During the years I worked as an administrator in the seminary there, Martin was our pastor at Irving Park United Methodist Church. Though it was a small struggling church in one of the many urban neighborhoods, we went to Irving Park because the church housed the Reconciling Ministries Network and Pastor Martin lived and preached a life of personal holiness and social justice.

Among stories Martin shared with us this week about his days with Dr. King and his work in the civil rights movement in Chicago, two are keeping me company this Good Friday. The first was something he'd been told by those closest to Dr. King.

On the night before his death, Dr. King was with his 'senior staff' struggling with what his next steps should be for the movement. They'd all been on a long flight, they'd been working hard, things were incredibly stressful. As Dr. King considered the options, including a fast for justice, he found most of them had fallen asleep.

Our friend told us this story after last night's Maundy Thursday service, where we commemorated Jesus' time of prayer in the garden of Gethsemane. "What's must I do next?" Dr. King seemed to wonder the night before he was killed. His friends overwhelmed with the weight of it all and were overcome by sleep. Is this the way with those who are willing to absorb the violence of the world without retaliating?

The second story was one our friend lived with Dr. King. They'd been protesting by singing and marching for housing justice at a park in an all-white neighborhood. They were soon surrounded by crowds of angry homeowners who shouted at them, "calling us all kinds of horrible things."

My children listened earnestly as he said, "then they began throwing rocks and bricks. The police who were not usually on our side surrounded us, making a big circle around us to protect us. They tried to move us out of danger as quickly as they could. Dr. King was hit in the head by a piece of a brick," he said forming a circle with his finger and thumb to show that it was not as large as they might have thought. "He wasn't hurt very badly."

"I got hit in the leg by a piece of concrete. It didn't hurt me too much, but it surprised me when it stung my leg. I picked it up. I kept it for a long time, but eventually got rid of it."

For my children's benefit, I asked him why they didn't fight back. "Why didn't you shout back and throw the rocks back at them?"

Pastor Martin took great care in explaining how they believed like Jesus that the only way to get rid of violence is to take it into your body, to pray for those who are hating you even while they are hurting you. "It wasn't easy, but that's what we believed. And that's what we did. We kept singing and praying for those people even while the police led us out of the park."

Whether the dehumanizing effects of racism, environmental destruction or physical violence inflicted on any individual, what is an "acceptable level of death?" I don't know if we can know that until we are faced with how much of the world's violence we are willing to absorb without retaliating.

On this Good Friday, as we bear witness to the redemptive suffering of Jesus Christ, may God give us the courage and faith to absorb our own share of the world's violence, as we strive to give only love in return.