‘Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.–Matthew 10:34
Shortly after I came to Edwards, the Framingham Human Relations Commission invited residents to participate in small groups to explore issues of race and diversity. I signed up, eager to be part of an effort to combat racism and promote understanding in my new town.
My small group was a wonderful mix of people–men and women, black and white, gay and straight, with differing physical abilities and limitations. The first four sessions were inspiring, as we learned about each other’s lives and came to appreciate the unique perspective each of us brings.
During the fifth session, a young African-American woman brought up the topic of reparations–the idea the one way to heal from the scourge of slavery was by our nation offering an apology and reparations to the descendants of slaves. At the time, it was an idea being discussed in many settings, including Congress. It would, at the least, be a national recognition of the harm done–an apology with concrete action to back it up.
At an abstract level, the idea intrigued me. Would reparations actually begin to heal those deep wounds? Would an apology matter? Would a one-time payment of reparations instead become an excuse for people who want to pretend there is no longer a problem? At a practical level, I knew the idea was controversial. My instinct is to avoid controversy and instead find someone everyone can agree upon.
So I got philosophical–even theological. I asked questions about the nature of forgiveness, atonement and reconciliation.
The woman who had raised the topic responded with anger. For her this was a deeply personal issue, and I was treating it as an abstract concept. The facilitator was good; she helped us name what was happening and why. The meeting ended amicably. Still, we all left feeling a little unsettled. Our nice friendly “let’s get to know each other” group had stepped, ever so gingerly, into the minefield of the pain of racism.
Our next gathering was to be our final one. It was in my calendar; I fully intended to go, even as I recognized that I didn’t want to. But then the week got busy. I had a funeral to prepare, a couple people in the hospital, and my sermon wasn’t done. Work, I told myself, has to come first. That afternoon, I emailed the facilitator to say, with apologies, that I couldn’t make it that night.
It turned out more than half the group did the same thing. We all had good excuses–but that’s what they were, excuses. When the conversation got difficult, we stopped talking.
Tonight there is a gathering, “Framingham Coming Together,” to begin a Sacred Conversation in our town–about race and diversity, power and privilege. I’m confident it will be skillfully facilitated to help all of us risk honest sharing. I suspect there will be some hard moments. I pray, for myself and for others, for the courage to stay in the conversation.
God, when Sacred Conversations become hard, help us to keep listening and talking. Amen.