Signed, Sealed, Delivered

“…loaded like spoons
into the belly of Jesus
where we lay for weeks, for months
in the sweat and stink of own breathing
Jesus – why do you not protect us
chained to the heart of the Angel
where the prayers we never tell
are hot and red as our bloody ankles
can these be men
who vomit us out from ships
called Jesus  Angel   Grace of God
onto a heathen country
Jesus
Angel
ever again
can this tongue speak
can this bone walk
Grace of God
can this sin live…”
-Lucille Clifton, ‘Slaveships’

For me, this poem fit the context of that morning’s worship like a glove.
I’d selected it very intentionally as that morning’s ‘Centering Thought’, as I do every element of the services I compose.
For what it’s worth, none of the reflections, readings, readers, music, or silences are ever accidental.
Even the art on the cover of the Order of Service is always a very deliberate thread in the tapestry.
I aim to choose all of a service’s moving parts (and partners) with careful consideration, and a mindful intention for the feel & flow of the morning’s experience.
And for me, this Lucille Clifton dirge felt kindred to the spirit of the hour.

I’d crafted that service as a lamentation centered in and around the Middle Passage, and the resiliency of the African-American narrative.
From my perspective, Clifton’s poem was an indictment of the hypocrisy of slaveowners naming slaveships after their gods (i.e. Jesus, Angel, Grace) – and then forcibly enslaving humans on those ships, subjecting them to ungodly conditions and inhumane evils.
All while, ironically, trying to also force the enslaved to worship those same gods-

“…can these be men
who vomit us out from ships
called Jesus   Angel   Grace of God
onto a heathen country…”

I returned to the office a few days after that Sunday to find (in my mail bin) an Order of Service bulletin – folded in half, with handwritten commentary beside the Clifton poem;

“…Why does UUCC allow this fantasy to be taken seriously and promoted?…”
“…Such references are especially irritating in the context of the conditions ‘god allowed’ on the Middle Passage & stories of the slave trade heard today!..”

Each mention of ‘Jesus’, ‘Grace’, ‘Angel’, and ‘God’ was circled furiously – almost like I’d gotten them wrong on a high school math exam.
I shared it with Paige, who helped me notice that the handwriting for the first comment was very different from the second.
There were evidently two writers (perhaps sitting next to each other in the sanctuary?).
Maybe their indictment was a class-action, speaking for a handful of others?
Were they indicting someone else (perhaps Paige?)  – or maybe a whole faith tradition (two billion ‘someone elses’)?

The thing is – I don’t know what they meant.
I don’t know, because they didn’t leave their names.
They didn’t sign it.
There was no way to contact them, or to have an honest conversation about it all.
Were they seeking explanation or clarification – or had their questions been rhetorical?
I don’t know.
It was like they rang the doorbell and drove away.

My lament wasn’t for ‘what’ they said, but for ‘how’ they said it.
Our free-thinking faith was founded (and has flourished) as much upon our agreements as our disagreements.
We aim to lean into our conflicts when they arise, welcoming the tension and the release (and the growth that emerges from that dance).
But we do this in covenant.
Above all, we seek to stay in relationship (in conversation) with each other.
And in order to really do that, from my vantage point, we have to own what we say.
We sign our names.
It is, incidentally, the essence of why we shy away from anonymous communications or surveys.
We seek to invite dialogue – and in so doing, live into our covenant.
Of course, we will miss the mark from time to time.
And we’ll endeavor to begin again in love – together.

I would’ve welcomed a sharing of perspectives and thought-processes in covenant.
For me (and for Clifton herself) – the poem was about the harsh reality of the Middle Passage.
Not a ‘fantasy’ of faith, but a crisis of conscience.
It was sarcastic.
Souls grasping for meaning in the presence of the darkest humanity – and what felt like, for many, the glaring absence of divinity.
I would have shared that.

I would have shared that I am not Christian.
But the context of the Middle Passage was.
And it would be impossible to tell that part of the African-American story honestly without including some Christian language and imagery.
Its influence was present in that era’s poetry, prose, and in the lyrics of Spirituals (all of which were woven into that service).

I would’ve welcomed the chance to explain/explore all of this in conversation.
I would’ve surely acknowledged that ‘Jesus’, ‘Angel’, ‘Grace’, and ‘God’ are wounded words for many (They certainly were for me for many years).
I would’ve asked if this was true for them.
I might’ve asked if the Spirituals’ lyrics had bothered them as much as the poem?
I might’ve also asked if the lyrics in the Fauré Requiem (a Catholic Mass) or the Bach Magnificat (a biblical canticle) had bothered them?
And if not – why not?

We essentially ‘sign’ everything we create in ministry. For better or for worse, we attach our name to our insights and we own them outright.
This opens us up to critique, but it also opens the community to conversation.
And those beloved conversations are the core of our covenant.

I wish I’d had the opportunity to have this conversation (I think it would have been a rich one).
Worship services are not necessarily the end-all be-all.
Often, they are only the beginning.

I invite us to stay open to the conversation.
The kind that may open hearts and minds – and maybe even heal wounds.

Signed,
Anthony