No Justice, No Peace

“No Justice, No Peace”

Sermon on December 7, 2014

Isaiah 40:1-5

Comfort, O comfort my people,
    says your God.
² Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
    and cry to her
that she has served her term,
    that her penalty is paid,
that she has received from the Lord’s hand
    double for all her sins.

³ A voice cries out:
“In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord,
    make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
⁴ Every valley shall be lifted up,
    and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level,
    and the rough places a plain.
⁵ Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,
    and all people shall see it together,
    for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.”

God of love, mercy, peace, and comfort, lead and guide us in this time so we may know how to proclaim your love more fully in this place, in this community, and in this world. Amen. 

In August, my friend Erika and I took a road trip across the country to get me back to Princeton from Seattle. Our journey involved driving through St. Louis. As an incredibly caring, compassionate, and convicted friend, Erika was willing to stop in Ferguson with me. We had no idea what we were going to do there, but we were set on stopping.

When we arrived, we saw boarded up businesses, we saw the places that had been looted. We looked around and recognized the McDonald’s where journalists sought refuge, and we saw the 3 block radius where all the riots and protests happened. We were taken aback by this town wrought with pain and a sense of hollowness. How could this be? Was the media coverage actually accurate?

We parked the car in front of what looked like abandoned businesses and decided whether we should get out of the car. We didn’t know what we were supposed to do. We wondered if we would even be welcomed. Was this a mistake?

We did eventually face our fears and insecurities and we got out of the car. We left it in front of those businesses and we started walking towards one of the many tents set up for t-shirts made in protest for Michael and information about voting. We began an afternoon of talking to locals. We progressed from tent to tent and we were strongly welcomed by local after local. They were grateful for our presence. They wanted to share their story. They wanted the world to know what it’s really like in Ferguson because, no, the media coverage wasn’t accurate.

That day, the abandoned looking businesses were open for the first time in weeks. So many places were boarded up, not because they’d been looted, but because they were trying to protect themselves from looting. The tents were up because of the first of what would become many Black Lives Matter protests. They had information about voting because a large portion of the community was not registered to vote and they knew that if they wanted to make a change, they would need to get their community to engage in the democratic process. They were trying to peacefully change their community. That’s what Ferguson was really like in August.

The chief sorrow? That an 18 year old lost his life long before he should have. That his body was left in the street for 4.5 hours. That his mother could not go see his body. And not only that, that his mother was kept at least 2-3 blocks from the scene for over an hour.

Erika and I stood in the place where Mike’s mother wailed knowing her son was dead on the ground. We stood in that place while talking to locals about their sorrow and their desire to see justice in their community. We then began to make the 2-3 block pilgrimage to the site of the shooting upon the request of multiple locals.

The walk came with much anticipation. What would we see? How would we react? Lord, how would we cry out? What could we do?

There were two memorials set up. One set up in the middle of the street where Mike’s body was for hours and another was set up along the side of the road. These memorials were made with whatever people had available to offer at the time. Water bottles, pieces of paper, flowers, the works. It seemed that everyone who came to this site wondered what they could do and simply offered what little they had. Just like us.

Across the street, we saw a group of people praying. We walked across the street to stand outside the circle and pray in solidarity with the group. It took no time at all before they noticed us, broke open the circle and took our hands. We stood there for a good 20-30 minutes praying and singing. When it was all said and done, we hugged strangers, locals, and we talked to them about the town and the neighboring towns. We heard both their sorrow and their hope.

My heart cried, “God, what can we do?”

When we left, we knew that the Brown’s were working on petitions to have all police officers wear body cameras. We also knew that young protestors were camping out near the site of the shooting until Darren Wilson was indicted for trial. It was in this we heard the tenacity of the community in their preparations but also the hopelessness for the outcome of this indictment. From the stories of the locals, we knew to basically expect no indictment and MANY more protests following that decision.

Since then I have continued to follow the story of Ferguson. I have not forgotten. I have prayed, I have listened, I have supported my friends and colleagues as they’ve organized and participated in protests both in Ferguson and in the cities around here. I’ve lamented with the African-American community as we looked at 7 different last words of young men and women shot dead by police officers. I have anxiously awaited the arrival of the day the grand jury would make their announcement. Like Isaiah says, we are in the wilderness, and we are somehow asked to prepare the way of God so that paths may be made straight and the rocky, uneven ground made level.

“No Justice. No Peace.” is a common chant in the current protests. It is addressing the injustice done in the non-indictment related to Michael Brown and the even more recent injustice done in the non-indictment related to Eric Garner whose death we have on tape. I, myself, have participated in many protests just this past week and this chant in particular has spurred my thoughts on Advent and this week meant to talk about peace.

This particular Advent season does not feel peaceful.  In the wake of the non-indictments from Ferguson and Eric Garner, we are facing social unrest. Please don’t hear me wrong, this particular area of social unrest has always been there, but now we are really facing it. The voices of the oppressed are no longer being silent. They are crying, “Justice! We deserve justice! Peace. We deserve peace.”

A peace that means the oppressed can raise children knowing they will not have to provide extra precautions for how to live in daily life. Because people WILL treat them differently. Because people WILL make assumptions. Because cops and the judicial system sworn to protect Americans have worked against them many times. They are speaking out for freedom and peace.

In the midst of anger, and the search for peace, Ferguson sparked in themselves, and in people around the nation, the desire to get organized and to prepare. They were no longer waiting for peace in the wilderness, nor were they asking for it, they were preparing, they were demanding it, and they were willing to go out and find it.

When reading Isaiah, hearing the call of God, “Comfort, comfort my people…” I feel as though I hardly have words to comfort. I feel as though I am the wrong person for the job, but I am called to comfort nonetheless. I offer you words of hope that we live in a nation where we can exercise our citizenship by speaking out against injustice. Our comfort comes from the fact that we do not live in a totalitarian state. We live in a place where good organization and action can change things. Maybe slowly, but still change.

Then, the call to comfort is followed by the charge, “In the wilderness prepare the way of God.” I am then struck by the fact that the wilderness seems like a scary place to prepare, let alone prepare for the justice Jesus comes to bring.

It is tempting to think that when I talk about Ferguson, I am solely talking about Ferguson. I am not. I am talking about Tamir Rice. I am talking about Eric Garner. I am talking about people, nationwide, who systemically face injustice, especially due to police brutality. Especially after the non-indictment this week over the case of Eric Garner, it is hard to ignore the excessive force used when we have a video of his death, and still no trial.

The passage from Isaiah talks about a people in exile. At this point in Israel’s history, they are in exile from their homeland. They are captives in the land of Babylon. They are waiting for someone to come save them from their displacement.

Second Isaiah is meant to be a book of comfort for the people as they are still in Babylon. At the time, King Cyrus took over rulership of Babylon and had a policy to return people back to their home countries to worship their own gods while he still ruled over them. Thus, the people of Israel were called to comfort because their “savior” had come to allow them to return to Jerusalem and rebuild their temple.

These people were yearning for someone to come and change everything. King Cyrus took care of the immediate circumstance, but the people were still waiting for something larger, someone larger. This is what we normally focus on in Advent. Our desire for someone to come pull us out of the wilderness. Someone to comfort. Someone to bring peace. The grand idea is that someone will come to break the barriers that divided the rich and the poor, the powerful and the oppressed, the insiders and the outsiders, the overarching rule of patriarchy, the legalistic reign of the state. The people of Israel were waiting.

They are not unlike us. They are not unlike the community Ferguson represents, that Cleveland represents, that Staten Island represents. We have now faced two unjust grand jury verdicts. Both cases had to wait months for their answer. Would the participants in the deaths of Mike Brown and Eric Garner face trial? For both of these cases, a country sat in wait, wondering if an opportunity for justice, and eventual peace, would be granted, or if a community would continue to sit in exile.

Isaiah says that when the one arrives,

4 Every valley shall be lifted up,

    and every mountain and hill be made low;

the uneven ground shall become level,

    and the rough places a plain.

5 And the glory of God shall be revealed,

    and all flesh shall see it together,

You know how I see the mountains made low and the valleys lifted up? I see this in the protests breaking out across the nation. In the cities that were ready to respond immediately should the verdict be negative. In cities that were willing to honor the Brown family’s request for peaceful protest. In cities that were nowhere near the events of these shootings but couldn’t stand the thought that yet another police officer got off for killing a young black man when his life was nowhere near the price of his actions. This prophecy becomes a reality because the people prepare a way in the wilderness and begin to see where comfort and peace are found.

See, what Ferguson, and Isaiah show us is that comfort and peace are found when justice is found. This time in the wilderness is for us to begin to enact justice as we search for peace and comfort. We must find it in each other, we must find it in the time of waiting as the valleys are slowly being raised up and the mountains being made low. Friends, we will not know true peace until we acknowledge the dignity of every human as a beautiful and worthy creation of God and then move to seek justice alongside our family when injustice has been done. 

May we work together to find true peace. Amen.