Happy New Year! On New Year’s Eve, I listened to a couple of different video events marking the occasion. The first included a reflection from Union Seminary President Serene Jones. She spoke in part about the many months of social upheaval across America, and the work we still have to do in reimagining and transforming our treatment of others. She said this: We need to change the stories we tell ourselves about who we are.
This resonates for me. If I’ve learned anything during the months of our church’s antiracism discussions, it’s that there’s a lot of our history that hasn’t been widely told (or heard?) and publicly acknowledged. We’ve pondered reasons for this in our group, and I’ve already shared some of my reflections on this blog. But there’s more we need to do. We must acknowledge, for example, that the “equality” envisioned by our “founding fathers” only applied to free white men, which has limited the lives and opportunities of the vast majority of those who have lived in this nation over the course of centuries.
In order to do that, we do also need to change the stories we tell about ourselves as individuals. If we’re white-skinned, we need to acknowledge our levels and layers of privilege. For example, we need to understand that our opportunities and success had as much to do with our social networks as with our inherent gifts and skills, or our hard work. I know that sounds heretical to some, but frankly, the heresy is the Protestant work ethic which has transformed this country to the point that workers are regarded by their privileged bosses as machines instead of people.
This also reminds me that Jesus did not have a life of privilege. He lived with and preached to poor workers and focused much of his attention on the outcasts of his society. He did not even try to change the leadership in Rome. That wasn’t his job. But he knew he was called to ministry among “the least, the last, and the lost.” He did it so well that, over time, we coopted him, put him up on a pedestal, and made him into one of the privileged. But his message would have applied much more to the slaves in early America than the landowners.
So yes, we need new stories for a new year. The other event I attended New Year’s Eve was an online interfaith peace vigil. One phrase that stuck with me formed the chorus for a song by Jewish cantor Alisa Fineman: “We walk sightless among miracles.” It reminded me of how much I take for granted—which I also think is true for our nation as a whole. I hear so many stories about what’s wrong in this world, but there’s a lot that is right, too. My daily walks get me in touch with the beauty and fierce strength of nature. Music gets me in touch with new rhythms and fresh ways of framing my life. Reading places me in others’ lives and perspectives to broaden and deepen my understanding of our common humanity.
The start of a new year seems like an excellent moment to spend some time retelling ourselves our stories. It’s also a great opportunity to reflect on what might need revisiting, revision, or outright release in the new year.
Will you join me in this endeavor? I began by setting aside time on New Year’s Day to reflect on the stories I tell myself, and beginning to discern what needs to change. Will you commit to doing the same?
What if you see the world through different eyes? What if race and class don’t limit your thinking?
Most mornings I watch the Divine Liturgy, streamed from a church, cathedral, or monastery, somewhere in Russia. The most poignant ones come from Ekaterinburg, in the Urals. This is where the Romanov Royal Family was murdered by the Bolsheviks in 1918. Nicholas Alexandrovich Romanov (Tsar Nicholas II) is a Saint of The Russian Orthodox Church. The “visionaries” of a classless society in Russia had their opportunity to propagate egalitarianism. Who survived? Who thrives today? The Church, with her countless martyrs who perished in the gulags of the atheist Marxist state, emerged triumphant.
The soul-searching demanded of the social justice movement has its place. But who is the god that this movement worships?
Maybe the whole idea that governments derive their authority by the consent of the governed has to be reconsidered.
Human beings, fallen from Grace, prisoners of their own self-will and concupescence, haven’t changed much since The Fall. Jesus Christ, Second Person of the Most Holy Trinity, lived, died, and rose again to redeem humanity from its broken nature.
“Wherever you go, there you are.” That saying underscores the limitations of all social reform.
So I decline to examine my white male “privilege” , that can be eradicated by fiat. Rather, I seek to acknowledge my sinfulness, and my dependence upon the redeeming act of the Passion of Our Lord.
By our fruits, we shall be known. I suspect and fear that the social justice warriors, inspired by the antiracism ideology, have yet to open their gulags.
Thank you, David, for your thoughtful and faithful response. I will concur that there is incredible sinfulness in the human race. I will not, however, believe that we are beyond redemption. There is grace, thanks be to God, but there is also the need for us to do our part in living out the gift of grace. I don’t see privilege being eradicated by fiat. It will take hard work on all our parts to move beyond our sinful selfishness to see that God created every human being as beautiful and beloved. If we stay imprisoned in our sinfulness, refusing to acknowledge the depth of God’s grace, then those fruits by which we shall be known are exactly that: sinful selfishness. Liturgies (literally “the work of the people”) are meant to move us to change. If we are not transformed, we have not truly worshipped.
Peace,
Shirin
This statement: “We need to change the stories we tell ourselves about who we are,” means something totally different to me. As a one year old widow, growing through a pandemic and cancer in the family, this statement has nothing to do with my history as a white person of privilege in America (although I’m sure that was the author’s intent) and everything to do with the opportunity to change my story about myself in the coming year. Time to take the bread out of the sunny window, punch it down, kneed it some more and perhaps, with grace, think about heading for how I want this loaf to look and smell when all is said and done. I know this is not your theme, Shirin. I chose to “Lectio Divina” with it–and thank you for the wonderful raw materials to work with (with which to work?!)
Oh, Barbara, I’m so glad you took that statement into Lectio Divina! Yes, we will all end up at different places, and sharing our stories enriches us all. Blessings on your continued journey into your new stories, and stay tuned—a friend has written a book about her new widowhood and I do hope to be writing about it soon…!
Peace,
Shirin