The Witness of the Martyrs
4th Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 12), Year B
Texts: Job 38.1-11; Mk 4.35-41
Normally when we observe commemorations for saints and martyrs, I say a little something at the beginning of the service and then we don’t do much else. Today is different, and I think it’s important to talk about why it’s different. It’s not just that the Emanuel Nine are contemporary martyrs, and it’s not just that this weekend is also the celebration of Juneteenth. I felt that it was important this year to mark this commemoration because the storm has finally come.
This storm has been brewing for 400 years, ever since the first enslaved Africans arrived on American shores, ever since people began to believe that the inherent “otherness” of some human beings made them inferior. The clouds have been gathering through chattel slavery and Civil War, through racist immigration restrictions and the mass internment of American citizens during wartime, through unjust policing and incarceration practices and lynchings. For decades, for centuries, even, the peace has held in spite of the darkening skies; so what changed? Why are things happening now that didn’t happen 6 years ago when an angry young man walked into Mother Emanuel Church with a gun to start a race war?
Personally, I can’t help but wonder if change has finally begun to take hold because when George Floyd was killed last summer, the country didn’t have the luxury of looking away. We couldn’t go about our jobs and our vacations and our extracurricular activities because the world was locked down and we were trapped in our homes with nothing to do but reflect on the reality that a man lost his life to one who was sworn to protect and serve. I wonder if that event didn’t serve as something of a lightning rod for all the anxiety and fear and anger that we could no longer disperse in the ways we always had.
Whatever it was that finally got us to pay attention, our society is finally beginning to wake up. Policing reform and accountability are beginning to take hold, conversations are finally beginning to take place about how we as a nation can continue the work of healing from the trauma of slavery, and we are becoming more aware of the stories and the experiences of not only Black Americans, but also Indigenous peoples and other people of color.
The stagnation of this national conversation for the last 150 years—even in the face of killings, hate crimes and staggering economic inequality—bears witness to our capacity to turn away from such uncomfortable realities. For this reason, it is important for us to remember the Emanuel Nine today. Their deaths bear witness to the evil of racism and to our complicity in it. These Christian people died in a church during a Bible Study, killed by a man who also called himself Christian. Their voices call us to remember that the Church has often been propping up the sin of racism and the lie of White Supremacy, rather than resisting them.
As Lutherans, we remember that two of the Emanuel Nine, Rev. Pinckney and Rev. Simmons, were members of our Church family as graduates of an ELCA Seminary. We also remember that their killer, Dylan Roof, was a member of an ELCA congregation. This tragedy reminds us that this problem is our problem; we are both guilty of silently condoning such evil and we are victims of its destruction.
But more even as we remember these things, we also commemorate these people because of the testimony of their lives, not just their deaths. These people were workers for justice, they were faithful Christians living out the love of Christ where they were, blooming where they were planted. They were pillars of their community and lovers of their neighbors. They died living as Christ did: welcoming the stranger, feasting on the word of God, and bearing witness to one who hated them.
The story of these people is a powerful witness to the fact that while Roof’s hatred did not spark the race war he hoped it would, their love did indeed bring the abundant life that Christ promised. Instead of division and violence, the shooting at Mother Emanuel AME Church begat forgiveness, work for justice, solidarity, and the beginnings of healing. We look upon these people and remember them, we tell and retell their stories because their witness reminds us that, though the storm is fierce and the waves are tall, and though we have far yet to go, we have been promised that we will reach the other shore.
The storm in Mark’s story frightened those disciples in the boat with Jesus. You know it had to be a terrible storm indeed, for many of those disciples were fishermen, people who had spent their entire lives sailing and weathering storms on that very same lake. I, for one, can’t blame them for being afraid. I must admit being a bit perplexed at the way Jesus rebukes them for their cowardice and faithfulness. This story leaves me wondering, what would have been a faithful response in the midst of that storm? What is a faithful response in the midst of this one?
As I look again at the story, I notice a few things. First, I notice that the disciples do not ask Jesus to help; instead, they seem irritated that he is not as frightened as they are. I wonder: do they feel that he doesn’t care about them? Are they feeling abandoned by him in that moment? I also notice that when Jesus chastises them, he doesn’t use the word I would expect. The Greek word for “fear” is phobon, like “phobia.” It means to fear something. But that’s not the word Jesus uses; instead, he calls them deilon, which is a quality, rather than an action. It means to be ‘fearful’ or ‘timid.’ He’s not upset at them for fearing the storm, he’s upset at their lack of confidence.
Seasoned fishermen and sailors though they may have been, they doubted their own ability to weather this storm. They also appeared to doubt that Jesus cared enough about them to help, or that he could do anything even if he did. It seems as though as soon as the going got rough, they were ready to give up. Perhaps, then, a more faithful response in that storm would have been to ask Jesus for his help, rather than to yell at him for not caring. What would that faithful response look like in the midst of our own storm as we row towards the goal of healing from injustice and racial reconciliation?
Much like the disciples in the boat, we have a long, hard journey ahead of us. But the story reminds us that we are not alone on that journey. Contrary to the disciples’ fears, Jesus does care what happens to us in this storm, and, even if he does seem to be awfully quiet over there, he does have the power to help us through. Today we are reminded by Clementa, Daniel, Sharonda, Tywanza, DePayne, Cynthia, Myra, Ethel, Susie, and thousands of others who have entrusted their lives to that power just who is in the boat with us, and that though the waves may be tall and the wind fierce, with God’s help, we will reach the other side.
How is Jesus calling you to faithfully respond in the midst of the storms in your life?
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