A STORY OF EGYPT A Meditation on Labor Day, Black Lives Matter, & the Great Work of Our Lives

A STORY OF EGYPT
A Meditation on Labor Day, Black Lives Matter, & the Great Work of Our Lives

James Ishmael Ford

Delivered on the 4th of September, 2016

At the Unitarian Universalist Community Church
of Santa Monica, California

Once upon a time, so very long ago we can’t count, and in a land so very far away no one alive today has been able to travel to it by road or ship, there was a great empire. Let’s call that empire Egypt. It’s not the Egypt on the map, a very interesting, if sometimes dangerous country, like pretty much all countries in greater or lesser degree, but one that can be visited if you have time and can afford it. This Egypt I’m telling about is actually a country that can only be traveled to in dreams. Maybe you’ve been there. I have.

Anyway, within that empire that was Egypt there was a tribe. They had once been an important people; at least that’s what their poets said. But for generations they had been slaves, used, abused, and thrown away at the whim of their owners. And even when not slaves, they continued to be mistreated, given the worst educations, and most of them given only the worst jobs, and many no jobs at all. Although one of their number had once risen to be the Pharaoh’s prime minister, for most theirs was a hard, and dangerous, and often brutal life.

Finally the current Pharaoh was worried there were too many of the tribe in the country, and feared their strange ways would poison the empire’s children. Finally, after making it as hard as he could for them, and it turns out it can always be made worse, but when they still didn’t leave, he ordered all their newborns be thrown into the Nile, the great river that snaked down the heart of the empire.

As it happened it was just then a woman gave birth to a boy. Let’s call her Jochebed. She feared for her baby’s life and hid him for three months. After which she came up with a plan. Learning where the Pharaoh’s sister liked to bathe, and hiding nearby in the rushes, she put the baby in a small ark, a tiny boat, and pushed him out into the current where he was carried to Pharaoh’s sister. Let’s call her Bithiah.

Jochebed’s desperate scheme worked. As soon as she saw the babe floating toward her, Bithiah fell in love. And so the baby was taken into the royal family and raised as one of theirs. Let’s call the baby Moses. Because this is a story Jochebed was able to get employment as the baby’s nurse. And raised by both his natural and adoptive mothers Moses grew in stature and wisdom and, of course, as a prince of Egypt. During these years Jochebed also whispered Moses’ true story into his heart.

Then as a young adult he witnessed the brutal beating of a slave from his tribe by an Egyptian overseer. Incensed, possibly overtaken by thoughts of his life of privilege and maybe his sense of guilt that he was a prince while he could just as easily have been the beaten slave, he struck out and with that single blow killed the man. Then fearing for his own life and maybe the possibility of exposure, or some other reason or mix of reasons, we really can paint any picture we want of his character, Moses fled into the wilderness.

From that the story gets ever more complex and mysterious. He has many adventures, he loves and loses, he works hard, he succeeds in life by the labor of his own hand. While he isn’t really aware of it, throughout all this he is in fact being prepared. Finally God confronts him in the form of a burning bush and tells him what he was being prepared for. In that encounter Moses is charged with leading his people out of captivity and to the Promised Land.

It doesn’t go well for the Egyptians.

Before I dig into that story this is Labor Day Sunday, so of course I think of the pageant of labor and the rights of working people, and actually more than rights. “Rights” doesn’t catch it sufficiently.

Labor Day is a complicated holiday. It was created as much a counter to May Day and those associations as to celebrate labor and the labor movement. But, this ambiguity, and yes, attempt at undermining something has had some interesting consequences. And, yes, I am all for the afternoon barbecue, perhaps one of the more unlikely things to come with our beginning of September celebration. But, really, much more, as well.

For many of us Labor Day has become a time to consider how we live in the world, how much we are caught up in a web of relationships, how we are all supported by others, and how much it matters that we pull together. And with that it becomes a call to reflect on our blessings, and of course specifically to reflect on those whom we owe for these blessings. Those who brought us the eight-hour work day and the five-day work week. The people who brought us child labor laws, and social security, and, well, the list is quite long. And if we’re feeling really serious about it we can ask ourselves what it is we owe to those who have not yet been given these blessings, or, not in full measure?

Now this church has seen a connection with it being a spiritual community and how that spirituality calls us into engagement in the world. I am past impressed with what this congregation has been involved in as regards labor and the ongoing struggle for human dignity. In the run up to the passage of the bill bringing overtime pay for Farmworkers in alignment with other workers, the constant reminders from members and friends of this church of how important this is to your local state Assembly member no doubt helped him vote in the right way.

The workers at Bonus Car Wash here in Santa Monica are negotiating their third contract, critical as it sets the foundation for contracts at other car washes around the state. Members of this congregation were with them at the beginning, and continue. And of course there is the struggle for union recognition at the Shore Hotel on Ocean Avenue. Again, members and friends of this congregation have been steady in their support. Where it has mattered, you have been present. Again, this is something profoundly right for a spiritual tradition that is firmly rooted in our radical interdependence, and with that with the here and now, in a deep consideration of how we choose to live our lives.

And as important as all that is, Labor Day is about even more. I suggest it is deeply connected to that story of ancient Egypt. Most of us in this church I am sure know that people who study such things deeply tell us the story of Moses and the Exodus are not historical events. Best I can tell there is barely a shred of history, or rather the real history takes place in the Babylonian captivity when the enslaved Hebrews wove together stories of hope and possibility very nearly out of whole cloth. What they did, those poets sitting beside the waters of Babylon, was weave a truest of true stories, a story of hope, and a story of warning. Hope for all those who have been oppressed. And, a warning for the rest of us. Pretty good Labor Day message, if you ask me.

And with that I’d like to reflect a little on the rise of the Black Lives Matter movement. To hold up a little the many terrible things that has led to this eruption of feelings and demands for justice and reparation, healing, and, equally of the reactions to it. I know members of your community have been involved in the issues surrounding the rise of Black Lives Matter. You have been among those who responded to the killings of Brendon Glenn and Jason Davis by police in Venice and Jascent-Jamal Lee Warren by an armed employee of that Venice hotel. I know your minister Reverend Rebecca and other members of the church submitted a petition to the DA to prosecute the officer who killed Mr Glenn. Where it has mattered, you have been present.

And, also, let me add, symbols matter. Our yellow shirts at events that matter to our greater society have touched many hearts. And I was deeply moved by seeing the Black Lives Matter banner that you all voted to fly in front of the church. I commend your wisdom and your compassion. It isn’t always easy. At our church in Long Beach, which voted to put our own Black Lives Matter banner up, the rolled up banner and the frame for it were torn down two days before it was scheduled to be officially unfurled. We don’t know who did it. But it does show that there is a lot of passion circling around the questions of the movement and particularly of that slogan. For me it raises a lot of thoughts, and some of them those Labor Day thoughts about who owes what.

Now the reality also is that in any given congregation only a percentage of us are actually involved in the social justice work. And, that’s appropriate. We are all of us on our own individual paths as well as walking together. And, its more than okay that some of us take the lead on any given project, whether that be social justice, or religious education, or, membership, or, well, you may see that it is a pretty long list. But, there are things going on that do call to all of us, that I hope inform who we are, and how we stand in the world as Unitarian Universalists.

My friend Doctor Liam Keating observed how in 2011, a time with some solid statistical analysis, here in California a black man was eleven times more likely to be jailed for possession of marijuana than a white man, and added how it’s all really about “systematic institutionalized racism, in a country where we lock up more people than any nation now or in history. More than Hitler or Stalin, and those numbers are essentially a reflection of incarcerating about one in three young black men.” Liam concludes, “The system is broken.” And, he adds, to you and to me. “Fix it.” That’s a Labor Day message.

Barack Obama commented on that line first given us by the Unitarian minister Theodore Parker, and repeated by Dr Martin Luther King, Jr. about the long arc of history, and its bending toward justice. The president said that arc bends because people put their hands on it, and bend it toward justice. Here we are on Labor Day Sunday, a time to honor those who put their hands to the task. Here is a day like few others when we should think on what needs fixing. And our place, yours and mine in that work, how we bring our hands to that great and holy project. That’s a Labor Day message.

So, let’s return to the story of Moses and a little of why it is so important, or can be for us. As we listen a little more deeply, when something like the events surrounding the Black Lives Matter movement erupts we might find something helpful if we look at these events through that story of Moses. If its not history, what is it? Well, I suggest it is a map of the human heart, of our longing and our way through. That important. It is the dreaming of people into freedom.

So, as with all true stories, of course, we are in some ways all of us the characters. We’re Jochebed, we’re Bithiah, we’re Moses. And, of course, we are Pharaoh. As Terence reminds us “Nothing that is human is alien to me.” And I would go even farther, we’re all of it, even the things we might consider background, we’re Egypt the empire itself, and the Nile with its life giving waters, and, very much, somewhere deep in our being we are the Promised Land, the dream home of our hearts where things are put right.

And with that a question: where does the rubber hit the road? How might this ancient story of our heart’s longing touch our lives, lives filled with such disparities, where the poor are getting poorer and the rich richer, and where if you’re black your chances are very bad, indeed?

I think for those of us in the majority, we need to realize that while we can be all the parts the big part that we mostly live within is Egypt, is the empire, and what holds our hearts is Pharaoh. When we don’t see there’s a problem, or the problem is someone else’s, we’re Pharaoh. And those of us in the minority, those oppressed, those who’ve been left behind, we, you are the one’s for whom this story was sung. This story is ultimately for those sitting on the shores of that river dreaming the great dream of possibility.

Now, let’s think for just a heartbeat or two about the endless cascade of events leading up to Black Lives Matter. Me, I find Moses striking down the overseer keeps bubbling up. What poured into Moses’ heart in that moment? Rage? Hatred? Shame? And, I think of the litany of unarmed black and brown people killed in police encounters that almost certainly would never have happened if they were white. It’s a very long list. And too often only if there’s a video playing on social media, might there be an investigation. For which, often, too often the finding is nothing actionable.

And, for us here, in the relative safety of this place, what about those who witness the injustices the endless injustices perpetrated against people of color and particularly black Americans, and who do nothing? How easy is it to just say “all lives matter,” and wash our hands of the deep complexities. And, yes, if you’re wondering, I believe all lives do matter. But can we look at what is happening in our country and really say that black lives matter? Me, I find those words so important. Black lives do matter.

And, yes, without a shred of hesitation, it’s hard for everyone. This not a good time to be poor and white in America. It’s never been particularly good to be a woman here. And, gay or a lesbian, or transgendered. People still die for being LBGTQ. And, yes, all racial minorities suffer in some degree. But, there is a terrible historic injustice around black and white. And, I’m sorry, when people who have had the boot on their necks cry out “black lives matter,” and when I hear “all lives matter” in response, mainly I hear Pilate asking, “What is truth” as he washes his hands of that particular mess. Hard words perhaps. Perhaps, but sometimes we need hard words. After all it’s a Labor Day message.

Now, a couple of years ago when I preached a sermon on climate change, I was challenged by a friend who said, “James, you say all sermons should be about hope. Where was the word of hope in that sermon?” I responded how I thought there was hope there, but the way through is hard. It’s just that there isn’t a lot of wiggle room. It’s just that it was hard. Yes, very hard. Kind of like looking for racial justice.

And, here we are again. We are all the parts. Nothing human is alien. We can choose, in some very important ways, we can choose, like in that old song We’ll Build a Land. And with that we are responsible. So, what side do you want to be on? Egypt? The empire? Or, do you want to throw in your lot with the dispossessed, the left behind? The poets have sung true. And the doors are open. The sea has parted. The way is open.

How? Well, it turns out it isn’t rocket science. Pay attention. Recognize the preciousness of each one of us, and how we are all bound up together in a single garment of destiny. Join your hands with others to oppose what needs opposing, to stand up for what is true. Speak out. And act. And with that begin the journey, that forty-year journey to make this land the Promised Land.

Those who have ears, those who have eyes. Heaven and hell. It’s all in our hands.

That’s the Labor Day message.

Amen.

And amen.