August 27, 2013,
Dear St. Paul’s Family,
One of the first churches I served after I graduated from seminary was a small, rural congregation in the deep South. I was young and eager to please, but still somewhat oblivious to the realities of ministry in the real world. Within the first few months of my arrival, we scheduled a congregational clean-up day for the church. The campus was nestled in a canopy of mature southern pine trees, sheltering grounds covered with pine needles and acorns rather than pavement and asphalt. Regularly, church members assembled to gather branches, rake needles, and trim overgrown brush amid the random sprinkling of grave stones dating back to the days of President Andrew Jackson.
Toward the end of this particular work day, I was hauling the last of the debris into the pick up truck of one of the church members, whom I’ll call Ben, so that we could haul it off to the burn pile for incineration. Ben was a member of the Trustees and had a stern, commanding personality that educed power and attention within that small congregation. With the truck loaded and Ben stepping into the driver’s side of the front cab, I opened the passenger’s door to sit next to him.
“No,” Ben said, in a mumbling drawl. “Minorities sit in the back.”
I looked at him as he turned the key in the ignition. He looked the other way out the window. I didn’t know him well enough to know if he was joking. If he was, then he had an odd way of teasing someone he barely knew. If he wasn’t, then he had an odd way of broaching a sensitive subject with the person serving as his pastor. Either way, the last thing this young, eager-to-please preacher wanted to do was fan a firestorm with such a powerful person in the church, even if he was joking.
So, for better or worse, I climbed into the bed of the truck with the branches.
I thank God that there have been only a handful of times in my life that I have heard discriminatory words about my ethnicity. But it is also significant that I can still remember those moments vividly: the first-grade bullies who teased me mercilessly every recess until I bought their friendship by giving them a Star Wars landspeeder (to this day, I wish I had that toy back, and I think about it every time I see one); the homeless gentleman who came into the emergency overnight shelter where I was working in seminary and called me a derogatory ethnic slur after I served him his evening meal.
It is also no wonder that for the first few years at Grace and Maddy’s elementary school, I took opportunities at every conference to ask their teachers whether they were detecting any kind of harsh treatment of the girls by the other kids. To my knowledge, the girls have never experienced that kind of bullying, just as I have been fortunate to never have a repeat experience like I had with Ben in any subsequent congregation I’ve served, including this one.
I’d like to say that our society has matured in its difficulties with race relations. I understand that mine is a solitary voice, far removed from the much more severe barriers experienced by African Americans throughout history, Japanese Americans in the 1940s, and Muslim Americans since September 11. Women have suffered from inequality in the workplace, gays and lesbians continue to struggle against discrimination, and even some white males have suffered reverse discrimination. So I cannot – and will not - equate my journey as an ethnic minority with those who have suffered far greater than me, especially when I feel great pride in this country and more gratitude for what it has given me than any harsh memory that still lingers.
I believe we are moving forward, not backward, in the way we treat one another. At least I’d like to think so.
Tomorrow marks the fiftieth anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King’s famous “I have a dream” speech in Washington, best known for a powerful, lyrical ending that was not originally part of his manuscript. It came as prompting from those standing around him, stoking him to tap into his passion, claim his voice, and “Tell them about the dream.” We are also still in the wake of the verdict of the trial of George Zimmerman, whose killing of Trayvon Martin became the latest Rorschach test of race relations and yet another “scapegoat” for the guilt of this country’s racial sins. We are also part of a global community watching the horrific violence in Egypt, as a glorious ancient people wrestle with the growing pains of a nascent democracy, working to bring equality and justice among differing religions and ethnicities.
And, I’m just a week removed from watching Lee Daniel’s The Butler, a powerful film about the history of the civil rights movement, told from the perspective of two African American men: a White House butler who suppressed his ethnic heritage to effect change with loyalty and obedience, and his son whose embrace of his ethnicity prompted a bolder life of non-violent protest. It captures beautifully the dichotomy that many minorities must wrestle with: confront the church member in the pick up truck and directly name his prejudice, or sit in the back of the truck, trying to win him over with responsibility and fidelity. It’s no wonder I found myself in tears several times watching that film.
In the end, Ben and I had a good relationship. I found him to be an earnest, hardworking, faithful member of the church and a loving family man. I never did ask him about what he told me that day, so in retrospect I’m still not sure if I handled that situation well enough. And because I’ve had Paul a lot on my mind lately during this current sermon series, I don’t know for sure how he would have handled that moment with Ben if he were in my shoes. All I know is what Paul has written, and his words seem like an awfully good reminder to all of us these days:
There is neither Jew nor Greek; there is neither slave nor free; nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. (Galatians 3:28)
Grace and Peace,
Magrey
The Rev. Magrey R. deVega
St. Paul's United Methodist Church
531 W. Main St.
Cherokee, IA 51012
Ph: 712-225-3955
Email: mdevega@sp-umc.org
REGULAR SUNDAY SCHEDULE BEGINS SEPTEMBER 8
We resume our regular Sunday morning schedule on September 8, with Sunday school at 9:00 and worship at 10:10.
