Black Lives Matter

National United Methodist Church in Washington, DC, grieves with the families of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd, among too many, all murdered because they were black. 

We cannot and will not stay silent.  Black lives matter.  Racism must end.  We are committed to deepening our understanding of racial injustice and enlarging our capacity to confront and dismantle bigotry within ourselves and our institutions.  

Overt displays of dehumanizing racism demand overt restatement of sacred worth; that is why “Black Lives Matter” banners are maintained on all NUMC campuses.  It is the most basic secular expression of the truth we confirm within our sacred assemblies, that all human beings are made in the image of God.  Indeed all lives most certainly matter, yet for four hundred years in this country, people of privilege have both unintentionally and, more often than not, intentionally fractured and fogged the lens through which we have been able to see and celebrate Blackness.  We all stand in need of repentance for what we have done and what we have left undone.  We are not of one opinion about exactly how to honor Black experiences and safeguard Black lives, but we are of one confessional heart as we extend radical hospitality, transform lives, and pursue justice together.   

When we gather in vigil around these Black Lives Matter signs, we center Black voices like DeReau K. Farrar who shared his experience and prayer:

Join the National UMC Racial Justice Team

My father (whose name is Drake, for those of you who prefer to pray with names) has taught me a lot in the way of things one needs to know in order to survive life as a Black man in America. It was from him that I learned what it means to be pulled over by the police. I witnessed it happen to him, and he was wise and insightful enough to explain to my brother and I what had just occurred. That was an important, life-saving lesson.

Another important lesson he taught me was to always acknowledge the other Black folks I see around town. I was to greet those I knew with the highest respect and give them as much time as it takes. For those I don't know, a simple nod, smile, or “Aight, bruh” would do. You see, Black people are so accustomed to being ignored and invisible that a simple acknowledgement — a simple I see you — from a peer goes a long way. Also, Black people carry enough in their days that any lightening of the load is appreciated.

This lesson resonated with me, and I committed to “seeing” every Black person I come across in my daily life. I understood this practice in theory, but perhaps subconsciously believed it to be outdated. Since moving to Portland, Oregon (a city that’s more than three-quarters White), I have come to recognize each Black face as precious, and each opportunity to greet them a blessing.

I'm not sure if the best word to describe the experience is joy or relief, but I can say that it is a sense of remembering that I am not alone. There's an immediate recognition that someone else knows, in a very real way, what my day has been like so far. And, from that recognition comes necessary peace and blessed assurance. Thanks, Dad.

Prayer
That which is in us, all around us, and which constantly draws us to our holiest selves, thank you for community that can exist beyond the need to know names and faces. At times when it becomes difficult to see the truth, remind me that my struggles are not unique. Remind me that, for the sake of those like me, especially those to come, it is important to keep going and show new ways to love.