"I am the 99% and so are you."

by Michael Airgood

On Sunday morning I approached the communion stewards at New Day Bronx UMC and received Holy Communion. My wrists were still bruised and sore from the handcuffs, but my soul was rejoicing.

On Saturday I had not planned to get arrested. I imagine that few of my 700 companions had planned on spending hours in a prison holding cell. I had already purchased my bus ticket out of the city for the evening, and had already planned and bought supplies to teach Sunday School in the morning.

I was careful not to step off of the sidewalk during the Occupy Wall Street protests, but as police officers stopped traffic on Brooklyn Bridge and stepped back to make more room for us to march, I joined the crowd in marching across the bridge. I heard no call to disperse and no officer informed us that we would be arrested. In the panic of the "kettle" I feared that we would all be trampled and killed as the police forced us closer and closer together.

I decided to join the protest because of my Christian faith. While the media filled pages with pictures of dirty hippies and crazed leftists, I knew that as a follower of Jesus Christ I was also called to care about the injustices in the system. This was not a left vs. right issue. We have allowed the poor and the marginalized to grow poorer and move further toward the fringe. We lose our humanity when we allow corporations to make billions in profits while millions of children go hungry every night. We cannot claim to be followers of Jesus Christ if the cries of the poor and needy go unheeded by our churches and our Christians. I decided to join the protest because of my Christian faith.

I thanked the officer that arrested me for doing his job, and I thanked every officer that helped to process my arrest. Some of the boys in blue apologized for arresting us. They squeezed 120 of us into a holding cell built for far fewer. I was not the only religious leader in the group. A Buddhist monk and an African American Pentecostal pastor were also present. We talked with people and tried to calm the anxious.

I posted on Facebook the following morning, "There are some who want you to believe that they just arrested dirty hippies and radicals yesterday; but you know me. I am your friend, your brother, a person of faith, a moderate and thoughtful person and I was arrested with hundreds like me for protesting an unjust system. I am the 99% and so are you."

Unjust systems cannot be fixed without the support of people of faith. We are the 99%. Pastors, priests, Sunday School teachers, soccer moms, nuns and the rest of us work hard to live out our faith every day in tangible ways. We must live with the consequences of our actions, and our children and grandchildren must live with the consequences of our actions.

When I was arrested my first thought was that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But as I worshiped as a guest of the wonderfully inclusive New Day Church, it became more apparent that when I was arrested I was at the right place at the right time. I was raising my voice and allowing my actions to speak out against an unjust system. While the path isn’t for everyone, it was certainly right for me that day.

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Michael Airgood is licensed to be a local pastor in the Western Pennsylvania Annual conference and serves with GBGM as a standard support missionary in L’viv, Ukraine. He is a graduate of Toccoa Falls College in Toccoa, GA with a BS in Intercultural Studies and plans to attend seminary in the near future.

It isn't always black and white

As the events of the past week remind us, discrimination based upon race, ethnicity and religion remains present and alive in the United States and in our world. From the heartbreaking execution of Troy Davis to the continued occupation in the Middle East, the headlines are full of stories that threaten to overwhelm our hope and our faith in a grace-filled and loving God.

Such racism and discrimination is not always black and white – neither in its basis upon skin color nor in its media presence. Working with underprivileged German and immigrant children and youth at an after-school program hosted by a United Methodist Church in Berlin, Germany, I am daily reminded of the complexities and intricacies of racism and privilege that allow such systems and individual inequalities to perpetuate. The kids with whom I work are largely of Turkish, Arab, and Roma background and most have been born and raised here in the capital of Germany, but often know little about the city beyond the 1 square kilometer block where the Salem United Methodist Church is located. As a result of their ethnicity, citizenship, and religion, they are largely ‘othered’ by Berlin and German politicians and citizens. They are forced to attend poorly staffed and dilapidated schools, where it is expect from the beginning of 1^st grade that these children will neither attend university nor achieve anything outstanding in their lives. However, this oppression is not only maintained by and reflected in the political and educational systems, but is already evident among the kids themselves. Fights will break out on the playground across the street from the church based on incidents that have occurred between the differing ethnic and racial groups; additionally, such violence will often be targeted at the children with little or no family support and those who are friendless at school and on the playground. These simple acts of violence among mere 10- and 12-year olds illustrate how easily the act of ‘othering’ based upon race or ethnicity or religion or social status can be reinitiated, ingrained, and become systematic within our society. When mere children already live within and contribute to this systemic racism, how can such a cycle be broken?

In August, I had the opportunity to visit the American Anthropological Association’s RACE exhibit at the Smithsonian Institute’s Natural History Museum in Washington, DC. The exhibit, “Are We So Different?”, focuses on debunking the sociological and anthropological construction of ‘race’ that has become predominately accepted in our society, when in reality we all share a common ancestry; the racial and ethnic differences evident among our populations today result from natural variations, migration and environmental adaptations. Bringing such a view of race to the Washington, DC public, its tourists and its school groups is an essential beginning in re-framing our understanding of race so that we might also then be able to work to dialogue about race, about racism, and about its intricate and perpetuating foothold in society, not only among our government officials, but also among our children, our colleagues, our friends, and ourselves.

While racism continues to dominate our society, the topic of race and racism is too often cast aside as invisible, just as the narrator of Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man explains in its opening lines: “I am an invisible man…. I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me…That invisibility to which I refer occurs because of a peculiar disposition of the eyes of those with whom I come in contact.” We need more opportunities to make race ‘visible’ – to discuss race in the public realm and to dialogue about the consequences of racism in our own daily actions and perceptions, in the acts of children, in the decisions of government officials, and in the judgments of innocence and guilt in the courtroom. As United Methodists, the Social Principles of the United Methodist Church call us to additionally recognize that “racism includes both personal and institutional racism” and to “recognize racism as sin and affirm the ultimate and temporal worth of all persons.” Rather than allowing our eyes to take a “peculiar disposition” to our own inadvertent racism and to systems that sustain racial discrimination, we are called to instead hold our gaze and stand steady to challenge individual acts of racial discrimination and perpetually oppressive systems based upon such discrimination; by gazing into the eyes of the ‘other,’ of the ‘invisible,’ we will find that we are not so different from the ‘other’. And with such recognition, we can then extend our hand to them, a welcoming hand of friendship, a steady hand of solidarity, and an open, Christ-like hand of love. Let us go and do just that.

Michelle Dromgold is a Mission Intern of the General Board of Global Ministries of the United Methodist Church. She is currently serving at the Kindertreff Delbrücke at the Salem Gemeinde in Berlin, Germany. There, she works as a social worker with an emphasis on intercultural and interreligious dialogue amongst the children and youth at the after-school program and with local United Methodist Congregations.

On a historic day for Palestine, rethinking the UMC's role

Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas has just submitted a request to the United Nations for recognition of Palestine as an independent member state. Though the United States has pledged to veto the bid, it promises to be a historic day in the struggle for Palestinian rights. Predictions of the consequences abound. Some commentators fear an outbreak of violence in the West Bank and Gaza. Some are optimistic about the possibilities of increased UN representation for a Palestinian state through action by the General Assembly. Others fear that the UN bid, whether or not it’s successful, could actually become an obstacle to Palestinians’ national aspirations. What seems certain is that we are at a particularly volatile point in the history of Palestinians and Israelis. The tension held in this moment could erupt in any number of ways.

For decades, the United Methodist Church has stated its opposition to the Israeli occupation of the West Bank, Gaza and East Jerusalem and the expansion of illegal Israeli settlements. Our denomination has repeatedly called for a just and peaceful resolution to the conflict, one which respects the civil and human rights of all people. The church has been clear that the continued repression of the Palestinian people and the expropriation of their land makes this impossible.

Today, those of us who seek justice and peace in Palestine/Israel must recommit ourselves to, in the words of the Kairos Palestine Document, “speak a word of truth and take a position of truth.” Truth, we know, will be a victim of the political and diplomatic battles that are to come. As the abuses of Israel’s military occupation continue – as they certainly will – we must not only speak out against them, we must refuse to be complicit.

Since 1968, the United Methodist Church has spoken words of truth about the Israeli occupation. But we have yet to take a position of truth. Despite our statements, our denomination’s financial resources are invested in companies that profit from the occupation and the expansion of settlements. We hold stock in Caterpillar, which produces armored bulldozers that an Israeli general called “the key weapon” in the occupation of Palestinian land. Using these bulldozers, the Israeli military has demolished over 24,000 Palestinian homes since 1967. The church also invests in Motorola Solutions, which provides surveillance systems to Israeli settlements and communications equipment to the military in the West Bank. Hewlett-Packard, another company in the church’s portfolio, produces biometric scanning equipment used in checkpoints on occupied land. It also supplies Ariel, one of the largest West Bank settlements, with municipal data storage systems.

These investments represent a troubling contradiction between our words and our actions. Though we may sincerely hope for the occupation to end, we are implicated in its continuation as long as we help finance it.

The United Methodist Church has little if any influence over how the Israeli-Palestinian conflict will be resolved. We are not in a position to weigh in on the logistics of a political settlement. But we can and do influence the situation on the ground, and by extension, the factors that determine what kind of settlement is possible. Right now, our money helps to make the occupation possible. Removing our money will make the occupation less possible.

Over the next weeks and months, events in the Middle East may unfold rapidly and dramatically. Rather than feeling overwhelmed or helpless, we must focus on our own involvement in the occupation and change it.

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Emily McNeill is a student at Union Theological Seminary in New York City and the Project Manager of United Methodist Kairos Response. For more information about the movement to align United Methodist investments with resolutions on Israel/Palestine, visit www.kairosresponse.org.

We must carry on...

Editor's Note: This is the third post we have had highlighting the tragedy of Troy Davis' death (see They're Going to Kill My Friend and No justice? No peace). We want to highlight student activism around the important issue of abolishing the death penalty and point to ways we can continue to honor Troy Davis' memory by ensuring that we end this state violence.

by Lee Curtis

I write to you today with a heavy heart. Last night the State of Georgia executed Troy Anthony Davis for the 1989 murder of Savannah Police Officer Mark MacPhail despite many doubts as to Davis’ guilt. The case has rightly garnered outrage from local and international communities and has shown to many that the criteria needed for the State of Georgia to execute someone are much less substantial than we initially thought.

The Candler Community has been active in working to stop Davis' execution since it was first scheduled in June of 2007, and has continued working towards clemency even as the case bounced from State to Federal court. Candler Social Concerns Network, our primary campus organization dedicated to advocacy and activism, has shared wisdom and strategy from year to year, with alumni taking a strong lead in ensuring that current Candler students have the information and tools needed to continue the legacy of activism that is held dear by our students, faculty, and staff.

Needless to say, I am quite proud of our network of concerned activists. We have marched, prayed, chanted, and petitioned, but I am not writing to you to brag about the good work of the Candler Community. This is about your work. This is about our work.

We must become more firmly rooted in our belief that all people are beloved children of God and that there is nothing anyone can ever do to change that fact. We are a people called to love as we have been loved, to forgive as we have been forgiven. It is a hard work, but it is the work we have been called to. I wholeheartedly believe that this commission does not allow us to put any other human being to death, regardless of the violence of the crime, or heinousness of the act. Love never gives up on life. Of all the things the Apostle Paul tells us Love is, it is first and foremost patient. In Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount we hear that if we call our sister or brother a fool we share the sin of the murderer. When we lose our loving patience the power of death rears its ugly head and Love is pushed to the edges allowing us to, even for the briefest of moments, deny the status of beloved children of God to our sisters and brothers.

This is exactly what happens whenever a death warrant is signed. It follows then that we need to stop signing death warrants.

I encourage you all to speak out against the death penalty on a national and state level. Make it known that the sentence of death is incompatible with the sentence of Love that God has spoken to the world in Christ. As the Church we are to bear that sentence, that thought, that logos as good news.

We can do that by taking a strong stand against the death penalty.

I encourage you to get involved in your church and in your community. International organizations like Amnesty International are fantastic sources of news and information but they are no substitute for local, grass roots organizations. We must allow the legacy of Troy Anthony Davis to be one of hope and life, even though we may now feel caught in midst of despair and death.

It is our faith, indeed our Creed, that the last word is life.

*The photo comes from this article http://www.candler.emory.edu/admissions/blog/?m=200811

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Lee Curtis is a 2nd year MDIV student at the Candler School of Theology and is a Postulant for Holy Orders in the Episcopal Diocese of Atlanta. His involvement with the movement against the death penalty began in 2006 after spending time with the Open Door Community in Atlanta, an intentional community modeled on the Catholic Worker Movement. He currently serves as a seminarian at St. Dunstan’s Episcopal Church in Atlanta, Ga.

No justice? No peace.

A sermon on Luke 13:10-17
by Sarah Hedgis

There are some stories in the Bible where I find myself connecting with a character—really seeing myself in that person, in how she thinks or what he feels. In today’s story of the healing of a crippled woman on the sabbath, I feel an unexpected and, more importantly, a dreaded connection with the indignant synagogue leader.

If we transport this story to our own context, as a seminarian I could very well be the synagogue leader. In fact, I encounter this story in a very different way than I did before starting seminary. Now I must admit that Jesus is not exactly the ideal person to invite to your synagogue or church. The stories of Jesus disrupting services all around town linger in my mind more than they did before. I even experience the opening verse differently: “Now we was teaching in one of the synagogues on the Sabbath” (13:10). It sounds like a pretty good opening sentence. As readers, we feel like we have arrived just in time for the action. Except when I hear this line now, I think, “We’re almost done! Nothing has gone wrong yet! Maybe we’re in the clear.”

Then the next verse, “And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years.” What was once a line of suspense is now one of panic. I steal a look over at Jesus and I see his eyes locked on someone in the crowd. “Oh no.”

Before I know what’s happening, the long-time crippled woman (I mean, how did he even see her in the crowd?!) is standing straight and praising God. Then I hear the echoes of a reprimand linger in the air, the reprimanding reminder that “There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the Sabbath day”—I try not to gasp when I realize the voice ringing in the air is my own, the finger pointed at the woman and Jesus is attached to my hand, my arm...to me.

In some ways, the perspectives of the healed woman and the synagogue leader are completely different. When we hear the story, one is good and one is bad. One is open to God’s healing and the other is not. One is honored and the other is shamed.

Yet, I go back to the moment when these two characters meet, when they’re lives really intersect. I cannot get over what it must have been like when the woman realized she was standing upright—realized that she was no longer looking at the feet but into the face of Jesus.

Our story in Luke is nestled in-between parables describing the Kingdom of heaven growing or rising up, and the woman’s healing has this same movement. She was once hunched and bent and bound but is now healed, freed, and straightened. Seeing the world in a way—from a perspective—she had long given up on, the woman takes her first glimpse at the kingdom of God...and it is anger.

The NRSV uses the word indignant to describe the synagogue leader’s reaction, a word that just feels mean, and is defined as expressing displeasure at something considered unjust, offensive, or insulting. After 18 years, the woman is finally seen, but she is seen as offensive. After 18 years, the woman can finally see, but her first sight is the synagogue leader and Jesus engaged in an argument.

Is this really the kingdom of God?

It is in this moment that both the woman and the synagogue leader connect—in her vulnerable visibility and his enflamed indignation—in this moment, both wish that Jesus had not come into their synagogue. And we, as the readers, feel the tension! It only intensifies as Jesus responds with a teaching that solicits cheers from many in the crowd and causes shame for the others who are named his opponents.

And the story ends here—in division and conflict. Jesus keeps moving to Jerusalem, and we remember that he is moving us towards and preparing us for the kingdom through the cross. We look back to make sure Jesus did not take a wrong turn, read from the wrong cue card, or forget to resolve the problem that lingers over us in Luke 13:17. But when we look back, we see just one chapter before-our-story these words: "Do you think I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!" (Luke 12:51). And again we wonder, "Is this really good news?"

Last Friday I went to Woodruff Park with several other Candler students to walk with and for Troy Davis, a name I think we have all become familiar with over the last few days. I squeezed into the crowd and started toward Ebenezer Baptist church. While we were walking, many of us sang and chanted together. After a short silence, I heard someone start a chant that I recognized. "No justice?" he cried— "No peace!" we responded. The first time I heard this chant was when I was working with Interfaith Worker Justice last summer. We were marching with Hyatt hotel workers who were on strike, and I heard that same exchange: “No justice?” “No peace!” It made my skin crawl. This is too threatening, I thought. The language is too strong. It’s probably offensive to the management!

When I heard it last Friday, it did not sound like a threat or an offense or even an angry outcry. It sounded, well, true. There cannot be real peace without justice. There can be silence without justice, forced silence or accepted silence. There can be politeness without justice and smiles without justice. There can be perfectly good worship services without justice. There can also be unnoticed burdens and unexamined routine without justice. But there can’t really be peace without justice.

"No justice? No peace!" It is a truth that also sounds a lot like Jesus' teaching about watering oxen and donkeys on the sabbath. They both have meanings that are easy to recognize but hard to hear, hard to look up and see, and hard to accept. Yet, it is the only teaching Jesus offers. Regardless of our ease or difficulty, the kingdom of God will not settle or be compromised, even when we all wish that it might.

The kingdom of God rejects compromised teachings upheld by paraphrased commandments that point to routine instead of reason. “There is no peace without justice,” Jesus says to the synagogue leader who cannot understand why Jesus could not wait one more day to heal the woman.

The kingdom of God rejects compromised peace that settles for pleasing the majority or the most powerful when there are those left unseen and uncared for. “There is no peace without justice,” Jesus says to the woman who is starting to doubt whether her healing was worth all of the trouble it is bringing to those around her.

The kingdom of God rejects compromised justice that settles for peace-through-revenge and offers this false promise of comfort to those who suffer. “There is no peace without justice,” Jesus says to those who would match a devastating death with an additional devastating death.

I attend a Faith and Justice small group at my church. Yesterday, our leader sent out an email about Troy Davis. He wrote, "It is ironic that this controversial execution has been scheduled to occur during the Wednesday evening "church hour" in a state that prides itself on its Baptist/Methodist religious heritage. So as Troy takes his final steps, and then is put to death Wednesday evening in Jackson, Christians in many places, including here in Decatur, will be gathered to go about our usual and sundry activities of food, fellowship, prayer, and study. I doubt that many people of faith in our state would rise to cheer for an execution. But for the most part, we will simply 'sing louder,' allowing ourselves to ignore what we would prefer not to have to know. In that isolation, we may fail to be a witness for God's promise of redemption and command of love."

When I started preparing for this sermon on Monday morning, I imagined that we would be celebrating another glimpse of the Kingdom of God on earth—another story about how God refuses to compromise over the lives of God’s children. But last night Troy Davis was killed, and once again we fail to be God’s witnesses; we ignore what we would rather not know; we compromise, we settle.

But the kingdom of God does not. And this is the good news.

That amidst the division, conflict, fear, and shame that we bind ourselves in through our rejection of the kingdom of God, a rejection that affects us all, from the praising woman to the ashamed leader . . . amidst all this, there is still—there is always—one uncompromised promise: "No justice? No peace."

Closing Prayer: God of love, giver of life, you know our frailties and failings. You know our compromises. Give us your grace to overcome them, keep us from those things that harm us and others, and guide us in the way of salvation through Jesus Christ, our uncompromising Savior and Lord.

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Sarah Hedgis is a 3rd-year Master of Divinity student at Candler School of Theology. She is originally from Rome, Georgia but now calls Atlanta home. At Candler, Sarah works for the Office of Worship and serves on Candler Coordinating Council. Sarah loves Hebrew Bible/Old Testament and exploring how the stories of our traditions and the stories of our lives interact.

They're Going to Kill my Friend

by Rev. Karl Kroger
(Written for the Pierre, SD Newspaper (www.capjournal.com) for September 23, 2011)

As I write this, a man I deeply care about is about to be executed. Unless a miracle occurs, when you read this, Troy Davis will be dead. Despite overwhelming evidence that casts doubt on his conviction, the powers that be in the state of Georgia are not concerned. Though Troy Davis and I have never met, I consider Troy Davis my friend. What do you do when someone is about to kill your friend?

Three years ago, while helping with a colleague’s youth retreat, I felt the call of God to help save a man’s life. In between the boat rides and the campfires, I could not stop thinking about the very real possibility that Georgia might execute someone who was innocent.

It seemed as if very few people even cared that the criminal justice system might have gotten it wrong. It seemed as if a flawed conviction only mattered, if it personally affected you. For most of the people and most of the churches in Georgia, permanently punishing the wrong man was not important.

But it was important to me. How as a society could such an ugly distortion of justice be tolerated? Furthermore, what if it was you or me, who was wrongly accused of a crime, and no one cared? Wouldn’t we want people to wake up and demand that all the facts be taken into account?

Praying for God to lead and guide me, trusting in the Holy Spirit to convict my heart, and compelled by Jesus’ command to love my neighbor, I surrendered myself to God to be used for the Kingdom. And so began my intense battle to save Troy Davis’ life.

Soon I began calling upon people to pray, to fight, and to offer advice. Within days, I recruited a few seminary friends to join me in the fight. We then rallied our seminary and our entire university, joining in with the people all across Atlanta, the state of Georgia, and around the world.

Momentum began to build and we started working with other organizations already fighting for Troy, including the NAACP, Amnesty International, and Georgian’s for Alternatives to the Death Penalty. The state was committed to killing Troy Davis, but we were determined to do everything we could to stop them.

And because of our actions, the intervention of the courts, and miracles, we did; three execution dates were put on hold. The instantaneous shouts of joy and songs of praise on those days were glorious! Millions of people worked to save Troy Davis’ life. We marched and we protested, we held vigils and we prayed, and we wrote letters and hung banners on the freeway.

All of the details of the case, the trials and appeals, the four execution dates are too lengthy to expound upon here. You should know however, that Troy Davis was found guilty of killing a cop, Officer Mark MacPhail. His death was wrong and is extremely tragic.

This week I watched as MacPhail’s daughter Madison, just a toddler at the time of her father’s death, spoke about the pain of growing up without a dad. She said there was something not right about living beyond your father’s final age. He died when he was only 27 years old.

As a Christian, I take seriously Jesus’ commands to love God and love my neighbor. Love, peace, kindness, and goodness are fruit of the Spirit and they are values of the Kingdom. They are part of the ways of God and they stand in contrast to murdering and executing people. Christians don’t all agree on that unfortunately, but surely we can agree that executing someone who is innocent or who has a strong case of innocence is stupid, unjust, and evil.

I grieve for Troy Davis, for his mother Virginia who died last year. What privilege to have known, embraced, and prayed with a woman of such grace and love. I grieve too for Officer MacPhail’s death, and for the pain his family still bears. May God bring healing and comfort to them.

Tonight my friend is scheduled to die. My heart breaks, but my hope is in Jesus Christ. And I know Troy’s is as well.

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Editor's Note: Despite the cry of thousands across the world for justice on behalf of Troy, the Supreme Court denied requests for a stay of execution. The state of Georgia executed Troy Anthony Davis, pronouncing him dead at 11:08pm on Thursday, September 21. May Troy's Spirit rest in the hands of God, and may God have mercy on us all...
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Rev. Karl Kroger's extensive work on behalf of Troy Davis began as a Candler School of Theology student in 2008. This advocacy inspired thousands to get involved with Troy's case and eventually led to Karl being awarded with Emory University's prestigious Humanitarian Award in 2009. Karl now resides in Pierre, South Dakota, where he is the pastor of Southeast Pierre United Methodist Church.

This article has been cross-posted with the MFSA blog, which can be found at mfsaweb.org