Sermon for February 12, 2023 – The 6th Sunday after Epiphany
In preparation for our service today to celebrate and lift up Black History Month, I have spent the past week sitting with the poems of Maya Angelou. Cynthia Manswell kindly pointed me in the direction of two specific poems that are in your bulletin today; Still I Rise by Maya Angelou, and Mother to Son by the prolific American poet, social activist, novelist, and playwright Langston Hughes. Both of these poems beautifully capture joy, struggles, pain, and even the deeply rooted hope that things will change. All of these themes are woven into the poems, music, and songs of the African American experience.
I am not Black, nor do I have any trace of African heritage in my family. In fact, my life and experience in this world has been the opposite of what most black, indigenous, and people of color experience, even on a day to day basis. I am white, with ancestry.com telling me that my DNA is almost entirely Northern/Central European and British. This reinforces the family narratives I grew up with when I heard stories of family coming from Germany, England, and Wales. While my father’s family were relatively recent immigrants from Germany during the interwar period, we can trace my mother’s family to the early 1600’s and to the early beginnings of the Virginia Colony. I come from a family of immigrants and colonizers.
So, needless to say, I am part of the dominate Eurocentric culture that has exclusively set the course of history on these shores for far too long. I have benefitted from the unspoken and unearned privileges of being a white male. More doors were open to me; more opportunities to succeed and grow. I had better access to diverse services I needed; such as education, healthcare, and mental health services. I have even been pulled over for speeding and given the benefit of the doubt; a benefit that would be denied for others in similar situations, who would likely face extreme doubt, harassment, or even physical harm by the very people sworn to serve and protect them. And the messed up part of all of this is that I have done nothing to earn these privileges. They are baked into the system; embedded in our history, and continue to be borne out in systemic ways, yesterday, today, and tomorrow. It is the antithesis of the Kingdom of God from the Beatitudes. What we physically see around us is just the tip of the iceberg, as so much of this resides under the surface, out of sight, thereby giving us a convenient out of having to take action through unknowing ignorance. It should be no surprise then that when we try to change the system we are met with resistance, whether your Jesus two thousand year ago, or us today. To quote the famous rapper The Notorious B.I.G., “If you don’t know, now you know…you know.”
And so, as I wrestled with how to approach today, I was grateful that Cynthia gave me a starting point with these poems because it led me down a weeklong path of exploring the poems of Maya Angelou more deeply. As I was pouring through her works, I kept looking for the intersection between her words and the words and images of scripture. I kept my eyes and heart open to see the parallels between her experience of being black in North America and the imagery and stories we have as part of our Christian tradition. Thankfully I didn’t have to look too far, especially when I came upon her poem Caged Bird and our reading from Deuteronomy.
I invite you to close your eyes for a moment and hear these words from Maya Angelou.
Caged Bird
By Maya Angelou
A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom
What did you hear? What image caught your imagination? What did you feel?
I heard joy, longing, anger, desperation, and hope. The image of the free bird soaring through the sky, making its home where it wants among the trees, and feasting on the fat worms that are waiting for it every dawn caught my imagination. It reminded me of Jesus when he speaks of the birds in the air and the lilies in the field. I felt that God was happy because the bird was enjoying its life as a bird. While I felt hopeful and free for the free bird, I also felt sad and angry for the caged bird; the bird that through no fault of its own has had its wings clipped and has been chained to a life that will likely never change. And yet, in the midst of that darkness and pain, the caged bird still sings; the caged bird still longs for freedom. Even the present circumstances of being in its cage cannot quiet its song; its hope is sustained by something deeply rooted in its being, a hope that cannot be overcome.
This got me thinking about our story this morning from Deuteronomy where we find the Israelites standing at the gateway to the Promise Land. They are standing on the banks of the Jordan River and they are finally confronted with a sharp choice. Up to this point the Israelites had been wandering in the wilderness for a really, really long time. The people where angry and tired. They were desperately clinging to the hope that God gave them through Moses and that hope was waning; so much so that “We had it better in Egypt” was a common refrain, even though they have collectively forgotten the debasing slavery they were subjected to under Pharaoh who saw them as inferior, a problem to be dealt with. They have forgotten that they were once the caged bird singing for freedom.
And so now, the answer to their prayers lies just across the river. Their hopes and their dreams lie just across the river. The Promised Land of milk and honey, of freedom, autonomy, and self-determination lies just across the river. But they have to make a choice. It is a choice between following the commandments of God or leaving God behind and bowing to the gods worshiped by the Canaanites. So, Moses challenges the wandering community of Israelites to choose life or choose death. Death is not physical death, but it an existence that lacks joy, well-being, security, and abundance. Death is the negation of the peace of God.
For the Israelites choosing life means following God and the Law. Choosing the law, however, means something more than legalism. It means choosing a way of life, an understanding of society ordered according to the covenantal commitments, a means of existence different from the surrounding cultures. By choosing the law, they are choosing life and they will create a community that guides them towards the fullness of life that has been promised by God.
For us choosing life means being the free bird, embracing the world around us that God has given us, like the wind, the trees, and even the worms that give life. Choosing life means to help the caged birds that are singing around us to find their freedom. If you find yourself caged, remember the story of Moses and the Israelites, and allow the words of Maya Angelou to wash over your heart to remind you to hope. Never let go of that hope. The promise land lies just on the other side of the river, on the other side of your hardships. If you are caged by addiction or disordered relationships, then sing your song of freedom, and let it rise to God. If you are caged by loneliness and sadness, then sing your song of hope, and let it rise to God. If you are standing on the grave of dreams, then sing your song of lament, and let it rise to God. Whatever it is that has you bound up like Lazarus, free yourself, unbind yourself. Choose God. Choose to let go. Choose life! And let your song sing, so that those who are still caged can hear it and hold fast to the hope that they too will find freedom. Amen.
