Last week I participated in the National Day of Prayer service at Town Hall in Phillipsburg. It was the second worship gathering that I have been a part of since I moved, the first being the CrossWalk in Shappell Park, which was a Christian liturgy that walked the stations of the cross on Good Friday in a local community square. This was interesting as I never participated in such an overtly Christian service in a public forum; it gave me much food for thought as I considered what it was to be a Christian over the centuries and what it means today in 21st century America.
Before moving to western New Jersey, I had been very active in the Clergy Association in Huntington, NY, even acting as President for a couple of years, where the group was not only ecumenical but interfaith, and where services would include leaders from many denominations and faith traditions. It was not unusual to hear the Islamic azan or the Jewish shofar or both opening a community worship service. So I was very surprised and a bit disconcerted when the liturgy on the steps of Town Hall began with a proclamation of Jesus Christ as Lord of all. This is obviously not a statement I personally have a problem with, but contextually it seemed inappropriate, given my historical experience of diversity. Religious diversity in P'burg, however, is negligible.
Then in the midst of wrestling with the primacy of Christianity to the exclusion of all else in a governmental setting among perhaps 70 people who were all white and apparently all Christian, a few men standing nearby began to talk about the Mayweather-Pacquiao fight and that led to conversation about Floyd Mayweather and his horrible history of perpetrating domestic abuse.
"Well, he's got to practice on somebody," one of the men joked. The others laughed and the conversation continued while I stood stunned, complicit in Mayweather's violence and the men's acceptance or even approval of it by my silence in the face of their discussion.
Meanwhile, the Presbyterian Church (USA) 221st General Assembly has begun a peacemaking discernment process in which Five Affirmations have been sent to each presbytery with the request to discuss and take an advisory vote on each affirmation individually. Numbers 2 and 4 were the most discussed, but number 2 was the one with which I had the biggest struggle:
"We confess our complicity in the world's violence even as we pray for the Spirit's courage to "unmask idolatries," to speak truth about war and oppression, and to stand with those who suffer, and to respond to acts and threats of violence with ministries of justice, healing, and reconciliation."
I had the struggle not because I am sure that am not complicit, but because of my action (or rather inaction) at events like the National Day of Prayer that assure me that I am. It is clear to me that the reason I said nothing was because I was afraid. The question is: Afraid of what?
It's a question I'm not sure I can answer. As the only female clergyperson at the gathering, perhaps I was afraid of being mocked or belittled. As a person who has suffered family violence, perhaps I was afraid being attacked, if only verbally. I was in an unfamiliar situation that already felt awkward and uncomfortable and now my searching for a reason feels like searching for an excuse.
All I know for sure is that I will do my best to speak up when (and I wish I could say if) something like this happens again. For "all tyranny needs to gain a foothold is for people of good conscience to remain silent," a statement that has been credited to Thomas Jefferson and various others. No matter who said it, it remains true, and I hope not to be a party to the silence again, in this or any other issue where violence is occurring.
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