Selma

On March 4, 2015 - just 3 days before the 50th anniversary of Bloody Sunday - I took a pilgrimage.

I didn't know when I stepped onto that bus that it was a pilgrimage.
I thought it was a field trip.
I have never been more wrong.

I was attending Black Ministers Retreat with the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) as a representative for the seminary.  My job was to recruit potential students and to build relationships with pastors.  I had done that for a few years, and I enjoyed that portion of my job, so I decided I would "join them on their trip" to Selma.  It would be a neat experience to be there!

And then the anxiety set in.
I almost didn't go.
The thought of getting on a bus full of near-strangers and being "trapped" there for an hour was almost too much to bear.
But I didn't want to admit to my disorder that day, so I boarded the bus.

I sat with one of my white colleagues and we chatted about kids and grandkids and a variety of other meaningless things.
And then I heard Dale speaking.
I realized that he was talking about growing up right along this road.  The road from Selma to Montgomery.  The road the marchers walked.  And I was drawn to listen.

He talked about who lived in which farm.
Who allowed the marchers to rest there.
Where the marchers were in the most danger.
Which day it was when they stopped there.
I was enthralled.

And then we got to Selma.

I stepped off of that bus and realized I was in a holy place.

Selma is a sleepy little town in Alabama - it doesn't seem too big.

It's just across the bridge and feels like a blue collar sort of place.

I confess I don't know much about the makeup of Selma now or then, but I know it felt like I had stepped into history when my feet touched the ground there.

There was an air of reverence among my colleagues.

   

I was aware of the whiteness of my skin in that place.
It certainly was not that I was unwelcomed by them; I was embraced warmly!
But I was aware that 50 years prior, I didn't know which side of that bridge I would have been on.

I like to believe I would have marched with them.
But I will never know.
I will never know because we are products of our history.
Of the story we have been told about who we are and who the "others" are.

Selma changed me that day.
Selma and my colleagues (now friends) taught me that there is always more to the story than we are told in our history books and on the news.
I learned that yes, Selma was about the right to vote.
But Selma was about so much more.
Selma was about being treated like human beings.
About being heard.
About being recognized as fully human and fully American.

And I came to understand that I had never been told otherwise about myself.
The sheer fact that I was born with this pasty cream skin means that no one has ever questioned my value as a citizen of this country.  No one has ever considered me 3/5 of a person.  No one has ever shackled me - physically or politically.

Selma was about so much more than the vote.
Selma was about being heard.

It is nearing 3 years since I took that pilgrimage to Selma.
And this morning Selma is on my heart.
Because last night, Selma once again changed Alabama's history.

The box of votes that elected the first Alabama Democrat to the U.S. Senate in 25 years came from Selma.  The Selma box got Doug Jones elected last night.
And it was chock full of votes.
Of black men and women.

Of people who 53 years ago risked their lives and the lives of their loved ones so that this moment could one day happen.

Selma taught me that the hope of this nation is in the perseverance and patience of my African-American brothers and sisters.  It taught me that 3 years ago and it reminded me last night.  The future of this nation is not in the hands of white men and women; it is in the hands of my black and brown brothers and sisters, and for that I am grateful.

White women, we have got to open our eyes.  We need to look at the world around us.  We need to realize that we, too, have been duped by this nation.  We need to understand that our privilege is a gift.  I will never understand why 63% of white women voters in Alabama willingly chose to vote for a man who has repeatedly broken the law - as a Judge no less - and who is accused of molesting young girls!  Yes they're "just" accusations, but you and I both know that we would never make that up.

So why would they?

Why would these women wait 40 years to talk about it?

Because it's shameful and because we just want to forget.

We don't want to think about our #metoo moment ever again.

And yet ...

And yet 63% of white women in Alabama stuffed their #metoo moment down deep inside and voted for a man who doesn't see them as fully human - you're a commodity to him.

We have much to learn from our black and brown siblings, my friends.

We need to learn that we have allies and friends in our sisters and brothers of color.

We need to learn that you can be a Christian and a Democrat at the same time.

We need to learn that being against abortion is not the only thing that makes you pro life.

We need to recognize that our voice could be powerful and we really could make changes in this nation that benefit ALL of us!

I know you.

I know your hearts.

If you're reading this and you're a white woman, you're probably a personal friend of mine.

And I know how much you love people.

I know you want to make sure that kids aren't hungry and our schools are safe.

And I know we disagree on how to make that happen.

But here's the thing ...

Voting for an accused pedophile who has repeatedly broken the law he swore to uphold and defend?

That's not your heart.

That's your loyalty.

It's loyalty to all that you've been taught your whole life.

You've been taught that Good Christians are Republicans because Republicans are pro-life.

You've been taught that your faith and your values need to be in Washington.

You've been taught that elected officials want what's best for you.

I'm not telling you you're wrong; you're entitled to your beliefs.

I'm simply asking you to listen.

Listen to your hearts.

Because I know those hearts.

And I know that these are complicated issues and scary days.

But I also know that when I allowed my heart to be opened that day at Selma, I saw the world differently.  

My prayer is that you would, too.