Below is the text of a sermon I shared as the keynote speaker for the 2022 MLK Shabbat Service of Congregation Gates of Heaven, a Reform Jewish community in Schenectady, NY.
No es lo mucho, sino lo seguidito. A saying common in the Spanish Caribbean, its rough translations means that the issue is not about how much, but how often. No es lo mucho, sino lo seguidito is the saying that came to mind when I got a text from a colleague rabbi of ours last Saturday that simply said, “I wanted to make sure you were aware of the hostage situation in Forth Worth, Texas.” The reason the saying came to mind – it’s not about how much, but about how often – was because without much more detail, and even before I searched the news, I knew he was talking about a house of worship, most likely a synagogue, and close second and third alternatives quickly populated my mental process. It didn’t take long to confirm the situation was in the place of worship of our siblings of Congregation Beth Israel. I then texted Rabbi Cutler and Rabbi Spitzer to let them know I was aware of the situation, of my prayers for you and our siblings of Congregation Agudat Achim, and that I was ready to stand with you in any and every way appropriate.
All this unfolded literally in the mid-point of the first month of the year 2022. And although I am not Jewish, the confluence of feelings, the rush of thoughts was very real because I heard the news first from a colleague I hold dear, because the implications of what transpired has still very real and present repercussions for people I call friends, colleagues, and sojourners for peace and justice. But the rush and confluence of feelings were also because, as the saying goes, no es lo mucho, sino lo seguidito. The news could have been about a shooting in a department store frequented by persons of Latin American descent, or the violent incursion into a mosque, or the killing of Black Christians while they were praying, or the purported random assault against worshipping Sikhs, or the gang banging of a person of Asian descent, or of an individual that does not conform to heteronormative expectations… The news could have been about a plethora of violent or deadly assaults against persons that do not conform to the norms of the majority culture in the United States, and my mind, heart, and soul would have experienced that confluence of feelings and rush of thoughts because folks like you and I know well that what happened on Saturday, in any of the manifold ways it could have manifested itself, was certainly not the first, and most likely not the last.
The only thing I could think of saying to Matt and Rafi was to promise and commit to stand with you in any and every way appropriate. And I realized immediately after I sent the text why I was making that promise. When I got the news, I was in my living room. My 3-year-old and my 13-year-old being their… let’s just say playful and creative selves. My wife was also in the vicinity. My sending that text was also a prayer for friends and colleagues to be ready to stand by me should any act of intimidation or violence were to happen to us or ton the likes of us, for we (your people, my people, and marginalized peoples throughout the world) know that at this point in history it’s not about how much, but about how often it happens, and about the very real implications and consequences to our very existence.
And, of course, it does not escape any of us that this took place during the long weekend dedicated to remembering the life and legacy of late Martin Luther King, Jr, the Baptist pastor, Christian theologian, and community organizer who is one of the most consequential figures in US history. It is my estimation that Dr. King’s actions and philosophy are still very misunderstood, perhaps even misconstrued, mostly because of the partisan reading many insist on doing of his life’s work. Rev. King’s contribution to the struggle for the enfranchisement and justice of peoples who are marginalized because of the color of their skin and in service to the expansion of capitalist interest at any cost is two-fold:
First, the clear articulation of racism, poverty, and militarism as intentional and evil systems of oppression, alongside the opportunity to draw lines of intersection, such as the reality of antisemitism, xenophobia, colonialism, patriarchy, and heteronormativity. These systems are present, part and parcel of the ethos of the United States. It is also fundamental to understanding why your people and mine struggle for survival and justice.
The second contribution by Dr. King to the struggle for justice was his unrelenting commitment and hope for the real possibility of the Beloved Community – a social, political, and ethical space where individuals are judged not by the color of their skin, or the accent in their speech, but by the content of their character. What is more, even if there is a judgment to be made in the content of the character of anyone, that ethos of love would lead the community to come together to work on the needed healing towards a strong moral character. The means for the work of the Beloved Community is love. The culmination of the being of the Beloved community is peace, in the sense of shalom, and justice being the unequivocal reality for all.
Martin Luther King, Jr. and Congregation Beth Israel of Forth Worth are the backgrounds for our gathering this Shabbat. True to the religious tradition I profess, it is moments like this when the temptation for a political speech is met with the responsibility rabbis, ministers and other ordained religious leaders have to gather the community to be reminded of how we got here (literally and figuratively) and where our traditions show we should go from here. All Abrahamic faiths do this exercise of remembrance and forward imagination with the Holy Scriptures as fundamental points of departure. The rush of thoughts and confluence of feelings I began experiencing on Saturday and making the distinction between the political and the religious was most difficult. All of the sudden, on Sunday, I started singing:
Has cambiado mi lamento en baile.
Me ceñiste de alegría.
Por tanto a ti cantaré, gloria mía
y no estaré callado.
Señor, Dios mío, te alabaré
te alabaré para siempre
porque has cambiado mi lament en baile,
Señor, Dios mío, te alabaré.
I grew up in a church and a family where learning Scripture was paramount. My paternal grandmother taught me at an early age that the reason one should learn Scripture, especially Psalms, was because when in most need and often when one least expects it, the right text emerges in one’s mind to encourage you to face any given situation. As I child I was not good at attaching book, chapter and verse to texts. But I was good at learning songs. Psalm 30 was the text that came to mind in song while watching my children play Saturday evening and being concerned about their wellbeing because of their origin. Psalm 30 came to mind when I prayed for Gates of Heaven, for Agudat Achim, and for Jewish communities throughout the country as they faced, again, a moment of anxiety and terror. Psalm 30 came to mind as I entered Monday to remember the legacy of Martin Luther King, Jr., and as I thought of us tonight. Perhaps King David wrote the Psalm, and tradition teaches us that it was written as a song for the dedication of the Temple. But this week, these words of David can inspire us to affirm our identity as more than subjects of political tropes or social othering. Psalm 30 reminds us of where we get the fortitude and conviction to stand tall, proud, and righteous amid violence against us and the anxiety it inflicts in our daily existence.
I extol You, O LORD,
for You have lifted me up,
and not let my enemies rejoice over me.
O LORD, my God,
I cried out to You,
and You healed me.
O LORD, You brought me up from Sheol,
preserved me from going down into the Pit.
O you faithful of the LORD, sing to Him,
and praise His holy name.
For He is angry but a moment,
and when He is pleased there is life.
Weeping may linger for the night,
but at dawn there are shouts of joy.
When I was untroubled,
I thought, “I shall never be shaken,”
for You, O LORD, when You were pleased,
made me firm as a mighty mountain.
When You hid Your face,
I was terrified.
I called to You, O LORD;
to my Lord I made appeal,
“What is to be gained from my “blood.”
from my descent into the Pit?
Can dust praise You?
Can it declare Your faithfulness?
Hear, O LORD, and have mercy on me;
O LORD, be my help!”
You turned my lament into dancing,
you undid my sackcloth and girded me with joy,
that [my] whole being might sing hymns to You endlessly;
O LORD my God, I will praise You forever.
The Psalmist articulates in a fascinating and captivating way the ups and downs of human life. It also gathers with, both, beautiful poetry and profound description, the extremes experienced by peoples who are marginalized. From the opening, the Psalmist calls for exultation, for high praise, and in the same breath describes a call for help through screams and God’s action of saving grace from death itself.
There is also an invitation to recognize our times of overconfidence. What may seem as God hiding the divine countenance is nothing more than humanity’s own overconfidence, often predicated in selfish pursuits with no regard to the plight of the disenfranchised, the livelihood of the marginalized, the health of the created order, or the long-term implications of our actions. In Likutei Moharan 14:5:5, it is written that Rabbah bar bar Chanah “saw that the elevation of glory depends upon a person breaking his haughtiness. Glory ascends in proportion to the extent one breaks one’s haughtiness, because (God’s) glory is elevated through Torah, as above. And, a person can only merit Torah through humility.” Human actions, whether communal or individual, that do not consider the implications on others is sure to feel like God is hiding its face. However, it is us, humans, moving away from our unique relationship with the divine.
There is more to Psalm 30. This Psalm contains words that have become key to how Christian articulate the close and unique relationship of God with God’s people: “God is angry for a moment, and when God is pleased there is life.” “Weeping may linger for the night, but at dawn there are shouts of joy.”
In articulating an important distinction in the understanding Christian (and perhaps the Abrahamic faiths) have of the difference between God as a person versus God as a personality, MLK affirms that God is a person. He writes that as a theologian, the metaphysical argumentation of the personhood of God satisfied him. But that it was in the work of community engagement for justice and enfranchisement that God became for him a living reality. Martin Luther King, Jr. writes, :
God has been profoundly real to me in recent years. In the midst of outer dangers I have felt inner calm. In the midst of lonely days and dreary nights I have heard an inner voice saying, “Lo, I will be with you.” When the chains of fear and the manacles of frustration have all but stymied my efforts, I have felt the power of God transforming the fatigue of despair into the buoyancy of hope. I am convinced that the universe is under the control of a loving purpose, and that in the struggle for righteousness (humanity) has a cosmic champion… in the truest sense of the word, God is a living God. In (God) there is feeling and will, responsive to the deepest yearnings of the human heart; this God both evokes and answers prayer. (Strength of Love, 1963, p. 141)
That living God - present, personal - that Martin Luther King, Jr. wrote about is the God David sings about in the closing of Psalm 30. As I sang the last verses of Psalm 30, I noticed something that I had not in the many decades I have been singing this song. With beautifully chosen words, that have a profound impact in the way Latin American Christians understand our relationship with God, David speaks directly to God with a powerful affrimation, and encourages his congregation to pray and sing likewise: “Has cambiado mi lamento en baile; desataste mi cilicio, y me ceñiste de alegría.” “You turned my lament into dancing, you undid my sackcloth and girded me with joy.” David’s affirmation is good news for God’s people:
In the midst of pain and sorrow,
in the midst of persecution and marginalization,
in the midst of sadness and despair…
God has been with God’s people, and God is here still
to heal our pain
to bring us up from the hold of death
to accompany us in the nights of weeping
to sojourn among us in the mornings of gladness
When we cry for help, and scream with despair
God has been with us and is here still
to turn our lament into dancing
and to undo our sackcloth garments, and dress us in vestments of joy
I hope you are hearing the good news for us tonight - that in the midst of it all, and in spite of it all, that no matter what we can dance because God heals, God restores, God transforms and God clothes its people with its powerful and ever-present gift of life, peace, and justice. We can dance because no matter the quality and quantity of our strength, it is the Divine that empowers us to dance, to sing God’s praises, and to be witnesses of God’s being in us, with us, through us for the sake of creation.
No matter what, we can dance!
Amen.