I know I’m late to the Charlottesville funeral. But that’s because I can’t figure out exactly what this debacle calls for.
As a girl of Virginia whose forebears on both sides came to those shores before the Revolution—and never left (they are not adventurous people), I can’t comprehend people drawing blood in the streets of Jefferson’s town.
And I’m not even going to comment on the toppling of statues except to say that, yes, probably lots and lots of them should never have been erected. http://midtown-church.org/blog/ And yes, it’s also a travesty to besmirch Robert E. Lee, that good man who hated slavery but could only be the loyal son of his native soil. http://vaudc.org/lee-defense.html
I got up Monday morning realizing that I, myself, have to change my ways here.
I spend too much time looking at the screen of my phone, living off little shots of dopamine, as I feel the pizzazz of out-rage at every preposterous news headline. https://thefederalist.com/2017/08/11/google-firing-diversity-memo-shows-outrage-addiction-making-us-stupid/
It’s a terrible habit. I can be standing in the line at the bank reading the Washington Post, and want to keel over in a full-fledge groan.
Isn’t a life of out-rage the essence, though, of what drew blood in the streets of a quiet Virginia town? Charlottesville is bringing us to our own moments of accountability. At least for me. On Monday morning following that grisly weekend, I did something I”ve put off for two years. I went in search of praying people. The kind that meet over lunch in some forsaken building to pray repentance and peace over the city where they live.
I know in my gut that what went wrong in Charlottesville has been messed up for a long time. And it’s been messed up in me. The compulsion to be king of the hill—are any of us free of that? Hasn’t arrogance and invented superiority been around since the start? Racism is an evil means to act out our core rebellion against the God who made us.
These problems might be addressed in a courthouse or a classroom. They won’t be solved there, though. The tide turns, historically, only as the people of God come together to seek the face of the One who created them in hues He considers beautiful. Being created in His image is the true leveler of race. The cross alone has the power to make brothers out of fallen individuals.
So I’m putting down my phone for awhile. My own tendency to feast on out-rage—it’s got to go.
It’s time to seek the Lord with people who don’t look like me.