Blog : Give Me Grace

Give Me Grace : This Fourth of July

Posted on by lisha epperson

Fourth of July image

Freedom ain’t free and what on earth can I possibly celebrate on the Fourth of July? I woke up with this on my mind, pressing into my thoughts on parenting and life.  I struggle with it every year but this year with a church massacre and a battle over the confederate flag and the martyrs in ISIS…well I’m sure you’re thinking about it too.

Much of our world today points to the injustices of the past, reminds us of the institution of racism, the scars that remain from the evil it produced … the freedoms we hold dear, but take for granted.  It’s complex. Particularly for African-Americans. My attention is scattered and I’m drawn in the worst way to the suffering of our time. Hope, like blood, leaks from my veins. I’m rationing hope like it’s a precious commodity in tough times. I want it to abound.

I’m looking every day for new reasons to believe.

When my 7-year-old asked about the Fourth of July this year I felt ready to dig in to the why of the celebration. This year, I’m  vulnerable and broken enough to hear what God has to say.

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We started with the Declaration of Independence and its famed quote…

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

We talked about the authors of the document and the specific meaning their words held within the context of the time they were written. We talked about how it’s clear these words excluded slaves and women. We talked about how the words are interpreted today.

I read “The Meaning of July Fourth for the Negro” by Frederick Douglas out loud.

“But such is not the state of the case. I say it with a sad sense of the disparity between us. I am not included within the pale of glorious anniversary! Your high independence only reveals the immeasurable distance between us. The blessings in which you, this day, rejoice, are not enjoyed in common. The rich inheritance of justice, liberty, prosperity and independence, bequeathed by your fathers, is shared by you, not by me. The sunlight that brought light and healing to you, has brought stripes and death to me. This Fourth of July is yours, not mine.”

Reading his words lit a fire in my belly. Emboldened by the hard truth of his words, I felt myself expressing each phrase with passion. The very nearness of his ideas, read by a woman, me, 163  years after the speech was written both frightened and humbled.

Truth is like that.

We listened to Morgan Freeman and James Earl Jones share dramatic offerings in homage to Frederick Douglass. And it’s a little saucy but I listened to this, by Lupe Fiasco with my older children.

Then we ate pancakes and bacon. Our unplanned #homeschool had morphed into #familyschool ( I love when that happens.) We’d enjoyed our  exciting but lengthy conversation about the Fourth of July – but now we were hungry.

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Afterwards, the day was ours. The lovelies joined me on my run. Their faces, at the end of my timed session made all the difference in the last few minutes of a grueling workout. Everyone was happy when we piled into the minivan for a ride to Nyack, New York.  There was a promise of ice cream.

After dinner and treats the kids convinced us to follow the crowd down to the water for fireworks. If we’ve ever had a tradition surrounding  the Fourth of July it’s watching fireworks, so off we went. We found a spot on the ledge of a building half a block from the mass of people gathering at the pier. It was perfect. Within minutes brilliant displays of light and color dripped from the sky and over our heads.

Watching the lovelies enjoy it was a blast but more important was the message God impressed upon my heart about celebration and this particular holiday. With each blast of light, I felt God nudge me towards hope. Each thunderous shock and crash, a cry and prayer heard loud in heaven  –  “celebrate freedom.”

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Today and every day, I have the privilege of  celebrating  the gospel without fear. This is a gift I enjoy as an American living in the United States. Despite my frustration with where we are as a country, not withstanding my complicated feeling about terms like racial reconcilaiation…I live in a country that allows the free expression of my faith.

Tomorrow will be another day. There’ll be more news of injustice and bias and all the things that trouble me. Freedom ain’t free. But I am. Despite our founding fathers, I choose to live the truth of the words –  “all men are created equal”.  All people are equally precious to God and are creatures made in his image.

In response to the excitement and thrill of the display, Chailah screamed “My hearts beating really fast, but I like it,”. Knowing God spoke to me so audibly  – loved me right where I was in my doubt and frustration made me feel the same way.

Today, I’m free and hopeful and reminded all the more how important it is to take seriously, the summons to live out my faith engaged in the advancement of the gospel. For His kingdom – come.

Let your handmaiden find grace in your sight…#GiveMeGrace

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Give Me Grace : How To Rebuild the Empire

Posted on by lisha epperson

 

The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun. – Ecclesiastes 1:9

History can’t be a sword to justify injustice or a shield against progress. It must be a manual for how to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past, how to break the cycle, a roadway toward a better world. –  Barak Obama

I firmly believe Bishop T.D. Jakes when he says “if the same thing from last year, is troubling you this year…you’re in containment.” If that’s the case, it’s time to shift our perspective, enlarge our imaginative territory, believe God to see our story transformed. Because this, this has been going on way too long. It’s time to rebuild.

I’m in the process of developing a running habit. Six weeks in and I’m beginning to look forward to my every other day practice sessions. I ran for 22 minutes today. Don’t laugh, that’s a super long time for me. I’ve noticed I like longer runs, the feeling of a second wind is powerful and I love the idea of challenging myself to go even 10 seconds longer. I’ve also noticed my body … changing. A different definition in my calves, a controlled more efficient breathing, my lungs getting stronger. My clothes fitting … just a bit differently.

This new hobby is an intentional effort on my part to stay healthy for my family and to reconnect with my body after years of discord. I’ve been here before – working to reconcile a relationship with a body that’s failed me. I think I’m ready. This time.

I’ll never stop dancing but I need something new. The dance studio holds too many memories, connecting on neutral territory might be just the thing. It might expand my concept of fitness, challenge me to take a second look at something I thought I knew enough about to dismiss.

So I had this thought a few weeks ago, about my body and about life. It’s a question. How do I rebuild my body/my temple? How do I shape it with new thoughts and ideas, different ways of seeing, of being?  Today I applied it to how I’ve felt about the layers of tension I feel wrapping around me. How can I approach it differently? How do I break the cycle?

How do you rebuild? For getting in shape with a running practice it’s step by step, mile by mile. Each day I show I up I’m securing the foundation, adding a layer to the overall project that is my body. Rolling out my calves, stretching before and after, paying attention to my form, my breath. And listening. I’m opening my heart and mind to accept how little I know. This time I wield the wisdom of the student.
Each day I focus on something new. And each day, whether I notice it right away, I am remade. Rebuilt.
And so it is with any task we face. It’s how we face it. How we enter in. The wise enter with humility, they enter with grace. The wise know rebuilding takes time.

It has been, it will be. 

I’m working but I’m resting – not in the here we go again frustration of living the same problems, but in hopeful expectation of the opportunity that exists to respond differently. In this life, the empire will always cry out to be made new. What’s different is how we respond. The response is up to us.

There is nothing new under the sun.

There’s nothing new under the sun.

Where once this passage frustrated, today I’m hopeful. It’s time to rebuild the empire. You and I have been called to engage in the battle against God’s empire. And we do that one step at a time. The battles are the same. The questions haven’t changed. They don’t change. Who gets an invitation to the new city? Who gets invited to the party? Everything we’ve struggled over in the past few weeks boils down to this. And I think God has answered. Because He is sovereign and the originator of love – He has opened the door – for the sinner, the saint – the wretch, like me.

But we don’t get to enter in and sit on separate sides of the lunch room. This time, there’s only one table and there’s a seat with your name on it – with mine. You and I have the unique challenge/ opportunity to be the light. Maybe this time we can have the conversations that lead to true healing. Maybe this time we can meet at the convergent roads of knowing everything and nothing and it can be different.

Dear Jesus , let it be.

Let your handmaiden find grace in your sight…#GiveMeGrace

 

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On Finding Forgiveness : a guest post for Outside the City Gate

Posted on by lisha epperson

Famine and hunger 

Disease in the land 

The hatred the killing, taking lives from your hand 

Creation waits through the darkness we pray 

Tell me where is the hero to come and save the day  – Kirk Franklin : Hero


“I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says The Lord God, “who is, and who was, and who is to come, the Almighty.”  – Revelation 1:8

It’s hot in NYC. The first week of consistently high temperatures heralds the news – “summer is here.” It’s mad hot, fighting hot, uncomfortable. In the hood they’d say it’s the kind of heat that makes you wanna punch yo mama in the face. It’s hot. The national climate of racial tension is pushing us. We’re all on the verge. But who needs another reason to be irritable?

I want to feel hopeful. But I haven’t. This is a bit of where my heart has wandered and what has helped.

On Sunday my pastor reminded me to trust god with my lamentation but to be sure to move on to the solid rock of His word. God wants to do us good and make us happy. Stick to the truths that do not change. God is in control.

I keep forgetting that part – come back to what is true.

In my lamentation I see a 21-year-old boy so filled with hate he’d plan and execute the murder of 9 innocent people in church. In my lamentation I wonder about the world that nurtures  that particular brand of evil. I wonder how we keep turning the other cheek and pressing forward to a place of forgiveness – confident in the promise of a heavenly by and by. All the talk of this world not being our home has left us walking around like aliens – standing in line asking for handouts in a country soaked in the blood of our ancestors. It makes me wonder about weakness. Happy clappy people are all well and good but is it possible to become complacent in our desire to get our praise on? Are we moving backwards? Because all I hear right now is praise for the “docile, forgiving Negro”.

That … makes me mad.

 
Over a conversation about books and business an acquaintance and I got into a discussion about the troubled times we live in. She addressed it from a spiritual angle and wondered over discernment. Going so far as to question how evil could sit in our presence unrecognized. How we could feed the enemy without knowing it. She went on to admonish that Christians….never…put their guard down. I know we’ve been played like this before, but the suggestion that I be on my post, armed every day, all day, in my own home … made me tired. It made me give hospitality the side-eye with speculations about trust and worry I’d never again, make a new friend.

We’re so trusting, people like Rachel Dolezal feel comfortable enough to walk up into our culture and claim it as their own. Hmmm. Things are changing but they aren’t changing fast enough. I’m with Dr. King, enough with courage. I feel cautious. But it doesn’t feel good. For the first time, following Martin feels frightening. Caution means I don’t trust. And if we’re there again…sigh…

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. made it plain in 1963. “We have to be concerned about the system, the way of life and the philosophy which produced the murderers.” That was 52 years ago, in response to the Birmingham church bombings.

 Sadly I don’t see changes in the system, the every day system that would make a different world possible. It’s in the little things. It’s how I’m the only mother of color on the playground with my children during the day. We can talk about the socio-economic implications that make stay at home life an improbable dream for many women, but more likely, it’s that there are women of color on the playground  and they’re all working – taking care of white children. It’s how many of my white friends, Christian and otherwise, quietly admit the existence of racist family members. And how most white parents of little white girls haven’t purchased a black doll for their daughters. Most black families I know have laid out the cash to be inclusive.

It’s the little things that shape the culture.

We’re at the gate again today, discussing forgiveness and faith and my desperate attempt to find it  in light of the Charleston massacre.

God needs every voice that’s willing to be part of these conversations. That’s where you come in. Join me at Outside The City Gate to read more. 

Give Me Grace : Stand Up

Posted on by lisha epperson


 

Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near. – Luke 21:28

I’ve sat in the space of no words this week.  I’ve felt hopeless and frustrated. Shut up in a room of questions and so little light, so little love. I haven’t felt compelled to make nice with pretty words and the collective cheek we keep turning is raw and bruised. It hurts.

What do you say to repeated attacks on the humanity of a people?  Racism is a sin like any other, it’s the product of evil in the world and we haven’t wiped it out. This fresh wave of ugly is subtle and layered and just under the surface of every conversation we have in what’s called a post-racial society. Our children can’t make sense of the stream of crimes inflicted on people of color – not when they’ve only known an African-American president – not when we believed and then promised them – things would be different. And they are. Just not different enough.

There were no words.

After a few days I let myself weep. I saw their faces, learned their names. And wept. It was good. Because although it hurts it’s important to feel, to process. I won’t make it back to hope without giving myself space to grieve.

God is working on my heart.

On Sunday morning, the congregation at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church, will come together again. They’ll climb the same stairs, fill the pews, and sing songs through tears. They’ll do the holy work of the saints. They’ll live the righteous act of forgiveness. They’ll persevere and practice the peace that passes all understanding. They’ll walk the road of “fear not” and draw near to experience redemption.

African-Americans have lived terrorism for centuries. We are survivors. We come together to hold each other accountable for our faith. We stand in the gap for each other. We do what we have to do to restore the broken.

We always come through. We are believers. We have faith. We stand up.

Blessed be the name….we don’t walk alone. This time, the lament is world-wide. The deaths, in a church – of believers, somehow made the victims more than just ordinary black folk. Christians of every color have taken seriously the call to stand up for justice.

Social media is the hub for social activism these days and the church is responding. The revolution is being televised in hashtags and status updates. Racism will not be tolerated.

Maybe racial reconciliation isn’t just a dream.  Maybe theirs was the sacrifice to bridge the divide. Maybe.

Join me today in a cry for hope and healing. Say and pray their names.

I’m sitting quiet and close, joining with the hearts of Austin Channing Brown and LaTasha Morrison and friends at Be The Bridge for Racial Unity for #WeLament.


Let your handmaiden find grace in your sight…#GiveMeGrace

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