[Epiphany 2] not deeming comfort and advantage something to be clung to

If our life in Christ means anything to you -- if love, or the Spirit that we have in common, or any tenderness or sympathy can persuade you at all -- then be united in your convictions and united in your love, with a common purpose and a common mind. That is the one thing that would make me completely happy. There must be no competition among you, no conceit, but everybody is to be humble: value others over yourselves, each of you thinking of the interests of others before your own. Your attitude must be the same as that of Christ Jesus:

Christ, though in the image of God,
didn't deem equality with God
something to be clung to--
but instead took on the image of oppressed humankind:
born into the human condition,
found in the likeness of a human being.
Jesus was thus humbled--
obediently accepting death, even death on a cross!

Philippians 2:1-8 (The Inclusive Bible)

Molly preached on this passage to launch a 12-month series on multiracial life (like the 12 month series we did on the 12 Steps of AA, on addiction and recovery).

What I'm struck by in reflecting on this passage is the part about Jesus not deeming equality with God something to be "clung to."

I don't think we can "give up" our privilege per se.

Peggy McIntosh writes, "I was taught to see racism only in individual acts of meanness, not in invisible systems conferring dominance on my group." Her "Daily effects of white privilege" list (the most famous portion of her piece, "White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack") lists lots of privileges that are bestowed on us white folks, that we can't relinquish without changing the very water we swim in.

But we can stop clinging to the advantages we have.

I co-chair the Boston Pride Interfaith Coalition, and while we've gotten better about including more women, young people, and non-Christians in the coalition, we're still very white. I've given myself lots of homework involving reaching out to people of color and under-represented faith traditions. At a recent meeting, the one person of color on our committee (who is not Christian herself) suggested reaching out to African-American Christian communities. I've been really resistant to adding more Christian voices to the planning committee because we Christians have always been the majority on the coalition, so I pushed back against this suggestion. She reminded me that folks from African-American traditions would have very different perspectives than the white Christians that have dominated the coalition.

I knew she was right, and I also knew that part of the resistance I felt was at the possibility of giving up some of my space at the table (I worried that they would be more conservative than me, and I didn't relish the idea of navigating more compromises as we crafted the service). It's easy for me to insist that other people need to stretch to accommodate others on the margins, and I like to think that I myself do a fair job of stretching, but when my principles might require me to make things that feel like sacrifices, I'm a lot more hesitant.

Mia McKenzie on Black Girl Dangerous posted "4 Ways to Push Back Against Your Privilege" -- the first of which is "Relinquish Power." This, I think, is something much more actionable than relinquishing "privilege" (especially since privilege is often something bestowed on us by the surrounding society).

How much you believe that Jesus gave up power by incarnating depends in large part on your theology of God's power, but I think Paul's assertion that Jesus didn't consider equality with God something to be clung to remains true.

Susan Eastman on Working Preacher wrote about this passage when it came up in the lectionary a couple years ago. She wrote, "the story of Christ also moves from separation to solidarity, and from difference to likeness, as Christ moves into the most despairing depths of human experience."

My main takeaway from reading Eastman's piece is that this is a joint endeavor -- us and God/Jesus and all of humanity.

A few verses after we stopped reading in Philippians, Paul writes, "work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure" (2:13).

Eastman writes:

A better translation might be, "God is the one working in you both the willing and the working." The Greek word translated "work" is the source of our word, "energy" or "energize." God gives us the desire and the energy to enact Christ's compassion in the world. The "you" is plural, showing that God is among us, having come among us as a slave, as one who serves. This divine condescension and companionship thus is not only or even primarily an example for us in our dealings with one another, but the actual motivating power operating in and through those mutual relationships.

Similarly, the "salvation" we are to work out is not our private, individual destiny, but rather, the quality of our corporate life as it is lived under the rule of the Savior. Paul already has described this quality of life in terms of mutual love and affection, sharing in the Spirit, unity, humility, putting others first -- and all of this "in Christ" (2:1-4). Here is real "quality of life!" And it is a public life, a public "politics."

Just as last week's lesson told us to let our manner of life, our "politics," be worthy of the gospel so that it is a public demonstration of the meaning of salvation, so immediately following today's lesson, Paul tells us we "shine as lights in the world" (3:15). Echoing the story of God's revelation on Mount Sinai, the "fear and trembling" (2:12) evoked by Christ's incarnation, death and exaltation tell us we are in the presence of God. This is the language of theophany. God's self-revelation issues in a transformed community that itself becomes a kind of theophany, a manifestation of God's presence in the world.

This focus on remaking our communal life reminds me of Molly's list of reasons why we want to become a multiracial church:

1) Because being multiracial, we will experience heaven on earth

There is nothing more beautiful than walking into a room where people of every color are moving and speaking in peaceful and loving ways. I think we can do it even better than Dunkin' Donuts

2) Because it will make us rich in the ways that being many kinds of people together does

…I never learned anything from people just like me, but I've learned a lot about music, culture, politics and history from people who are different from me

3) Because it may heal old (and new!) racial wounds

One at a time, we can undo a hurt that society has inflicted, just as we have with homophobia—our assistant music director Marcus Mack is here today because he came to worship with us during the interview process, and a white woman hugged him and said she was glad he was here, and he looked in her eyes and knew her welcome was authentic, that her love was real

And, because I am a little pugnacious, there is a fourth reason: because becoming a multiracial church, apparently, as an East Coast, mainline, progressive church, is just about impossible to do.

God taking on flesh and becoming human and dying and conquering death for everyone might seem just a touch impossible as well... so how can we connect to the desire and energy that willed and worked all that, as we attempt some impossible work ourselves?

How can we loosen our clinging to some of our advantages and comforts in order to do the work that needs to be done?

How can we move more deeply into community and solidarity so that the issues and concerns of those who may initially seem unlike us can become no longer "your" or "their" concerns but "our" concerns?

(As always, feel free to comment anonymously/pseudonymously if you prefer.)