Dear Friends,

I spent most of Tuesday in The Cities, engaging in two silent protests organized by Black clergy. I wore a collar, a stole, and a mask. And I was thoughtful about how close I was standing to so many people, all of us trying to keep apart and failing in the moment. Life is full of risk— on Tuesday, the risk of remaining silent in the face of violence and injustice outweighed the risk of infection by COVID-19. We will see a spike in cases over the next two weeks, after the Memorial Day openings, the killing of Mr. George Floyd by former Officer Derek Chauvin, and the mass protests that have ensued.  That will be devastating on top of the raw wounds exposed and inflamed. I hope I am not a new case, but it was a risk I had to take.

White clergy lined up behind Black clergy for the marches, symbolizing that white clergy have their backs, that we will remain with them as they confront power, organize, educate, and advocate. The scenes felt a bit chaotic to me, yet Black clergy delivered two clear messages for these marches: remain silent and each pray in our own tradition. This was not the silence of fear but the silence of reverence, the silence of acknowledging the pain and sorrow Mr. Floyd’s death has catalyzed. And I prayed, not because I believe in a higher power that will somehow chasten us and deliver us from the evils of systemic racist oppression, but because prayer changes my heart. Prayer brings me to action. Prayer leads me to greater learning and deeper compassion that I might do the work I can in order to change the way things are. And the way things are is that lives are ruined before they even get started, that lives are distorted before they can thrive, that lives are destroyed through viciousness and violence, specifically because these lives are Black.

I marched in silence and in prayer, but my presence to support Black clergy and Black leadership, my prayers to engage my own heart better, these are a voice, these are a cry, these are a shout for justice in a world where the authoritarian too often resides in authority.

In the days and weeks to come, I will invite you into dialogue about ways we might learn our American history more thoroughly, examine our own hearts truthfully and with compassion, and support the efforts of Black leadership in the greater Mankato region. I hope you will join me, as you remember too, today and every day, that you are loved, you are worthy, you are welcome, and you are needed. May you feel it so, and may it be so.

Blessings, Rev. Rita
(photo credit: The Rev. Laura Kampa Thompson outside of Cup Foods in Minneapolis)

Blessings, Rev. Rita