But First I Will Listen

After not sleeping much Saturday night, I got out of bed early

Sunday morning to again rewrite my sermon and to message my friend David Snardon.

David and I have been friends for over a decade. We met in seminary and bonded over our love/hate relationship with football. We both love it, and we were both secretly glad our sons chose other sports. (Okay and to be totally honest, I also had a little hero worship or some other words because David was a former college football player, and even though it was for UK, I was impressed.) David liked to talk about my two favorite topics—sports and theology, so he quickly became one of my favorite people.

In Our Younger Days

Our paths crossed again when our sons played lacrosse together at Collegiate. We would sit in the bleachers and talk about what we were preaching on that week. We talked about current events, the Gospel, and the Kingdom of God. Obviously, EVERYONE wanted to sit right next to us!

Friday and Saturday night as I sat at home worrying about my children who were down at the protest, I thought about David and his beautiful wife Alicia. I thought about how the fear I was feeling was a fear they probably felt every day when their son left the house. I realized we have talked about so many things over the years, but I could not remember a single conversation about race. And I was ashamed.

So I reached out to David early Sunday morning and he responded. We didn’t have a lot of time as we were both getting ready for worship, but he let me know about a protest that was going to happen that day and there were going to be clergy gathering in prayer and support. We agreed to meet that evening.

My plan was to stand with my brothers and sisters of color and to listen. I mostly did. Alicia and I stood talking. I could hear the deep anger and pain in her voice as she described what it was like for her when their son left the house. She described what it was like to walk around the mall. She described her son to another woman standing with us. “He’s a good boy,” she said, “Smart, kind, athletic” and here’s where I didn’t listen. I interrupted and said, “He is a great kid, but even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t deserve to be targeted.” I meant what I said. I still mean it, but I interrupted HER story. I inserted myself into her narrative without being asked. And I am sorry.

I am going to continue to reach out to and work with David. I want to be part of a new narrative. Not a narrative to erase the past and ignore the narrative of people of color, but a new narrative that is written together. A narrative that seeks justice, and loves kindness, and walks humbly. I will continue to show up, to speak out, and to stand in solidarity.

But first I will listen.