Protests, Heartbreak, Humanity and God's Love

Yesterday afternoon, after the Grand Jury and the Attorney General held their press conferences where they announced one officer would be indicted for wanton

endangerment for shooting into a neighboring apartment and not because Breonna Taylor died, my daughter called and asked me if I would go to the protest with her. Without a second thought, I responded, "Of course. On my way home and we'll go."

On the drive over to Bardstown Rd. we heard media reports of "violent clashes between the protesters and the police." That is not what we walked up to.

Part of the street was blocked on two sides with close to 40 police cars on each side--lights flashing. In the middle of the blocked-off road were several people seated and handcuffed. The protesters where we stood were chanting, but there was no violence. 

Caroline and I moved to the front--notice I didn't say pushed our way to the front--there was no need to push--there simply weren't that many people there and those who were were not pushing and shoving. As we stood at the tape my eyes went to a man seated on the ground, handcuffed, and bleeding profusely from his head. I did not see what happened. A man next to me said he had been kicked in the head by the police at least 6 times. I did not see it. What I saw was a man injured, lying in the street bleeding, and no one doing anything.

A few minutes later we saw a stretcher coming through. The police lifted the handcuffed man to the stretcher and strapped him down. They moved to the side of the street close to where we stood. The man was crying, shouting out his name, and saying, "Where was God? God has abandoned us!" I could not, as a priest in the church, stand by. 

I tried to lift the tape and go to the man. I just wanted to put my hands on him, pray a prayer for healing, and let him know that while he felt deserted by God, God was present in all these people who were standing with and for him. I was told to move back. 

I kept saying, "I'm a priest. I just want to pray with him. Please let me come through." (Yes, I was in my collar.) I made eye contact with one very young LMPD officer. I begged him to let me through. I saw compassion in his eyes, and he walked over to another officer (I'm assuming his commanding officer) and spoke to him. That officer shook his head. The young man returned to his post and would no longer make eye contact with me. I kept begging to be allowed through. As my emotions ramped up, I didn't use the best language. I apologize for that.

I looked over at my daughter; I felt the collar around my neck; and as a mother and a priest, I could not do nothing. Let me be clear, this is not about me. I have many colleagues who would have done the same and more. I know many laypeople who would have done more. I am not out there protesting every day, but in that moment I knew what I had to do. When I was ordained I made multiple vows. My daughter was there. She heard me make those vows, and now she stood next to me. The two vows I thought of at that moment were, "Will you undertake to be a faithful pastor to all whom you are called to serve, laboring together with them and with your fellow ministers to build up the family of God?" and "Will you persevere in prayer, both in public and in private, asking God's grace, both for yourself and for others, offering all your labors to God, through the mediation of Jesus Christ, and in the sanctification of the Holy Spirit?" (BCP, p. 532)  This man deserved and deserves dignity and respect. This man deserved to be prayed for and with. I gave my phone and the car keys to Caroline and prepared to move.

As the stretcher came through I approached and was pushed back. "Please," I pleaded, "I'm a priest. I just want to pray with him. There is nothing in my hands." I was pushed with a baton and told if I didn't step back I would be arrested. (I was not hurt.) Should have I continued to approach? I don't know. That is a question I will consider for days and weeks to come. I didn't approach, but I continued to walk along the sidewalk reciting prayers as loudly as I could. I waited until he was loaded into the ambulance and then turned to go back to my daughter.

At that moment a man came up next to me. He stepped into the road and was embraced by the very officer who had pushed me with his baton. No one told him to get back. No one pushed him. The man who had stepped into the street stepped back and said to me pointing to the officer,  "That man is a good guy. He volunteers with me at the Y. He helps underprivileged children." Then he continued, "And thank you for what you did walking with that man and saying prayers." I nodded and moved on.

I am still processing. But here's where I am this morning. I am heartbroken the bleeding man was not given the human right to be prayed for and with. I am heartbroken he was lifted into the ambulance believing God had abandoned him. I am heartbroken there was a young officer, who I believe wanted to do the right thing and let me through, and was told no, and then he couldn't look me in the eye. I am heartbroken an officer either felt threatened by a middle-aged white woman priest half his size, (yes wearing a monogrammed color and pearls) or ignored the dignity and respect of the bleeding man as a child of God because of a broken system--a system which over and over dehumanizes people, particularly people of color. I am heartbroken those officers chose procedure over humanity and love. 

But I believe in the resurrection. I believe God will prevail. I believe that "neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:38-39) And I believe that love is more powerful than any system the world has or will create. 

And I pray, "Come Lord Jesus" sooner rather than later please. 

Back Stories

Two weeks ago (Was it only 2 weeks?  It feels like a lifetime...) on a Thursday, the girls were out running, Winnie got off her leash and was hit by a car.  I wasn't home (part of the back story), but when I got home, I assessed the situation; it didn't seem bad--she barely whimpered and continued walking (okay limping) around. So I decided in my overly physically, emotionally and spiritually exhausted state to just watch her.  (And yes I would like to publicly acknowledge this was my decision alone as Chris was out of town--he shares no blame--in fact I was so overwhelmed I forgot to even tell him....)

To SK's credit, she kept saying, "We should probably get her checked."  By Friday late afternoon Chris was home and we agreed to have her checked on Monday if she didn't seem better.  SK kept pushing; finally I exasperatedly said, "Fine.  You take her." (Yes, I abdicated my parental authority.) So she did (without eye rolls I will add). The girls loaded her into the car and headed off to our vet. Not 30 minutes later the phone rang--it was bad--a broken radius; she would need to go immediately to a specialist, and she needed surgery.

I thought the girls would head straight out there, but they came home first.  I'm glad they did as it gave me a chance to regroup and become a responsible adult--I went with them.  (Now here's a real confession--on Friday I spent the day at the pool--it's not why I didn't take her earlier, but it did help me forget--forget the accident, forget the back story.)  The three of us loaded this 50 pound dog in the car in our flip flops, cover ups and bathing suits--it was 6:30 on a Friday evening--not exactly my idea of happy hour....

We arrived and were immediately put into a room and Winnie was whisked into the back to be assessed.  The receptionist returned and gave us an update on what would need to happen.  We had already commented that she wasn't exactly friendly, but remember, it was 6:30 on a Friday night--she was young and probably not thrilled to still be at work.  I began to ask a few questions which she abruptly answered. (I tried really hard not to look at Caroline who I feel certain was not hiding her disgust...)

We agreed to leave her for the weekend and have surgery first thing Monday morning.  Young girl, "I need $4000 please. And we don't take checks."  (Note she did say please...)  Both girls looked at me. "I don't even have my wallet here," I started to explain.  Young girl, "So you don't have $4000?  You can pay $2000 now."  I refrained from saying, "I don't think you heard me--I don't have my wallet and I'm pretty sure that indicates I don't have $2000.  Seriously, I don't have $2000 in cash in my pocket!"  She continued, "You can use a credit card."  Clearly she wasn't listening to me say I DIDN'T HAVE MY WALLET.  (So I wasn't going to tell her that years ago Chris and I got rid of credit cards.)

"So you can't pay for it?" young girl repeated. "No, I'm sorry--not tonight. We're going to have to move some money around.  I can see what I can do by Monday."  At this the girls had tears in their eyes and are offering to help pay.  She clearly was not recognizing the pain and distress so obvious on their faces and in their voices.  "Can you move the money now?"  "M'am," I said, "It's 6:30 on a Friday evening--banks are closed.  I'll have to wait until Monday morning." "Well," she rudely said, "You'll have to take her home and hope for the best before Monday.  I'll let them know you can't pay."

On the outside I was trying to remain calm but inside I was shaking.  As she left I went into my typical social justice tirade.  "How rude!!!  What if we really couldn't pay--seriously how many people have $4000 just sitting in their checking account.  And there are MANY people who wouldn't have $4000 anywhere--they would have to save.  And guess what?  It doesn't mean they don't love their pets any less."  That's what I was saying to my girls; they were agreeing.  But on the inside...

On the inside, I was full of humiliation, shame and deep deep pain.  I wanted to shout at her, "Leave my girls alone--don't you see their in faces?  Don't you see their tears, their hurt?  They had her with them--they are feeling guilty AND IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!  And while I'm at it let me just tell you that this is just one thing that has happened this week in our lives--ONE THING AMONG MANY. You don't know our story.  You have no idea this has been one of the worst weeks of our families' life.  You don't know what money we do or do not have.  You are treating us like a dollar sign and not as people who have a story--You don't know us!"

It was a God moment-they didn't ask, but made the cast monogrammed orange and blue

The vet's assistant came in next and she was AMAZING.  "We have another option.  Surgery is just the fastest fix, but we can cast her for 8 weeks and if you can keep her calm she will heal just fine." "I guess it's a good thing our other summer plans have had to be adjusted and we will be home for 8 weeks instead of at the beach." I thought to myself.  Finally a silver lining to the back story... I have no idea if she believed we could or couldn't pay, but she treated us with dignity and respect--she treated us humanely; she treated us as people with a back story...

Four days later I woke around 5 am and headed downstairs to take care of Winnie.  I heard it raining-"darn it," I thought, "Taking her out in the rain is going to be such a pain."  As I thought these words I looked out the window, it wasn't raining.  At that moment I turned the corner and it was raining--just not outside...I'd so rather have taken her out in the rain....

We spent the next four days with loud fans throughout the house.  When they came to get the fans (the living room AND basement finally dried out), they began the assessment of damage.  We would need new floors throughout the main floor, a new ceiling, new basement ceiling, new carpet in the basement..and the list continues.  "Mrs. Doyle," the estimator said, "I am so sorry this has happened to you.  I know it looks awful and it's overwhelming, but we've seen worse and we'll do everything we can to make this as easy for you all as possible.  I'm sorry you are going to have to spend your summer this way."  Dignity, respect, compassion....

I've been thinking a lot about these two experiences.  I'm still annoyed about the first.  I still like to get on my high horse about social justice--I try to pretend that's my big beef--people who have no other options.  But that's not it.  It's dignity and respect REGARDLESS.  It's recognizing that what brings people to an emergency vet on a Friday night or what brings estimators into a flooded house is traumatic in and of itself; it's responding to people's places of pain with tenderness and care.  And it's remembering that we all have back stories--stories we may or may not share, but stories that impact our lives; it's recognizing that what you're seeing is a snapshot of a life's album--an album you haven't seen.

I keep thinking about John 8 and how this woman was being publicly humiliated and how Jesus bent down.  I picture him bending down so he can look up into her eyes--meet her where she is.  He never asks her what her back story is, but he knows there is one.  She didn't wind up being brought forward and shamed without one.  Instead Jesus treated her with tenderness, dignity and with immense compassion.

We all have back stories--some we want to share--one day I may share ours--and some we don't.  But they exist; they are part of our lives.  May we remember others have them too...perhaps that young girl also has a back story...