SERMON PREACHED BY THE REVEREND HAROLD T. LEWIS, Ph.D., D.D., D.C.L.
RECTOR OF CALVARY EPISCOPAL CHURCH, PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA
AT A MEMORIAL SERVICE FOR JUSTICE THURGOOD MARSHALL
IN SAINT JAMES’ EPISCOPAL CHURCH, BALTIMORE, MARYLAND
MONDAY 22 JUNE 2009
“Hate evil and love good; establish justice in the gate. (Amos 5:15)
What a joy it is to be here. I am grateful to Father Robinson, rector of this parish and dean of the UBE Conference, for his kind invitation. It is also a distinct honor and privilege to stand in this historic pulpit. Founded as St. James First African Episcopal Church in 1827, the third parish established for African Americans in the Episcopal Church, and the first south of the Mason-Dixon Line, St. James’ has continued to make history in virtually every decade of its existence. As we gather this week for the 41st annual meeting and conference of the Union of Black Episcopalians, an organization that has fought racism from without and not infrequently experienced internecine warfare within its ranks, it is both humbling and instructive to note that St. James’ got off to a rocky start. It was the fervent wish of James Kemp, the second bishop of Maryland, and one of Bishop Sutton’s esteemed predecessors, that St. James’ be a place where “both bond and free might serve God and prepare for another world,” but the free black population in the parish vociferously objected to having to worship cheek-to-jowl with their brothers and sisters still oppressed by slavery’s yoke, and proceeded to make life miserable for the Reverend William Leavington, St. James’ first rector. He had been dispatched as a missionary to Baltimore’s blacks by the people of St. Thomas’, Philadelphia, and must have shaken his head in disbelief, wondering what he had gotten himself into.
But Father Leavington did not give up heart, and St. James’ soon got its act together. If we fast-forward to its relatively recent history, St. James’ has been known as the church that produced Pauli Murray, who, long before she had the distinction of being the first black woman priest in the Episcopal Church, was a renowned jurist, poet and activist. One of St. James’ rectors, Cedric Mills, was consecrated in this very place to be bishop of the Virgin Islands. Another of its rectors, Michael Curry, while serving here, justly earned a reputation for being the John Chrysostom of the Episcopal Church. His golden-mouthed homiletic offerings have inspired and uplifted congregations coast-to-coast. As bishop of North Carolina, he has had a prophetic ministry, often leading his flock to places they did not think they wanted to go; as a member of the House of Bishops, he enjoys the unstinting admiration and respect of his colleagues. His successor, Allen Robinson, has built on the firm foundation of this great parish, and has not shirked in his responsibility in reminding his people that they have a ministry among the least, the lost and the last of the community in which this venerable house of God finds itself.
But Allen and Michael, and Cedric of blessed memory will forgive me, I trust, if I say that when it comes to St. James’, the undisputed pride of place belongs to George Freeman Bragg, rector of this parish from 1891-1940. It was he who as secretary and historiographer of the Conference of Church Workers Among Colored People, the parent organization of the UBE, chronicled every jot and tittle of the comings and goings of black Episcopalians. It was he who wrote The History of the Afro-American Group in the Episcopal Church, the first history of black Episcopalians. It was he who for decades sounded the clarion call for all who would listen, in his newsletter, The Church Advocate, whose motto, taken from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah, was “For Zion’s sake I will not keep my peace.” It was he who took pride in his “sons in the ministry,” fostering the vocations of scores of young men for holy orders. Part of this parish’s DNA has been, in the words of the great hymn, to “send heralds forth to bear the message glorious.” Indeed, I saw this at work not half an hour ago in the sacristy. Bishop Sutton, who clearly enjoys being your bishop, chatted up one of the acolytes, asked him his name, what grade he was in, and whether he was thinking about offering himself for the ordained ministry. It’s never too early to plant the seed!
By now, you are probably asking yourselves two questions: One: Did Harold, in his haste to leave Pittsburgh, pick up the wrong sermon? And two: What on earth has all this to do with Thurgood Marshall? As we gather to give thanks for the life and witness of Thurgood Marshall, we must remind ourselves that he was not born on the Supreme Court steps in 1967 on the day that Lyndon Johnson appointed him Associate Justice. Nor did he see the light of day for the first time 13 years earlier, when he successfully represented the Browns in Brown v. Board of Education. Next month the General Convention will, God willing, approve Justice Marshall’s inclusion in Holy Women, Holy Men (the successor to Lesser Feasts and Fasts) not merely because he was the first person of color to sit on the highest court of the land. We will honor him because he is a son of the church. When Thurgood was baptized in St. Mary’s Church in this city in 1908, George Freeman Bragg (who, by the way, has also been proposed for inclusion in Holy Women, Holy Men) was already protesting the injustices of church and society. Dr. Bragg and his contemporaries, lay and ordained, helped instill in the future Supreme Court justice the values that would have an ineradicable effect on him when he assumed the mantle of that high office.
It is for good reason that verses from the fifth chapter of the book of Amos have been chosen as the Old Testament lesson assigned to Thurgood Marshall’s feast day, and I ask you to meditate with me on those words: “Hate evil, and love good; establish justice in the gate.” Amos is the people’s prophet. He makes it clear, in fact, that he has no pedigree. He does not come from a line of prophets; in fact he is really a lowly shepherd from Tekoa, a dresser of sycamore trees. Perhaps because of his humble origins, he felt a kindred spirit with the people to whom he prophesied, and he was able, therefore, to tell it like it is. He felt no obligation whatever to placate the status quo. That he left to the court sycophant, Amaziah the priest, who saw as his role telling people what they wanted to hear, and not what they needed to hear (his successors are alive and well today). Amaziah preached civil religion; Amos preached civil rights!
To Amos, it was all about justice, and he had an unambiguous understanding of it. He railed against those who would pervert justice --- those who cheated the poor; who took bribes, and who would “sell the needy for a pair of sandals,” and who “trampled the head of the poor into the dust of the earth,” as well as those who profited from their ill-gotten gains --- the self-indulgent and the idle who lay on beds of ivory. Amos was no less clear about the victims of injustice --- the poor, the needy, widows and orphans, those who suffered at the hands of a ruthless and oppressive government, who accrued great power and wealth on the backs of the poor.
But some of Amos’ harshest words were directed at religious folk, those who dressed up on the Sabbath and observed all the prescribed rituals but who had no concern for the downtrodden, and were indifferent to their plight. We remember Amos for his great prayer, “Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” But do we remember the words that immediately precede it? “I hate, I despise your festivals . . . and the offerings of your fatted animals I will not look upon,” he says. “Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps.” In other words, you can make beautiful music in the Temple, but if you ignore the beggar at the Temple gate, not only is your worship is in vain, it is a sacrilege!
My sisters and brothers in Christ, I put to you tonight that Thurgood Marshall was Amos’ Twentieth Century alter ego. Both men exhorted us to love good and hate evil. Both men were committed to establishing justice in the gate --- that is, in the public square, the marketplace, “where cross the crowded ways of life.” In fact, in ancient Israel, the courts were so corrupt, ordinary folk sought justice on the street --- at the city gate! Both Amos and Thurgood were advocates for justice for the powerless. But this is not simply a matter of playing Lady Bountiful, of exercising charity towards the poor. Hating evil means, in the words of Mary’s great prayer we know as the Magnificat, putting down the mighty from their seat and exalting the humble and meek. It means heeding the words of Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount, that unless our justice exceeds that of the Scribes and Pharisees, we will not enter the Kingdom of Heaven. It means following the blueprint for ministry Jesus laid out in his first sermon in the Temple at Nazareth, to bind up the broken-hearted, and to declare liberty to those who are oppressed.
Arguably, Thurgood Marshall is best remembered not for his work as an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court, but as the lawyer responsible for convincing the Supreme Court that the era of Plessy vs. Ferguson, the 1896 decision under which so-called “separate but equal” accommodations for Negroes was an acceptable form of justice, had come to an end. Brown vs. Board of Education, which overturned Plessy, was handed down in 1954, and indeed, May 17th, the day of that decision, is the proposed day for Justice Marshall’s feast day. How ironic that a year after the nation had overturned the separate-but-equal ruling of Plessy, the Episcopal Church was still trying to defend it. The General Convention of 1955 was slated to take place in Houston, but the Bishop of Texas could not guarantee that accommodations for Negro deputies could be provided in local hotels. Not surprisingly, the powers-that-be thought the church could live with such an “inconvenience,” which would affect only a handful of Negro attendees, who after all, could stay with their friends. Mr. Marshall said, “I don’t think so,” and together with the Reverend Tollie Caution, secretary for Negro Work at Executive Council, and others, called on Presiding Bishop Sherrill and demanded that the venue be changed --- and it was --- to Honolulu.
Thurgood Marshall’s accomplishments were many. His first victory upon graduation from Howard Law School was to successfully sue the University of Maryland for the admission of an African American student --- all the more poignant since the University had previously refused to admit Marshall. He became chief counsel for the NAACP. At the request of the United Nations, he was instrumental in drafting the Constitutions of two new African republics --- Ghana and Tanzania. Moreover, he has the distinction of having won more cases before the Supreme Court than any other American.
There are stated criteria for the consideration of candidates for inclusion in Holy Women, Holy Men, and Marshall fits the bill for just about all of them ---such as historicity, Christian discipleship, and memorability. But something’s missing, isn’t there? Shouldn’t there be a criterion called --- if I may coin a phrase --- “emulability” or just plain inspiration? Isn’t one of the purposes of holding up worthies from previous generations that we can carry on their blessed examples? Such a theology is well laid out in Lesbia Scott’s great hymn, had the Standing Liturgical Commission just bothered to sing it:
They lived not only in ages past, there are hundreds and thousands still;
The world is bright with the joyous saints who love to do Jesus’ will.
You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea,
In church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea,
For the saints of God are folk like me, and I want to be one too.
The world and the Church need more Thurgood Marshalls, men and women of courage and dedication. People who believe that unless you stand for something, you will fall for anything. People who share Amos’ clear vision of justice. People who are willing to push the envelope. People who are willing to speak for the voiceless. One of Thurgood’s lesser known achievements was a fact-finding mission to South Korea and Japan in 1951 to investigate racism in the Armed Forces. His report was that racism was rampant and that segregation was rigid.
Of course, as you know, racism the “ism du jour two decades ago, was eradicated in the Episcopal Church at the Phoenix Convention in 1991, which issued the Racism Audit; and we know that racism was eradicated once and for all in the United States of America in the Presidential election last November. Nevertheless, Brent Staples, an African American editorial writer for The New York Times, didn’t get the memo, and wrote recently that “there’s risk in ‘driving while black,’” and reminded us that “black men who work as undercover cops are occasionally shot to death by white colleagues.” Indeed, the current occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue didn’t get the memo either. When, as Candidate Obama he delivered in Philadelphia the most cogent statement on racism since the Civil War, he made it clear that our nation’s sad legacy of racism is the factor most responsible for sub-standard education, economic deprivation, poor health, inadequate housing, and a host of other disparities that separate white and black America.
Do we not need a Thurgood Marshall to do a study today on racism in its more insidious and even invisible forms, the kind of thinking that unabashedly purports that Sonia Sotomayor’s membership in Puerto Rican empowerment groups is akin to joining the Ku Klux Klan? Do we not need a Thurgood Marshall to look at the inauguration of the new, wannabe province known as the Anglican Church of North America, just to pose the question of why it is that a group that prides itself for sleeping with Africans counts virtually no African Americans in its ranks?
We need new Thurgoods to remind us that although many of us are able to luxuriate on our beds of ivory, from which we rise, enter our sleek chariots and go to the Temple where we lustily sing the Venite in strict, metrical Anglican chant, all is not at ease in Zion. While we obsess about how many times to kiss the altar, or whether the thurifer should give the bishop two or three double swings of incense, there are people on the other side of our stained glass windows (why is it that stained glass windows were made to prevent us from seeing out and others from seeing in?) who are yearning, aching to hear the salvific message of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
My sisters and brothers in Christ, we need more than ever to raise up women and men who hate evil, love good, and establish justice in the gate.
Let us pray:
Save us from weak resignation to the evils we deplore;
Let the gift of thy salvation be our glory evermore.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, serving thee whom we adore,
Serving thee whom we adore. [The Hymnal 1982, 594]
AMEN.