For he … destroyed … the dividing wall of hostility (Eph. 2:14 NIV)
…making known to us the mystery of his will … to unite all things in him (Eph. 1:9-10 ESV)
Shaded from the hot Memphis summer sun by the stones of Clayborn Temple, surrounded by hundreds of masked protestors, I caught glimpses of the mystery of God’s will–the uniting of all things in him; the destruction of the dividing walls of hostility.
There were sightings of our long-intended union with God. With the grass and asphalt as his pulpit, and a megaphone as his microphone, Devante Hill preached about God’s justice and prayed us into God’s presence. The rough stones of Clayborn Temple stood as an ebenezer, a witness to the glory and goodness and power and presence of God–this sacred ground where choirs once sang spirituals and pastors and prophets once shouted gospel.
There were snatches of our purposed union with each other. White people, brown people and black people knelt together in solidarity on the asphalt every two or three miles. Men and women, young adults and senior citizens, stood side by side, sang and chanted voice by voice in the streets. We were linked to other multicolored and multi-generational protestors marching in more than three hundred and fifty cities in the U.S and in numerous foreign countries.
And there were moments of the union within ourselves for which we were created. The I AM A Man sculpture dominated our staging area, words we’d see again on a mural as we marched down South Main. They were used in the 1968 marches during the sanitation workers strike that took place on the same streets we walked. Black sanitation workers in Memphis faced a long pattern of abuse and neglect, their white supervisors essentially telling them, “You are Less Human Than We Are.” In response, they marched with these words “I AM A MAN,” signifying their refusal to see themselves any less than who they truly were.
Some of the earliest Christian authors wrote about this three-fold union–union with God, union with each other, and union with ourselves. They called for an awakening to who God truly is, who the people around us truly are, and who we are as well. God purposed in Christ to unite all things in him, to tear down every wall of hostility keeping us from a transformative connection with God, with each other and with ourselves. This is us thriving, us at our best–loving God, loving each other and loving ourselves.
And yet …
These dividing walls stubbornly persist. The work God began in Christ remains incomplete. We were reminded of the barriers separating us from one another each time Devante urged, “Say their names!” and we chanted the names of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd and others–each murdered by people passionately buttressing walls of racism, hatred and dehumanization. The protest existed because recent racial terror had illuminated just how much hostility still exists.
We were reminded of the walls within our own hearts, still separating us from our true selves, still keeping us from seeing ourselves as we truly are. In front of me, hands held a sign saying “We are human”–the words challenging us to see our fundamental dignity and inherent worth, in contrast to what our politicians, our churches, our neighbors, our families and our own inner voices might be telling us.
And we were reminded of the walls still separating us from God. The Clayborn Temple was once a thriving AME church, but eventually fell into disrepair and sat vacant for sixteen years. It is a painful reminder of the way we’ve so often closed the door on God. The very injustices we were protesting testified to the way in which we, as a society, have left God.
We live in this tension. One the one hand we’ve been created for the purpose of participating in all things being united in Christ. We’ve been made to experience wholeness with God, with each other and with ourselves. On the cross, Jesus tore down the walls of hostility that keep us from truly loving God, loving others and ourselves.
One the other hand, we daily feel the firmly entrenched walls still separating us from the fulfillment of God’s desired dream. Walls of hostility endure, keeping us from experiencing intimacy with God, stopping us from experiencing oneness with our fellow humans and driving us from even loving and caring for ourselves.
The work God began in Christ must continue in us. We must rise up and reach out, continuing Christ’s work of barrier bulldozing. We cannot rest until every retainer restricting our oneness with God, with our fellow humans and with ourselves is removed. The labor so lovingly enacted in Jesus must now be enacted in us.
Our night’s march ended at Tom Lee Park on the banks for the Mississippi River. The last pink hues of the setting sun illuminated our immense circle on the field of grass at the water’s edge. We stood near the statue of Tom Lee. Lee, an African American, saw the M. E. Norman capsize late in the afternoon on May 8, 1925. Though he could not swim, he made five trips in a small boat in the swift current and saved the lives of thirty two people, many of whom were white. They owed their lives to this dark-skinned savior who risked his life for theirs. It is a moving reflection of the dark-skinned Savior who gave his life for ours. And it is a fitting image for hard and costly work we’re all called to now. The removal of every barrier blocking us from the whole life we’ve been created to live with God, with each other and with ourselves.