Miracles and the Moon
A sermon, by Chris George
Text: Psalm 8
My wife, Jen, must have two things in her possession when she goes any place. Would you like to guess what those are? Purse? No, she can live without a purse. In fact, she rarely carries one. She prefers to use my pockets. Credit card? No, honestly, she is not much of a spender.
Smartphone? No, she is far less attached to her smartphone than most in our world.
Think simply. First, she needs lip balm or Chapstick. And I say that word “need” intentionally…If she doesn’t have it, she will immediately go into a state of panic. “Pull over,” she will say, “and help me look for it.”
“For what,” I ask? “For my Chapstick.”
So, if we are ever late for an event, just know, it is not because we took too long to get ready…It is because we lost the Chapstick on the way.
And, second, Jen ALWAYS needs to have a pair of sunglasses. “But, it’s raining dear,” I might say.
“It doesn’t matter; it will be sunny soon. Can’t leave home without sunglasses.” She probably owns about 15 pairs of sunglasses, but somehow, we never have one with us. So, we buy another.
Ironically, I never wear sunglasses. I find them unnecessary and annoying.. “Why do you wear them, Jen?” I ask. Her response, “So, I can see.”
Maybe, Psalm 8 serves the same purpose. The writer wants to help us to see. This psalm is a hymn. It is a poem. It is a prayer.
You have set your glory above the heavens. Look at the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them? Yet you have made them a little lower than the angels, and crowned them with glory and honor (Psalm 8:4-6).
It is not a psalm meant to be whispered. It is one to be sung or shouted.
The writer seems to scream, “OPEN YOUR EYES!”
Friends, I think this is really the message of the movement now taking place across our country. The image of George Floyd on the ground with a knee against his neck for eight minutes and 46 seconds, saying, “I can’t breathe,” and calling for his “Mama” before he is killed has opened more eyes than any single event in my lifetime.
Of course, it is not a single event. This past spring, we have had the incident of Ahmaud Aubrey, the young black man who was chased and killed by armed white residents. Race was not a factor in the shooting. Race was the factor. In the state of my birth, Kentucky, Breonna Taylor, a 26-year-old African-American healthcare worker was shot in Louisville.
These are only three of the names being written on the signs of many of those who are protesting.
And the psalm echoes in our ears: “Remember their names. Open your Eyes.”
In the last weeks, I have received many emails and messages from people who are expressing righteous anger and genuine fear, demanding justice and advocating for change, and asking if the people of God will remain silent.
If we open our eyes, what will we see?
Former President George W. Bush says, “Laura and I are anguished by the brutal suffocation of George Floyd and disturbed by the injustice and fear that suffocate our country. This tragedy—in a long series of similar tragedies—raises a long overdue question: How do we end systematic racism in our society? The only way to see ourselves in a true light is to listen to the voices of so many who are hurting and grieving. Those who set out to silence those voices do not understand the meaning of America—or how it becomes a better place.”
I know that many in our congregation are struggling with these same feelings. They have told me so. I share the words of a few with their permission.
One woman wrote, “This has been a very emotional week for me! When I watch the video of George Floyd being murdered, I see my son-in-law who also is African-American. I see my grandsons. It breaks my heart and scares me at the same time. This racial injustice and anger affect my family. And it just seems worse now than ever.”
It sounds as though her eyes were opened…
A man in our church wrote, “I have never demonstrated for or against anything. I have lived my life in quiet ‘whiteness’ with respect toward people of color publicly, while privately laughing at racial/ethnic humor. I am sad to admit this and repent of my racism and my unwillingness to get involved, as if to say, ‘This is America’s problem, not mine.’ What? I am an American and I must do something about the endemic problem of racism. Okay, I’m 78-years-old. What can I do? I’m probably not going to protest in public demonstrations as many do. But I applaud those who are willing to make that choice and peacefully protest as to their positions and beliefs. But there is something I can do: I can be vocal and I can choose to speak out in public.”
It sounds as though, his eyes were opened…
Attorney Stephen Reeves, CBF associate coordinator of partnerships and advocacy, is one of our church members. He wrote a piece this week called, “Justice: You Decide?” He asks, “Will anything change this time? Will we look back on 2020 as the time when America radically changed for the better? Will the arc of the moral universe be bent toward justice?. That’s up to you. You say something has to change? No. That is far too impersonal. You have to change. I have to change. White Americans have to change or nothing will change.”
Racism is a sin. Too many Christians will say, “I am not racist.” But too few will say, “I am antiracism.”
Do you see the difference? One of those statements is passive; one is active. If we believe racism is a sin, we must oppose it with all of our strength. We must not sit in silence, but we must speak out and speak up against even subtle racism.
The problem is big—so big that we may be almost paralyzed if we simply stand and stare at it.
So—what can I do?
The Psalmist says, “Open your eyes. See the moon and see the miracles of God.”
Some of you will remember. It is September 12, 1962. John F. Kennedy makes this famous speech. He looks at the sky and, instead of being overwhelmed or paralyzed, he is inspired:
“We choose to go to the Moon! We choose to go to the Moon. We choose to go to the Moon in this decade and do the other things—not because they are easy, but because they are hard; because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one we intend to win, and the others, too.”
When he finished this speech, he was mocked in many circles. It was quite a declaration to make that by the end of this decade, people could set foot on the moon. “It would require a miracle,” others remarked.
But as you remember, Kennedy was assassinated and would not be there to see it. But in July 1969, Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin set foot on the moon’s surface after landing in the Sea of Tranquility. Armstrong stepped out first and uttered those famous words: “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”
You may not be aware of this additional fact. The astronauts left something behind—a small grey silicon disc sealed in an aluminum capsule. At the top of the disc is the inscription, “Goodwill Messages.” As if offering a return address, these words are written around the rim: “From the Planet Earth—July 1969.” And in tiny type etched into the surface are messages from 73 world leaders. Most are inspirational, although a couple are a bit arrogant. Some are short, while others are rather lengthy.
The Vatican was asked for a submission. Do you know what was sent from there? It was
Psalm 8.
Solving the problem of systemic racism will take a miracle. But I believe in miracles.
Stephen Reeves says, “How do you start? Listen and learn. Educate yourself. Get okay with being uncomfortable; you won’t be changed if you are unwilling to be challenged. Work to build cross-cultural relationships of mutual respect and trust. Hear the stories of others. Believe them!”
We ask: Can it happen? The answer is a resounding “Yes!”
How does it happen? It happens one conversation, one protest, one person at a time.
While all these protests were happening on the ground, something rather amazing happened in the air. Some might even call it a miracle. Doug Parker, the CEO of American Airlines, took a flight on Southwest. Now, while that probably surprises you, it doesn’t qualify as miraculous. But Doug brought a book on board that flight called, “White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk about Racism.” (As an aside, this is a book worth reading for all who want to be part of this conversation.) During this trip, JacqueRae Hill, an African-American flight attendant, sat down beside him and asked, “How’s the book?” He answered, “It is fantastic and challenging—although I am only about halfway through.” He then went on to point out how important these conversations on race are.
At that point, the flight attendant broke down in tears. JacqueRae remembers, “I’m pretty sure I startled him by seemingly dumping all my emotions on him. But his reply was, ‘I’m so sorry. And it’s our fault that this is like this.’ We continued to talk and I tell you it was everything that I needed. I went on to tell him about my prayer on my way to work that day and that he had answered that prayer for me with this conversation. As our conversation came to an end, he asked my name and then said, ‘I’m Doug Parker, the CEO of American Airlines.’”
At the end of the flight, he gave her a note that read, “Thank you so much for coming back to speak to me. It was a gift from God and an inspiration to me. I am saddened that we as a society have progressed so slowly on an issue that has such a clear right-versus-wrong. Much of the problem is that we don’t talk about it enough. Thank you for talking to me and sharing your emotion.”
Do you know what happened on that airplane? It was a miracle. Someone’s eyes were opened.
If we are to solve the problem of racism, to ensure justice for all, it will require lots and lots and lots of little miracles like that one.
You know, since I refuse to wear sunglasses, I often find myself squinting. And Jen will be beside me, smiling. And, like the old cartoon character, Mr. Magoo, I am sitting there squinting when I am trying to look at the sunrise or sunset…
So, the question comes again: “Why do you wear those again?” And the answer comes back, “So, I can see.”
I think I am going to buy some sunglasses. And, I think I am going to try to look at this world through a new lens—to see people that I have looked past; to see the personal sins that I have ignored. And I am going to remember these names: George, Breonna and Ahmaud.
Open the eyes of my heart, Lord, that I may see.
— Chris George is the senior pastor of Smokerise Baptist Church in Stone Mountain, GA. This is a sermon he preached there on June 7, 2020.
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