The thing I think maybe some do not consider, take account of, make space for is the pain. The pain we feel when we experience racism. Not only the racism against us individually. But the racism unleashed against our brothers and sisters. Because that is what they are. Family.
In my spirit today (real churchy—forgive me), what’s popping up is #kinsmanredeemer . In the Bible, kinsman-redeemer is a male relative who, according to laws of the Pentateuch, had the privilege/responsibility to act on behalf of a relative who was in trouble, danger, or need.
The Hebrew term (go el) for kinsman-redeemer designates one who delivers or rescues (Genesis 48:16; Exodus 6:6) or redeems property or person (Leviticus 27:9–25, 25:47–55). The kinsman who redeems or vindicates a relative is illustrated most clearly in the book of Ruth with Boaz.
In my spirit, mind, and bones, I feel that responsibility to vindicate family in trouble, danger or need. So watching them taken down, snuffed out, executed, for no reason, absent trial, is an outrage. An internal screaming, crying, yelling fit of fury. How dare you? I think.
Because each soul—not just the blameless perfect ones (who’s that?), but every single one deserves the dignity of the benefit of the doubt, the grace and space to make a mistake, opportunity to correct it, and the justice of a legal proceeding to determine responsibility.
Punishment must not be rendered on the street by a one person judge and jury guided by emotion. We must fight for a better, more fair, way. Like our lives depend upon it. Because they do.
