Intersections and the Protest Prerogative – Kelle Brown

Standing on a block of dark, pristine granite near the busy intersection of 3^rd and Cherry in Seattle, I became keenly aware of the sights, sounds, and realities of the city.  There were cars and buses quickly careening to places unknown.  There were streams of people going to and fro, some quickly peeking to see what I was doing, and others physically throwing themselves out of my way, avoiding eye contact, and the chance that our lives might cross.  Many people came close to touching, but most maintained invisible alley ways of distance as to avoid entering personal space.

Buildings towered around me testifying that skyscrapers looked like dozens of shiny, onyx chopsticks.  Each is an artistic masterpiece, the culmination of countless hours of imagination and architectural mastery.  All also stood as witnesses that each building was more important than erecting housing for the homeless women who stood with me.

I was protesting.  I joined with the Women in Black, a group of women without safe and stable housing, and those who advocate to eradicate that sad reality.  We stood there together, purposefully bound to each other, saying nothing, but speaking volumes in our solidarity.  Our vigil was a silent protest of the deaths of the homeless who died on the streets or by violence and that housing is a right, and every death is a testament to our complicity for not being a society that would not sleep until every person was housed.

As pastor of a congregation of those experiencing homelessness, I find myself at intersections every day.  My “church” is a unique one, begun by the Rev. Dr. Jean Kim, to end homelessness and be the church where the last shall be first.  It exists to serve the spiritual needs of homeless women and families, and seeks to journey with them as they answer the existential questions:  Who I am?  Why is there so much suffering?  Why doesn’t God answer my prayers?  My congregation’s sanctuary is the streets of Seattle, particularly the downtown area where those who are not home-secure can get to resources more easily.

Some of the women that frequent the Mary’s Place day center here in Seattle ask for me to pray for them.  The prayers are simple even in their complexity. Some ask that they will no longer crave and abuse methamphetamine or crack cocaine; that their children will be returned to them—children taken because they have no address and are deemed irresponsible parents; that they will have clean laundry, and not be beaten by their pimps or robbed while they sleep.  They pray that God will stop punishing them, and that sorrow would leave them for at least a day or two.  Their deep faith keeps them day by day, and God’s faithfulness is felt in every day they survive.

In the midst of these visceral and authentic requests is their prerogative to protest.

Some see no value in protest.  Protesting and standing up for what one believes is right is no easy task.  It is uncomfortable, sometimes dangerous, but I contend necessary.  Protest is the natural result of oppression, unjust domination, hatred, discrimination, abuse, and violence.  As Marvin Gaye would sing, some things just “make you wanna holla!”  As people of faith, we are not called to be spectators, simply watching things happen, but to be the hands, feet and mouths of God.

I am reminded of the woman best known as the Syrophenician woman.  This woman comes to Jesus because she had a great need.  Of course, because she was a woman and not Jewish, she was very courageous to approach Jesus. However, she had heard about what he could do, the miracles he had done, and she had a particular problem he could solve.

This woman came to Jesus, with her heart open, walking straight down and through the center of the norms and social structures of the day.  With boldness and respect, and despite the accepted racism shown toward Canaanite descendants, the displaced ones out of the Promised Land, she asks for her daughter to be healed.  Jesus responds, and I paraphrase him to say, “Nope. My gifts are for my people, for folk who look like me and worship like me and are related to me. And by the way, you are a dog.”  If you are shocked, I’m sorry, but Jesus was being offensive.

Where does this place her?  In the prime posture for protest.  The Syrophenician woman is a Native person forced to walk a trail of tears.  She is a Black family in the Central district of Seattle displaced by gentrification, because the house they bought cost less than the taxes they have to pay each year to stay.  She is a person of color, a member of the LGBTQ community, a 60 year old in search of employment, a differently-abled person overlooked.  She is one of my members who is never seen until it is time to wake up, and get out of the doorway of a church.  She is Michael Brown bleeding out in the middle of a Ferguson, Missouri street, left to die, charged posthumously for being too big and too Black.

She had every right to protest because she was a human who knew what it meant to be treated like a dog.  And, as people who claim Jesus Christ, so do we.

When Jesus called her a dog, it was the equivalent of calling her the n-word. Instead of going away, offended and defeated, the Syrophenician woman shot back with exquisite wit and stellar wisdom. She protested! She reminded Jesus that even the dogs get the crumbs from the table. Her request was granted.  Her daughter was healed, and a lesson was given to us all.

What does this mean for those of us whose backs are against the wall?  It means that if there if a boot on your neck, it is your prerogative to protest, to shout, shake it off and resist its weight.  If someone is attempting to abuse you, it is your right to resist and get free.  If someone is kicking you, yes, it is your right to defend yourself and resist the blow!  If someone is playing favorites, it is your right to call them on it.

No, this world cannot accommodate any longer racism, sexism, classism, homophobia and homoantagonism, and general ignorance promoted by sheer laziness and the welcoming of stupidity.  We are called to respond, to speak up, to do something, to turn the very words they use against us to bring about the transformation necessary for more than the privileged to live in peace.

Some see no value in protest, but I declare that it is the God-given prerogative of those who have a boot on their neck to refuse that state.  There will always be disciples who want to quiet the protests, to save a gentle Jesus from the awkward work of listening to the voices of the poor who cry for justice.  However, when the woman protested, Jesus listened.  Jesus heard the woman’s plea.  The dousing of protest, the overuse of military response, and the reluctance to acknowledge an abyss of pain of too many mothers who are losing their unarmed Black boys in the streets is overwhelmingly evil.  Shutting down conversations for the sake of order is maddeningly discouraging and may mean we have missed the lesson of being willing to listen and change our stance so that others may be liberated.

The oppressed have every right to rally, demonstrate, mourn, and seek resolution.  We at the intersections of oppression and the crossroads faith must stand with them.  We must resist believing that anyone needs permission from us to be angry.  We must vehemently acknowledge that this country has continued to gloss over our undone work of reconciliation and admitting that many of our brothers and sisters have been treated worse than dogs.

In my own life, when I experience discrimination and oppression, and marginalization, and disenfranchisement of others, my Blackness, my woman-ness—every part of me rises to protest, for indeed it is my prerogative!    I require no permission.  It is my birthright that comes by way of my own experiences.  I challenge us today to know that we are called to make a difference, to understand that our voice can change the order of things, and that maintaining comfort is not more important than affecting change.  This is our clarion call to walk together, children.  We shall not grow weary.

We are at the intersection, and our only mandate is to be here with great compassion.  I will stand again on that carved block of granite, again and again, until there are no more dying in our streets from violence, because all of the oppression I have overcome compels me.  May it be so.

The Rev. Kelle J. Brown is a proud board member of More Light Presbyterians, and the pastor of the Church of Mary Magdalene, a church for and led by homeless women and their families.  She is currently completing her D.Min at San Francisco Theological Seminary.  Her research is focused on “Solidarity as Discipleship,” and she believes in offering meaningful ways for the church to live into authentic discipleship by way of profuse hospitality and extravagant inclusion of all God’s children.  Kelle lives and works in Seattle, Washington.  She is most proud of her daughter, Indigo, the joy of her life, and lives by the following quote from Howard Thurman: “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”