Disciple: Mind the Gap

By The Rt. Rev. Anne E. Hodges-Copple

As a child growing up in the 1960s, I had a fascination with Europe of the 1930s and 40s. I remember hearing about children in Norway during World War II who hid gold in their sleds and flew past the Nazis to give support to the Resistance. I was inspired by both their courage as well as their imagination. The Diary of Anne Frank haunted my elementary school self.

Would my family have been one of those who risked everything to hide their Jewish neighbors? Or would we, like most households, have turned a blind eye and become, even reluctantly, caught up in an irresistible tide of compliance with forces we felt powerless to resist?

Now, many years later, I ask my more mature self how I am or am not facing systemic injustice in my own day. I play a game with imaginary grandchildren who ask me questions like, “Grandmother, did you really have all these empty bedrooms in your big house when local homeless shelters were full?” Or, “Did you see those children and their parents fleeing Aleppo? What did you do about that, Grandmother?”

Earlier this year, the Gospel Lesson was the parable of a rich leader who wore purple and feasted at sumptuous tables, all the while looking past the poor man, Lazarus, who longed to eat the crumbs that fell from the rich man’s table. The rich man dies and finds himself on the down-side, the wrong side, the Hades-side of a huge chasm. He begs Father Abraham to close the gap — to bring him higher or, at least, to send Lazarus back across the great chasm to offer him some small comfort, a thing the rich man had refused to do in life. But Father Abraham says “My son, that is not possible.”
As one who wears purple on a regular basis and is fed delicious homemade food most Sundays after church, I wonder: where am I blind? No, that’s not it. Where do I see, but look away? Who is languishing in poverty while I listen to a webinar on my defined benefit pension?

THE GREAT CHASM

Most of us have feelings of powerlessness in the face of overwhelming need. Most of us see and grieve that gap, the great chasm between what is needed and what can be done. Because these divides seem so insurmountable, the temptation is to turn away, like turning from the front page news to the sports section of the morning paper.

What is the nature of this gap? Is it simply the gap between the rich and the poor? Is it the gap between the blessedly healthy and the chronically ill? The highly successful entrepreneur and the neighborhood ne’er do well? The rich man is not named as a notorious sinner. Lazarus is not noted for any particular virtues. Neither man is described as more righteous or more faithful than the other. In fact, Abraham calls the rich man “son.” Abraham is father to both of these sons of Israel.

In the parable, Jesus is setting up all kinds of possibilities. This may be a lesson about heaven and hell: who is in and who is out in the afterlife. Biblical scholars suggest Jesus is telling a satirical parable about Pharisees and other religious leaders who were the people of privilege in their day. These socially, religiously privileged classes often received Jesus’ most vociferous condemnation not for their malfeasance but for their hypocrisy. These privileged folks were praying (and displaying!) for righteousness and doing quite another. As Jesus says in the Gospel of Luke’s version of the Beatitudes, “But woe to you who are rich, for you have already received your comfort.” (Luke 6:24)

The Gospel of Luke is all about reversals. All kinds of surprising reversals: the humble exalted, the mighty cast down. Sinners are accepted, self-righteous are rejected. The last shall be first. Jesus himself is the greatest reversal of all. Because of the Resurrection, the dead shall live, the blind shall see and the captives shall be freed. In this parable of the great divide, Jesus is suggesting — with all the Jewish mythological resonance he can muster — there is a special place in hell for those who are so blinded by their own senses of uprightness, of law abidingness, of propriety they fail to see the suffering, the injustice and the vulnerability of neighbors far and near. In the great reversal, the one Jesus anticipates in his parable, the privileged of this life may discover their own great role reversal with those who are captive, despised, rejected and ignored. It will be the poor, the neglected and the despised of this world who will one day be the privileged — the ones privileged to draw closest to the heart of God.

THE HOME GAP

The Diocese of North Carolina includes Charlotte, and our hearts are breaking for all the residents of the Queen City who have weathered a terrible recent outbreak of violence. Our hearts should ache especially for people of color who have little reason to believe in due process and good reason to fear the very civil servants who are called to protect and serve.

All residents want responsive, effective and fair community policing. But not all residents experience equal and unbiased treatment in the criminal justice system. To say “black lives matter” is not a contradiction of the obvious belief that all lives matter. It is a plea to see that the sacred dignity of all lives is not equally respected in our community institutions and public policies. It is not true that all lives matter equally in our school systems. It is not true that all lives matter equally in our health care systems. It is not true that all lives matter equally in the markets for affordable housing. It is not true that all lives matter equally when we site the locations of new stadiums and new highways.

“I wonder: where am I blind? No, that’s not it. Where do I see, but look away? Who is languishing in poverty while I listen to a webinar on my defined benefit pension?”
- The Rt. Rev. Anne E. Hodges-Copple

The gaps are real, and the gaps in understanding are perhaps more significant than the gaps in the empirical evidence about racial, gender, social and economic inequity. The gaps in how different communities see life, meaning and justice are persistent and, at times, seemingly impossible to bridge — just as impossible as that chasm between the rich man in Hades and Lazarus with Father Abraham.

But that’s just it. Someone did bridge the gap. Someone did come back from the dead. Someone did cross back over the great divide to tell us there is a different way, a better way. Someone did rise from the dead and preach the way to eternal life, and, guess what, the way to eternal life is not building walls between ourselves and those we fear. The way to eternal life is not to pile up treasure on earth. The way to eternal life is not creating a bunker to hide in and wait out the Armageddon. The way to eternal life is to live the virtues and the values of the kingdom of God now, in this life.

In baptism, we die to this life and rise to a new life in Jesus. The Resurrection of Jesus Christ defeats death. Baptism into new life with the living Lord helps us cast out our fear of dying. “Whether we live or whether we die, we belong to the Lord.” (Romans 14:8) We belong to Jesus and, therefore, no longer need to fear death and instead are free to embrace the goodness of this life. Since we no longer need to fear dying, we are free to live life fully and courageously. As courageous, each in our own ways, as students who say no to gangs, as school teachers who will do anything to protect their students, as social workers who take on the impossible cases, and as first responders and protesters who seek truth and justice and accountability and reconciliation. We are free to be like those who will stand with Jesus and stand in the gaps, without violence, without malice, and with faith, hope and love.

On the second night of protests in Charlotte after the shooting of Keith Scott, a black assistant district attorney put on his coat and tie and went to the front lines of the protests. He carefully, but quite deliberately, made his way to the gap between the protesters and the police. He bravely stood in that literal gap and did his best to diminish the violence on both sides of that line.

The next day, two Episcopalian volunteers met at the Galilee Center in East Charlotte for their weekly rotation of working with refugees and immigrants. One white and one black, the two friends had a frank discussion about the gap between each woman’s understanding of the violence transpiring in Charlotte. The white woman expressed her surprise at the turn of the tide toward violence. The African-American woman expressed her dismay that her friend could be surprised at all. Even with their huge gap in experience and understanding, there they were: together, acknowledging and honoring the gap in their life experience. But, also, there they were: together, standing in the gap as companions with refugees fleeing sectarian violence in Syria and Afghanistan, gang violence in Honduras and political violence in Burma.

As the Body of Christ, we are called to stand in the gaps. We may not be able to close the gaps. But we can stand in them because Jesus stands where the gaps are. Where Jesus would go is where we need to go: where there is pain, injustice, misunderstanding and fear. And where we stand together and stand with brothers and sisters of all walks of life and of every color; where we stand for justice and peace; where we stand for truth and reconciliation, then we stand with Jesus. And there we draw close — so very, very close — to the heart of God.

The Rt. Rev. Anne E. Hodges-Copple is the bishop diocesan pro tempore of the Diocese of North Carolina.