Break My Heart
Loosing Everything while Fading to Black & White like the Son Going Down on Me
As Archie Williams took the stage for his two minutes to shine on America’s Got Talent, my heart began aching as I gasped, hoping, “Please don’t fail.” While I had yet to hear him sing, and I was unaware of his story, I just saw what appeared to be a broken man take the stage. He wore a light blue suit that hung on him; actually it wore him more than he wore it. He walked with a bent knee, almost struggling as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. The truth is, he was.
Simon Cowell began the interview. Archie survived thirty-six plus years in the brutal and bloody Louisiana State Penitentiary in Angola, often referred to as the Alcatraz of the South. But he was innocent. Sure, he was convicted, not only of rape, but also of attempted murder of a woman in 1983. But he had witnesses saying he was home. His fingerprints didn’t match the ones at the crime scene. The woman couldn’t identify him in a picture array, at least not at first. But the public was crying for “justice,” and no one really cared if the right man was caught or not. So Archie was innocently walking down his street when the police arrested him. And since he was poor – and since he was black – he couldn’t afford a lawyer and get proper representation. He was found guilty and served a life sentence plus 80 years in hell. The woman and victim was white.
Redemption, though, came from two sources. He threw himself into Jesus, praying and singing gospel songs with other prisoners, until DNA evidence exonerated him from his sentence. Sure he lost thirty-six years of his life. But in his own words, and in the spirit of Nelson Mandela, “Freedom is of the mind. I went to prison, but I never let my mind go to prison.”
So the music began with a simple piano, and I was hoping beyond hope that he wouldn’t fail. With courage in his heart, his soulful voice began to sing Elton John’s, “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me.” He slowed the tempo and uttered the words in new and refreshing tones. Listening to his song, it was like hearing it for the first time. It wasn’t long before the audience, stunned in reverent silence, had given him their hearts. When he finished, he brought the crowd to its feet in cheers and me to tears. In one moment he was offered redemption. The weight of the world was lifted. And in that same moment he shared that redemption with love and mercy.
I looked at my phone. Social media had blown up, not about Archie Williams’ performance, but about George Floyd. The news reported that four Minneapolis police officers were fired from the force for their role in the death of Floyd. Following reports of a forgery, they found Floyd sitting on his car. Suspecting he was guilty, they placed cuffs on him, then claimed he was resisting an arrest. Soon he was on the ground with one of the officers, one of the white officers, pressing his knee on the neck of Floyd, a black man. The move violated police protocol and ignored standard apprehension procedures. The white officer took a knee on the neck of a black man, while Floyd was pleading for his life. “I can’t breathe!” “I can’t breathe!” “I can’t breathe” were the last words spoken by George Floyd.
We are losing everything while fading to black and white, and the Son is going down on me.
To say “we’re struggling to “’love our neighbor’” is an understatement. At present, it’s clear we don’t even know who our neighbor is. Anger. Hatred. Resentment. Pride. Prejudice. Denial. A festering cancer is metastasizing in our society, destroying the very fabric of our own humanity. At best we’re looking the other way as another story appears on our newsfeed that a person of color suffers at the hands of the privileged. At worse, we’re the guilty throwing shade on someone because of their skin’s color. Our actions continue to betray our words. We claim, “Man was made in the image of God,” then disqualify our truth with, “just not that man.” So John reminds us that if we can’t love the people of color, how can we say we love the God who made the people of color (1 Jn. 4:20)?
If we don’t turn the tide toward racial reconciliation, then we’ll lose everything while fading to black and white, with the Son going down on me.
Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)
Out of the Ashes
What Is Truth?
Settling for the Slow Heat
A Mountain Worth Dying On: When Choice Becomes Yours
Harry Truman. No, not the 33rd President of the United States Harry Truman, but the Harry Truman who owned a lodge on Spirit Lake at the base of Mt. St. Helens. Oh him. Yea, he became something of a local icon and celebrity during the months running up to the eruption of the mountain on May 18, 1980.
A veteran of World War I, a prospector and bootlegger by trade, Truman built and ran the Mt. St. Helens Lodge for fifty-two years. He was eighty-four years old when the volcano began showing signs of an eruption. When the US government evacuated all residences from the region, Truman refused to comply with the orders. He believed the threat was exaggerated as the mountain was a full mile from his lodge. More so, at his age, where would he go and what would he do? Truman tied his fate to the mountain.
A mountain worth dying on. Harry Truman was not the first to dig his heels into the ground and tie his fate to a mountain. He certainly won’t be the last.
Following the Roman invasion of Jerusalem, when Herod’s Temple was razed, nearly a thousand Jewish Zealots fled to the southern region of the Dead Sea. Escaping the terror, they sought refuge in one of Herod’s fortified palaces on top of a mountain. Slaughtering a garrison, they secured the fortress, Masada. However, three years later the Romans laid a three month siege to the fortress. They built a four hundred foot ramp to reach the gates, and once breached they found the Jewish dissidents had committed suicide. For these Jewish Zealots, given the choice of death, torture and captivity, Masada was a mountain worth dying on.
Mountains, beyond the awe-inspiring view, are easily fortified and defended. An advancing army could be spotted miles away. When that army approached the holdout, they had an “uphill battle,” giving the advantage to those holding the mountain. From the spiritual viewpoint, mountains make us feel closer to God. Sacred places are often found on mountains, and religious encounters are referred to as “mountain top experiences.” Both military and spiritual aspect, it’s easy to see people finding a mountain worth dying on.
Mountains play an important role through the biblical narrative. Noah’s ark came to rest on the mountains of Ararat (Gen. 8:4). Abraham is asked to sacrifice Isaac on Mt. Moriah (Gen. 22:2). Moses is called by God on Mt. Horeb (Ex. 3:1). Israel camps and receives the Law at Mt. Sinai (Ex. 19:1-20:21). Moses’s death is on Mt. Nebo overlooking the Promised Land (Deut. 32:48-52). David captures the Jebusite fortress on Mt. Zion to claim as his capital city (2 Sam. 5:6-7). Elijah staged the battle between YHWH and Baal on Mt. Carmel (1 King. 18:16-46), then fled to Mt. Horeb when he feared for his life (1 King. 19:1-9).
But as important as mountains are throughout the biblical story, not all are created equal. Not all mountains are worth dying on. If we created a mountain out of a molehill, it’s probably not a hill to fight, claim or give your life to. In Harry Truman’s case, I’m not sure it was a mountain worth dying on. The same might be said of the Zealots of Masada. Might. But that’s the point, right? Not all mountains are equal.
When Jesus called people to follow him, he was bold up front. He said, “Count the cost” (Lk. 14:28), in order to determine whether following him is cherished over the long haul. Jesus was headed up to a small mountain “knoll” that looked like a man’s bald head. There he would be crucified, executed for our sins. It was a mountain worth dying on, and he calls us to that mountain. But it’s our choice as to whether that knoll is a mountain worth dying on.
Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e. only God is glorified!)