All joking aside... church fires?

Humble reader,

I must first address you before launching into my latest musings. Thank you for your patience. I confess that I have thought much more in the last three months than clearly I have written. For that I apologize. Now, without further ado...

On March 16, the New York Times reported an update concerning a string of nine church fires in Alabama. Three college students have been arrested in connection with setting these fires. While, I admit some amount of cynism, what struck me was not the fact that three young white men are charged with torching multiple small black churches. The article notes, with some surprise, that the accused came from good families (insert shock) but that hunting and copious amount of alcohol consumption was involved (insert tsk-tsk and shake of head). What struck me was their self-confessed reason, saying that they,

"'had done something stupid' and that they set fire to a church 'as a joke.'" (emphasis added)

I think we can let lie the standard "alcohol+hunting=stupid boys" diatribe. But how exactly do we get from complete stupidity to the offered explanation, which clearly one of the accused, thinks is somehow a rational reason for setting church fires. He is not saying, "We were so drunk that night we just got carried away," nor is he saying, "We were out there hunting and decided to start a fire to keep warm, and it got away from us." He is claiming that the impetus to burn down a place of holy worship, and a place of fellowship for a community of faith was a "joke."

A joke? On one hand, we could simply write these boys off as at best stupid and at worst insane. But what if we assumed that their reasoning really is that this is a 'joke'? How could someone rationalize such a position?

Humor is contextual. We all know that a joke can be gut-busting hilarious with one group of friends and a complete flop with a different group. Humor then is not just individual; it is also communal. While these young men must rightly be held personally responsible should the allegations be proved; we must also question ourselves. While these young men's families, friends and communities distance themselves from such violent and destructive acts, it is easy for us too to take a down-the-nose glance in their direction. However, if indeed this is a 'joke'; then we ourselves must search both internally and in our respective communities for the ways in which the shared context of our lives might unintentionally or otherwise be read not just as implicit permission of such acts. Even worse, what if the way we live sent the message that we would explode with out-loud, boisterous gales of laughter while the black church on the corner flamed, crackled and burned into the ground.

All joking aside... what if we were the ones who made the joke?

Tookie It Away

At 12:01 a.m. PST, Stanley 'Tookie' Williams, founder of the Crips gang and convicted murderer, was executed at San Quentin prison by the State of California.

Perhaps elsewhere, but certainly here in California, Tookie's (as we affectionately know him) multitude of appeals, requests and legal manuevering have made headlines all week. At each turn, not only was Tookie denied, but it was also an opportunity for us to hear yet again about Tookie's rehabilitation, Tookie's children's books and Tookie's work against gang violence. The nightly news even had a helpful hour-by-hour description of Tookie's last night among the living, which began to sound like the outline of a reality TV show. And of course, all the forces arrayed to keep 'law and order' had their say, including a haggard looking woman for whom the death of her son seemed to have happened yesterday, not 27 years ago.

According to his supporters, Tookie had "redeemed" himself with his activist work against violence. However, according to the news report, "In denying clemency, Schwarzenegger said Williams had failed to atone for his crimes, and questioned whether claim of redemption was just a ploy."

Redemption. It seems that by redemption most of these people mean something closer to contrition, that Mr. Williams confessed his crimes, was truly sorry, that he repented and turned from his former violent ways. And contrition is what we want. Through the state, we citizens want men like Tookie to feel our anger and our outrage. We want him and others death-row inmates to approach the throne of civic justice, where of course we all sit, grovelling, head-down and cowering before our righteous power where we alone, through our duly elected leader, dangle by a thin thread this murderer over the fiery pit of his just reward. We want contrition. We want justice.

Redemption on the other hand is none of these things. To be redeemed means to be acted upon in a way that you would never be able to accomplish yourself. To be redeemed means to be saved, not by your own power or action or will, but by another. To be redeemed means not that you accomplish your own salvation but rather you respond to the gift of salvation that has happened to you.

So then was Tookie redeemed? Could a man who grew up in violence, created and sustained a community of violence and who himself murdered four people could such a man save himself? Could such a man find himself writing children's books? Could such a man speak out against the man he truly was? Or was he redeemed from outside himself to be transformed, renewed and saved?

And what of Tookie's execution? Does more killing lead to redemption? For his victims? For their families? For former gang members? Does killing another human being redeem us? The governor? The courts? Does killing one m0re person have the power to transform us, to renew us, to save us, to redeem us?

If what we seek is truly redemption, then even in death, Tookie Williams may have found his redemption.

World AIDS Day

Today, December 1st is World AIDS day. I know; I forgot too. If you were around in the 80s, you remember what a huge deal AIDS was back then. Even though I was in middle school, I was scared. The teenage hemophilliac who contracted AIDS from a blood transfusion, Ryan White was only a year behind me in school. Kokomo, Ryan's hometown, is only an hour from where I grew up. AIDS was not well understood at the time and he had been forced to study at home because parents were afraid their kids would catch it. When courts temporarily allowed him back at school, Ryan had to use a specially secluded bathroom and eat with disposable utensils in the school cafeteria. AIDS was scary for kids and scary for adults.

Celebrity AIDS cases, a myriad of enhanced drugs and education about risk factors for HIV/AIDS turned this once death sentence killing millions into a disease with which millions lead otherwise normal lives.

It is too easy to forget. Too easy to forget Ryan. Too easy to forget people who suffered horrible, lonely and painful deaths. Too easy to forget communities and familes whose lives overflowed with grief and loss. Too easy to forgot those red ribbons we once wore so courageously and defiantly.

Not today.

Today let us remember.