Not My Heritage

I've lived most of my life in "the South." After moving in 1954 with my family to Anderson, SC, I lived in Virginia, more of SC (including 4 college years), then NC and then SC again. In 1979 I moved to California returning to SC in 1987. In 1990 Seminary took me to Tennessee until 1993 and I've been a resident of Georgia ever since. I'm 71 and have lived in the South 63+ years.

There was plenty of Confederate memorabilia in all the communities of my childhood and teens but I NEVER understood the history of this region's rebellion to be my heritage to preserve or promote. 

I made a mistake once that I can remember when during my second Boston Marathon ('84) I wore shorts with the pattern of the "Confederate flag." [Quotes used to avoid the details about the flags of the CSA.] I'm embarrassed now but back then things weren't so edgy. I was proclaiming my "southern-ness," not still fightin' or mourning for the lost cause. 

That's it. Any other moments -- triggered mostly by my accent -- were for "the South" as a somewhat contemporary distinction about culture. Our recipes, climate, geography and lifestyle were better to me than any others I experienced in my (mostly) brief exposures.

That culture is fading and giving way to another version of "southern heritage" that much less so shares the same recipes, climate, geography or lifestyle. Instead it celebrates a rebel flag, guns, college football, performative church attendance and wasteful uses of gasoline.

The fading was at first fairly benign and for me gained momentum with air conditioning and interstate highways. There were plenty of other influences but those two have homogenizing effects that reduced our isolation from the rest of "America." Air-conditioning changes the pacing and assembling of our lives. Interstate highways--with gas stations galore--allow us to come and go from our homes for business and vacations with an ease we'd not known before. 

But there's so much more. I'll write about it in another post. It's that thing called heritage I want to look at and through. Maybe because of those using it most these days, I'll call them the 2nd Amendment crowd. 

That use is a conflation in weaponized dissembling about security and 'Murika all without any reference to the necessity of regulated militias. "It's my right!" they proclaim while life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness are mostly forfeited by pacifists and non-whites so as to navigate without incident through WalMart and those other spaces preferred for displays of bravado and bullying.

It most often comes out in conversation that these public displays of firearms are because of "my heritage." So not only is "their" amendment exercised but an allegiance is boasted. As a southerner I've needed neither of these. For me, First Amendment exercises are more vital and much more allied to the nation and commonwealth I am choosing. 

Like many citizens in the South, my heritage is a "becoming."  I am part of a movement toward, not a resistance against sharing and cooperation with those others not benefitting from my past but with just as much "right" to that "more perfect union" that can't simply be brandished. Citizenship benefits from the volume of one's bravado much less than it does from respect, discretion and accommodation. 

Bravado is too often a substitute for self confidence and it is more tiring for everyone else. Like halitosis it leaves too much of the work to the "listener." As well it deters repair and spiritual growth.  Just "getting along" becomes an awkward dance done by half the couple.

But hear me, I love the accents of the south, our recipes,* climate, geography and lifestyles. I am from the South! As well, I firmly believe that our best expressions are not confrontative or belligerent. So whatever these rebel flag waving, gun brandishing, gas guzzling, obesity swelling neighbors claim as their heritage it will not be mine. No need even to raise my voice when I can say "bless your heart."

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Bishop Budde's Sermon

Here is Bishop Budde's sermon, followed by a transcription, which is worth reading in full:

As a country, we have gathered this morning to pray for unity as a nation—not for agreement, political or otherwise, but for the kind of unity that fosters community across diversity and division, a unity that serves the common good.

Unity, in this sense, is the threshold requirement for people to live together in a free society, it is the solid rock, as Jesus said, in this case upon which to build a nation. It is not conformity. It is not victory. It is not polite weariness or passive passivity born of exhaustion. Unity is not partisan.

Rather, unity is a way of being with one another that encompasses and respects our differences, that teaches us to hold multiple perspectives and life experiences as valid and worthy of respect; that enables us, in our communities and in the halls of power to genuinely care for one another, even when we disagree. Those across our country who dedicate their lives, or who volunteer to help others in times of natural disaster, often at great risk to themselves, never ask those they are helping for whom they voted in the past election or what positions they hold on a particular issue. And we are at our best when we follow their example.

Unity at times, is sacrificial, in the way that love is sacrificial, a giving of ourselves for the sake of another. In his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus of Nazareth exhorts us to love not only our neighbors, but to love our enemies. And to pray for those who persecute us, to be merciful as our God is merciful, and to forgive others as God forgives us. Jesus went out of his way to welcome those whom his society deemed as outcasts.

Now, I grant you that unity in this broad, expansive sense is aspirational, and it’s a lot to pray for—it is a big ask of our God, worthy of the best of who we are and who we can be. But there isn’t much to be gained by our prayers if we act in ways that further deepen the divisions among us. Our Scriptures are quite clear about this: God is never impressed with prayers when actions are not informed by them. Nor does God spare us from the consequences of our deeds, which always, in the end, matter more than the words we pray.

Those of us gathered here in the Cathedral, we are not naïve about the realities of politics. When power, wealth and competing interests are at stake, when views of what America should be are in conflict; when there are strong opinions across a spectrum of possibilities and starkly different understandings of what the right course of action is, there will be winners and losers when votes are cast, decisions made, that set the course of public policy and the prioritization of resources. It goes without saying that in a democracy, not everyone’s particular hopes and dreams can be realized in a given legislative session or a presidential term, not even in a generation. Not everyone’s specific prayers, for those of us who are people of prayer, not everyone’s specific prayers will be answered as we would like. But for some, the loss of their hopes and dreams will be far more than political defeat, but instead a loss of equality and dignity, and their livelihoods.

Given this, is true unity among us even possible, and why should we care about it?

Well, I hope that we care. I hope that we care, because the culture of contempt that has become normalized in our country threatens to destroy us. We are all bombarded daily with messages from what sociologists now call, “the outrage industrial complex”—some of that driven by external forces whose interests are furthered by a polarized America. Contempt fuels our political campaigns and social media, and many profit from it. But it is a dangerous way to lead a country.

I am a person of faith, surrounded by people of faith. And with God’s help I believe that unity in this country is possible—not perfectly, for we are imperfect people and an imperfect union—but sufficient enough to keep us believing in and working to realize the ideals of the United States of America—ideals expressed in the Declaration of Independence, with its assertion of innate human equality and dignity.

And we are right to pray for God’s help as we seek unity, for we need God’s help, but only if we ourselves are willing to tend to the foundations upon which unity depends. Like Jesus’ analogy of building a house of faith on the rock of his teachings, as opposed to building a house on sand, the foundations we need for unity must be sturdy enough to withstand the many storms that threaten it.

What are they, the foundations of unity? Drawing from our sacred traditions and texts, let me suggest that there are at least three.

The first foundation for unity is honoring the inherent dignity of every human being, which is, as all faiths represented here affirm, the birthright of all people as children of our One God. In public discourse, honoring each other’s dignity means refusing to mock or discount, or demonize those with whom we differ, choosing instead to respectfully debate across our differences, and whenever possible, to seek common ground. If common ground is not possible, dignity demands that we remain true to our convictions without contempt for those who hold convictions of their own.

A second foundation for unity is honesty in both private conversation and public discourse. If we aren’t willing to be honest, there is no use in praying for unity, because our actions work against the prayers themselves. We might, for a time, experience a false sense of unity among some, but not the sturdier, broader unity that we need to address the challenges that we face.

Now to be fair, we don’t always know where the truth lies. There is a lot working against the truth now, staggeringly so. But when we do know, when we know what is true, it’s incumbent upon us to speak the truth, even when—especially when—it costs us.

And the third and last foundation for unity I will mention is humility, which we all need, because we are all fallible human beings. We make mistakes. We say and do things that we regret. We have our blind spots and biases. And perhaps we are the most dangerous to ourselves and others when we are persuaded, without a doubt, that we are absolutely right and someone else is absolutely wrong—because then we are just a few steps away from labeling ourselves as the good people, versus the bad people.

The truth is that we are all people, capable of both good and bad. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn astutely observed that “The line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties, but right through every human heart and through all human hearts.” The more we realize this, the more room we have within ourselves for humility, and openness to one another across our differences, because in fact, we are more like one another than we realize, and we need each other.

Unity is relatively easy to pray for on occasions of great solemnity. It is a lot harder to realize when we are dealing with real differences in the public arena. But without unity, we are building our nation’s house on sand.

With a commitment to unity that incorporates diversity and transcends disagreement, and with the solid foundations of dignity, honesty, and humility that such unity requires, we can do our part, and in our time, to realize the ideals and the dream of America.

Let me make one final plea, Mr. President. Millions have put their trust in you. As you told the nation yesterday, you have felt the providential hand of a loving God. In the name of our God, I ask you to have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared now. There are gay, lesbian, and transgender children in Democratic, Republican. and independent families, some who fear for their lives.

And the people who pick our crops and clean our office buildings, who labor in our poultry farms and meat-packing plants, who wash the dishes after we eat in restaurants and work the night shifts in hospitals. They may not be citizens or have the proper documentation, but the vast majority of immigrants are not criminals. They pay taxes and are good neighbors. They are faithful members of our churches and mosques, synagogues, gurdwaras, and temples.

May I ask you to have mercy, Mr. President, on those in our communities whose children fear that their parents will be taken away—and that you help those who are fleeing war zones and persecution in their own lands to find compassion and welcome here. Our God teaches us that we are to be merciful to the stranger, for we were all once strangers in this land.

May God grant us the strength and courage to honor the dignity of every human being, to speak the truth to one another in love, and to walk humbly with one another and our God, for the good of all people, for the people in this nation and the world.