It's Not That Hard (Part Two)

I recently shared a personal essay I wrote as a means to vent my feelings of exclusion and loneliness. And it makes me really happy that this post is the positive resolution to that story.

That's right.

That is a picture of my daughter sitting on a diaper changing table IN THE SEMINARY BATHROOM.

I was so ecstatic the day they were installed that I brought my daughter with me to school for the sole purpose of changing her diaper– and if you can't tell, her shirt says "Never underestimate the power of women and girls."

You might notice the age difference between my daughter in this post and the previous post. That's because it took a really long time to make this happen, so let me tell you the story...

In the Fall of 2017 I wrote my personal essay thinking that was it. I'll just complain about it and not try to change it.

Or so I thought.

The next morning I woke up feeling empowered to do something. After all, it's not that hard to install a couple diaper changing tables. Plus I've seen other parents with young children on campus, and I'm sure they were feeling the same way!

So I started talking to professors and staff in Student Life, asking what it would look like to have some installed and what it would take to make it happen. They all said the same thing, "Oh yeah, that's super easy! I'll just send a message to so-and-so (someone in the higher-ups) and see if we can make this happen."

But then a semester passed by and nothing happened.

Note: They were all super helpful and supportive of the idea but I found out later the idea got lost in the shuffle of things as it was not a high priority to the seminary. 

By this time I was a part of the founding leadership team of a seminary-initiated student group for women in the Mdiv program. Two other women and I were tasked with creating a community that not only supports and encourages Mdiv women at the seminary but that also empowers them to live their calling. I raised my concern with them and they were fully supportive of the idea, but we were not in a place to tackle this issue as we were still forming our vision and presence on campus.

So once again I hit a dead end.

I fell into a bout of discouragement and self-pity. I mean, it shouldn't be this hard to install some diaper changing tables! I guess I'll just be mad at the way things are and give up trying.

But then I realized...these were no ordinary diaper changing tables, they were a symbol of culture change and adaptation to a long-established institution. Yikes. By asking for these simple plastic structures, I was really asking the seminary to shift their entire way of thinking.

This campus will no longer be focused solely on a predominately male student population with little (if any) child responsibilities. Instead it will be a campus focused on men, women, and children.

Families will be welcomed.
Breast-feeding mothers will be welcomed.
Loud toddlers with poopy diapers will be welcomed.

This, I realized, was a radical notion.

So I shifted my plan of attack. As luck would have it (or perhaps as God ordained it) an incredibly brilliant and influential woman stepped into the position of Provost at the seminary and she invited our Mdiv women's group to meet with her. It was a huge honor, and I was hardcore fan-girling on the inside.

We were given a chance to honestly share our experiences as she asked us, "What is it like to be a woman at this seminary?" It was extraordinary. We all felt known, heard, and validated.

I shared my experiences with my daughter on campus and how the lack of diaper changing tables made both of us feel unwelcome. She was shocked to hear that there were no provisions on campus for breastfeeding mothers or families with young children.

And guess what? She made it happen. She recognized the importance of this symbol for our community and prioritized it.

She not only had two tables installed in the student center bathrooms, she turned the men's and women's bathrooms into family bathrooms! Now anyone is welcome to use these bathrooms. How incredible is that?

I later sent her an email thanking her for her influence and leadership on campus saying,
"I now have an ebeneezer of sorts to show my daughter as she grows up that she can make a difference no matter the cultural and social structures in place, and that women and girls are welcome in institutions dedicated to training and equipping the leaders of the Church."

It was a wild ride, but this experience taught me that all institutions and cultures can change, even if it's baby steps at a time and requires endless pestering.

So to those who feel like they do not belong and to those who see necessary changes that must be made for inclusion, do not lose heart. A bathroom renovation is more than a bathroom renovation, it is a symbol of hope.

What is the diaper changing table in your community?
What is the thing that needs to be changed or brought in so that others may feel included?

It's Not That Hard (Part One)

Babies and seminary, what could go wrong? 

For this two part blog I will begin with a personal essay I wrote last fall. When I say personal, I mean I typed this on my computer after a particularly frustrating day, hid it in a folder on my laptop, and never let anyone read it but me. 

Sometimes it just helps to get the feelings and words off my chest.

Well, today I was digging around my files and stumbled upon this personal essay. As I read through these words, I felt the frustration and loneliness bubble up and become just as tangible as it was then. But it's encouraging to read where I was a year ago and see everything that has happened since.

And so I am sharing these words with the world not to be an angry feminist, but to show what happens when women step into a "man's world" and demands a seat at the table (more on that in part two).

So without further adieu, I give you It's Not That Hard, written by Allison Lee in the Fall of 2017.

-----------------

Being a new mom is hard. 

Being a woman at an evangelical seminary is discouraging. 

Being a new mom at an evangelical seminary is hard and discouraging. 

I am three weeks into my first semester as a new mom and I am already experiencing the harsh realities that I and my daughter will now face.

Due to unforeseen childcare hurdles, Junia has needed to tag along with me to campus a number of times already, and the welcome has been far from warm. While a handful of people (namely professors) has welcomed her, many of my peers have not. How naive I was to think I could shelter her from such discrimination! She is only five-months-old and has already experienced discrimination because of her gender.

Get this: there is not a single diaper changing station on the entire campus. Perhaps this is simply an architectural oversight (due to a demographically uniform board?), or perhaps it was brought up in a meeting and dismissed because why would a baby be on campus and why would we spend money on it? 

Such conclusions assume the following:

1. Our student body is mostly men without childcare responsibilities
2. The handful of women who do attend don’t have kids
3. The even fewer female students who have kids can afford to pay for childcare or their children are grown or of schooling age
4. New moms should not be pursuing higher education because they should be at home raising their kids

As a new mom attending an evangelical seminary, I am aware of this particular disparity. Who knows how many others are present in regards to race, class, gender, theology, etc. 

We have created a culture where it is normative for white male students to only engage with other white male students and professors, and somehow be entrusted to lead congregations comprised of women, men, mothers, fathers, children, youth of all sorts of economic, racial, and cultural backgrounds. 

This is dangerous. 

As discouraging as these first few weeks have been with bringing Junia to campus, I was encouraged by my professor/mentor to keep doing it. Not only will Junia grow up watching her mom step into her pastoral gifting, but we will also be a model to my peers that motherhood is compatible with pastoral ministry. 

So now when I sit in the student lounge with Junia rolling and babbling, I will seek to feel pride rather than shame. Pride that I am paving the way for my daughter to feel welcome in a place of theological learning and formation. And I will seek to feel empowered rather than weak. Empowered because I am living into my call to be a mother and a pastor, and empowered because my male peers will see us and be forced to wrestle through the reality of our presence in “their institution.”

So yes, it is hard to be a new mom at an evangelical seminary, but it’s not that hard to install a couple diaper changing stations in the women's and men's restrooms. 

When Roads Divide

My Facebook memories reminded me today of a final project I created for one of my classes a couple years ago that focused on the formation of the federal highway system and its role in racial and economic segregation our cities.

At the time I was five months pregnant, so I thought it would be fun to create a children's book to introduce my daughter to the systemic realities of racism and poverty that have shaped our cities while telling a short (and overly-simplistic) story of a woman who stood up for the people in her neighborhood.

Anthony Foxx, the former US Secretary of Transportation, said, "The values of the 1950s are still embedded in our built environment and prejudices. The notions of who's in and who's out are still a part of the built environment, and we can do something about it." I am no expert on any of this, but it is a fascinating story and I learned so much from digging deeper into the history of our roads and highways.

And so, I have finally mustered up the courage to share this project with the world in hopes that you can learn something too!

A Working Mother's Lament: Mourning the End of Breastfeeding

From the beginning I knew there was an end, I just did not anticipate the end would come so soon. 

And maybe had I known, this transition wouldn't be so painful. 

Maybe.

Breastfeeding is no picnic, at least not for mom. It involves sitting down (or sometimes standing) every two hours and emptying yourself for a tiny human. It means chapped nipples, milk stains all over my clothes, gigantic calcium pills, and dirty looks from people because I have the audacity to feed my child in public and not stuff her under a blanket to do so.

Breastfeeding is hard and requires a lot of work. I could spend up to six hours a day feeding Junia, that is literally a full-time job. No pay. No vacation days. No nights or weekends off.

Yet all these challenges seem to fade when seen in the light of the beauty of breastfeeding. Being able to produce and provide the exact nutrition my baby needs is a special thing. It's forty hours of work, but it's also forty hours of bonding with my baby. Some of my most cherished moments in her first few months were those late night feedings. Sitting in bed at two in the morning, completely exhausted, staring at her sweet face as she moves in and out of sleep almost in rhythm with her sucking and swallowing. Both of us feeling deeply happy and perfectly secure.

Breastfeeding is hard, but it's beautiful.

I had a plan to breastfeed for at least six months, but it seems as if that plan is unexpectedly being cut short by nearly two. Going back to an inconsistent work schedule for a job not conducive to pumping, caused my milk supply to rapidly dwindle. My body lost all sense of rhythm and could not keep up with Junia's demand. So little by little we began to supplement with formula, and in a blink of an eye, I am down to one measly breastfeeding a day that cannot even provide a full meal.

Now as I sit with her at two in the morning holding a bottle, I cry. Mourning the end of breastfeeding. Every night I resolve to work really hard to bring my supply back up, and every morning that dream is shattered by the cold reality of sunlight.

I'm going back to school. It is much easier to bottle feed in public. The breast pump never really worked for me. Junia is already eating solids. Is it really worth the hours of labor necessary to build up my milk supply for two months so that I might somehow feel like a qualified mother?

I am learning how to peacefully make this transition without feeling guilt or shame. There is very little grace for moms today, and I seem to always fall short of the idealistic picture of the all-natural, feminist mom who somehow has time to breastfeed, work full-time, and shower.

Just because I am moving away from breastfeeding does not mean I don't love Junia. She still giggles and plays, meets her developmental milestones, and has entirely captured my heart. She doesn't cry when I give her the bottle instead of my breast, she cries when I am not close by or paying attention. She knows I am her mom, the one who grew and carried her, the one who gave so much of myself so that she might have life, and she knows I love her.

Now, I feel peace in saying goodbye to breastfeeding. It was a special season, one I am truly grateful for, but as always, life moves at its own pace. For each mom this journey will look different, whether she bottle feeds from the beginning or breastfeeds well into toddler years. We hold life with an open had: being willing to let our plans blow away if they need to be replaced by another. This journey has taught me to seek the joy in all the hardships that come with motherhood, and to cherish them deeply.

Because one day she'll grow up.

Welcome to the World, Junia

On March 29, 2017 my life changed forever. At 5:31 pm my beautiful daughter Junia Bridges Lee entered the world in a wildly dramatic fashion and for being such a wildly dramatic girl, her father and I expected nothing less.

My due date was March 26, and as the day came and went our impatience grew. At my 40 week doctor appointment, the midwife informed me that I was 80% effaced and 1 cm dialated. She offered to strip my membranes to help speed things along and said she'd be surprised if I didn't have the baby by Friday. So, with membranes stripped, we waited. Tuesday morning around 1 am I woke up with crazy nausea, vomiting, and constant cramping. Perhaps the beginning of labor? I was thrilled when I went to the bathroom to find bloody show, meaning labor was certainly near.

I started going into labor for real around noon that day. So naturally, I was excited and terrified at the same time. Finally, the moment I've been preparing for the last nine months had arrived! But it also meant I would have to confront one of my biggest fears: giving birth.

Will was at work so I decided to go to my parents' house to distract myself. My mom was incredibly helpful! She baked cookies and muffins for post-delivery, played countless rounds of bananagrams, and made me get up and walk every ten minutes. Contractions progressed slowly and Will met me at my parents' after work. We went home after dinner hoping it would only be a few more hours until we got to meet our little one, we were unfortunately mistaken.

I decided to rest that night to preserve my energy, but woke up at 2 am only to realize I couldn't remember the last time I had felt a contraction. I began frantically pacing our apartment with tears rolling down my cheek feeling like a failure. I had worked so hard to get to labor, and then it was suddenly gone. Around 2:30 am I woke up Will and we played Just Dance to get things moving again, thankfully that worked! From then on, contractions became more regular and intense.

Around 6 am on Wednesday, we went to Perkins to have one final meal before delivery. Plus, what is better than breakfast and card games to distract from labor pains? I got a lot of funny looks as I got up to pace the restaurant every five minutes to manage the contractions. Around 8 am, now 20 hours into labor, we decided to walk around Target to help get the baby out. Once again we received many funny looks as I would randomly collapse over a display while Will placed pressure on my lower back.

Finally, around 9:30 am, my contractions were consistent and close enough to call our doula and doctor, both of whom suggested we go to the hospital. Here is where time began to blur together, so my time table might be off a little. We arrived at St. Joe's and taken to triage. After a cervical exam, I found I was 90% effaced and 2 cm dialated. What! That's it? Needless to say, we were both disappointed. Now 22 hours in and very little progress had been made. The nurses would have sent me home, but my blood pressure was slightly high (due to the stress of labor) so they kept me in triage connected to monitors for three hours. By this point, my contractions were far more intense and had moved into my lower back.

About two hours in, the midwife on duty came in to talk about my options. The Kaiser doctor wanted to induce me immediately because he was afraid my high blood pressure would turn into pre-eclampsia, but she said I was free to go home if I wanted, I would just have to sign a waiver acknowledging I was acting against the advisory of a doctor.

Leading up to labor, I had decided to give birth non-medicated. Mainly because I was terrified of having a giant needle in my back, but also because I trusted my body and its capability to do what it was made to do. But feeling contractions to such intensity and being told I was I only in early labor, I was seriously contemplating induction and medication. I feared I would not have enough strength or energy to continue in labor if I was only in the beginning. My doula informed me what of would/could happen with each option so my husband and I were able to confidently process our next steps.

I decided to go home and continue with a non-medicated labor, partly because I was stubborn and partly because I wanted to prove the doctor wrong. However, on the drive home, labor quickly progressed. We were only home for an hour or two before Will decided we needed to go back to the hospital. I was hesitant because I feared they would keep me in triage forever only to send me back home again, plus the idea of riding in a car while experiencing crazy intense back contractions every three minutes did not sound appealing. But thank goodness Will was looking out for me because when we left for the hospital at 3:30pm we were only two hours away from meeting our baby girl.

As I was wheelchaired into the women's center, the nurses rushed me directly to labor and delivery. They obviously saw how far along I was and knew there wasn't much time left. I sighed a huge sigh of relief as we flew by triage and into the delivery room.

Around 4:15 pm I was 8 cm dialated and fully effaced. Almost go time.

A team of nurses and residents introduced themselves in the brief moments of awareness between my contractions. I was hooked to an i.v. and an external fetal monitor and everything seemed good to go. That is until Junia's heart rate began to drop.
The on-call doctor rushed in (because the doctor from earlier was in the middle of a c-section) and immediately took charge. She broke my water so they could place some sort of electronic monitor device on my baby's head to get a more accurate read of her vitals. The doctor calmly, yet urgently, said to me "We need to get this baby out now or you will need an emergency c-section." Looking back, the adrenaline kept me motivated and somewhat calm, but in reflecting upon that statement I am filled with tears. I could have lost my baby during birth.

By 5:15 pm the room was filled with upwards 15 people: doctors, nurses, residents, and a team ready to rush me to the operating room if necessary. With Junia's heart rate still dropping, they give me an oxygen mask and tell me it's time to push. My husband supporting one leg, my doula the other, I pushed with all my might. Yet Junia stayed put. The doctor quickly and gently informed me she would need to use forceps to help guide the baby out. So in a brief moment between contractions, she placed the forceps and with each push I gave, she pulled.

By 5:31 pm my baby was born with the cord wrapped around her neck. Due to such a traumatic birth experience, I was not able to immediately hold her skin-to-skin. Instead she was whisked to the side to ensure she was healthy, stable, and able to breathe. Will stood by her while I delivered the placenta and received stiches for a third-degree perineal tear. After what seemed like an eternity, I was finally able to hold my beautiful daughter. And after one glance I realized everything I had just experienced was worth it.

I would not have been able to endure a non-medicated birth with forceps of it wasn't for the incredible support and constant encouragement of my husband, doula, and team of nurses. During our entire stay at the hospital, the nurses commended me for being a super warrior woman because they had rarely seen such strength and courage. It is amazing what the female body can do, and thanks to this experience I will never doubt my strength again.

It has now been a week since we welcomed our daughter into the world, and although the transition has been difficult at times, the joy of watching her discover the world far outweighs the frustration of explosive poop and late night cluster feedings. I love being a mom and I can't wait to watch Junia grow into the empowered, creative, and beautiful woman she will be.

The Road Not Taken: The Nature of Decision-Making

My dear friends,

I apologize for the six month hiatus, I'm sure many of you have forgotten this blog even exists. (To be honest, there were many times that I did.) These past months have been a season of reflection, formation, and seasonal depression, and I have simply been too drained to write. But now that the sun is out and stays awake for most of the day, life is seeping back into my soul again and I feel energized to write again.

I thought about presenting a "vague life update" in which I vaguely described what is going on in my life and the decisions my husband and I are presently facing, but I decided against it. For now, I will simply write about decision-making itself and hopefully later write a "not-so-vague life update" once we know where our life is headed.

Spoiler alert: I am not pregnant, nor plan to be anytime soon. 

Vincent Van Gogh: Undergrowth with Two Figures

I am sure many of you are familiar with Robert Frost's poem, The Road Not Taken. 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair, 

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day! 

Yet knowing how way leads on to way, 

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I–

I took the one less traveled by, 

And that has made all the difference.

Many of us like to skip to the end where individuality is prided as the traveler declares "I took the one less traveled by, / And that has made all the difference." But if we read every other line of this poem, we see that is not what this is really about. 

Frost paints the picture of a traveler who happens upon two roads diverging, and being only one person, he is pained he cannot travel both. So he looks down one as far as he can see and decides to take the other, hoping to someday come back and take the first. Yet he knows the nature of traveling, he knows the road he chose will take him to many other roads, leaving a grim chance he shall return to the other. The poem closes with the traveler pondering of how he will tell the story. In hopes to assure his decision of the road he chose, he triumphantly claims, "I took the one less traveled by, / And that has made all the difference." 

Frost eloquently captures the inner turmoil of decision-making. Most often, life presents us with two equally desirable roads. We long to travel both to see where they lead so we can make our decision with full knowledge of the future. But we lament, because we are one human with one life so we cannot. In our limited state, we must choose which path to take before we start walking. So we pick one. Sometimes we feel instant relief, certain this was the right road. Other times we still feel unsure half way down the road, but we keep walking because there is no turning back. Regardless of what happens, we tell ourselves that the road we chose changed our life forever, it has made all the difference. 

No matter how greatly I desire the simplicity of decision-making, I know from experience it is much more complex. I have found there are two giants standing in the way of progress: immobility and regret.  

When faced with a fork in the road, we can stand for hours, days, months, even years debating with ourselves the pros and cons of each road. But the immobility that comes from indecision is much more detrimental than choosing the "wrong road." We allow this decision to consume our entire being and suddenly we stop contributing to society. We become paralyzed by fear and hope that eventually the road will decide for us. 

Once we have chosen which road to take, it is all to easy to feel regret. What if I had chosen the other road, how would my life look different? What if I took the other job, would I have more money? What if I transferred schools, would I have a more marketable degree? What if, what if, what if? Remorse, like indecision, keeps us from living in the present. If our heads are constantly turned back, gazing on the fork in the road, how will we be able to see what is put in front of us? If we are constantly wanting to go back to where the roads diverged, we wouldn't truly see how great the path is we are on now. 

I want to conclude with an encouragement. When two roads diverge, odds are they equally lay. Either road can have the better claim. As a professor of mine once said,

When God presents us with choices in life, 

we're usually not choosing between good and evil, 

we're choosing between good and good. 

WWJD @ MOA & MSP?

"If you're going to beat me with a baton, you might as well look me in the eyes." -Vanessa Taylor

Photo credit: Patience Zalanga 

On December 23, 2015 the Minneapolis chapter of the national Black Lives Matter movement staged a peaceful protest that disrupted thousands of holiday shoppers and travelers at the Mall of America, the Minneapolis city light rail, and both terminals of the Minneapolis airport. On the busiest shopping day of the year (two days before Christmas), BLM released an official statement declaring December 23 as "Black Xmas."

"Black X-Mas is here and there will be no business as usual until we get accountability
for our dead, and justice for the living. Instead of buying gifts to fuel this system,
Black Xmas is a day of action to reject the degradation of Black families and communities by police, politicians, and predatory companies, and declare our inherent worth.  We will disrupt business as usual until city, state, and federal budgets stop funding Black death and start funding Black future."

This is an incredible step forward for BLM and their fight for justice, but as you can imagine, the white community was in an uproar.

"You people are causing so many problems and you are ignorant racists." 

"You all are a bunch of uncivilized fools!! Why don't you get off the tax payers dime, and get a job!! This is for all the lazy blacks and whites that spend their time whining about everything like children. Grow Up if you want respect!" 

"You guys are a joke, get jobs, clean up your hoods, educate your children. Be a fucking father." 

I pulled these off the BLM Minneapolis chapter's Facebook page, where hundreds of similar hateful and racist posts exist.

The main issue people opposed to these protests have is that the actions at the airport caused people to miss flights home for Christmas. While I understand the inconvenience, the underlying message they are sending is that travel plans are more important than the continual suffering, oppression, and death of the Black community.

Protests in their very nature are meant to disrupt "business as usual." In addition to their demands for the release of the tapes of Jamar Clark's death, the prosecution of the police involved in his murder, no grand jury in that case, and the charging of white supremacists who shot five black protesters at the 4th Precinct shutdown, BLM protests so that those on the outside can understand how injustice disrupts their everyday. If you miss a flight you can catch another, but if your son, father, daughter, mother, sister, brother, husband, wife, cousin, aunt, uncle, grandpa, grandma, friend is murdered by unchecked police brutality, then that is a life lost that cannot be given back.

This is a legitimate organization with legitimate demands, actions, and protests. As a Christian, I cannot help but ask the question: what would Jesus do in this exact circumstance?

.......

Let's turn to Luke 10:25-37.

Just then an expert in the law stood up to test [Jesus], saying, "Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?" 

"What is written in the law?" He asked him, "How do you read it?"

He answered: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.

"You've answered correctly," He told him. "Do this and you will live."

But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, "And who is my neighbor?"

Jesus took up the question and said: "A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell into the hands of robbers. They stripped him, beat him up, and fled, leaving him half dead. A priest happened to be going down that road. When he saw him, he passed by on the other side. In the same way, a Levite, when he arrived at the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan on his journey came up to him, and when he saw the man, he had compassion. He went over to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on olive oil and wine. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, 'Take care of him. When I come back I'll reimburse you for whatever extra you spend.'

"Which of these three do you think proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?"

 "The one who showed mercy to him," he said. 

Then Jesus told him, "Go and do the same." 

In order to understand the cultural significance of this story, let's explore the three men who travelled the road.

• The Priest and the Levite: these are two religious leaders within Jewish society. Many who were listening to this story would have initially identified with or aspired to be like these two characters. 
• The Samaritan: the Jews and Samaritans had a less-than-friendly relationship. With cultural, religious, and ethnic differences these two people groups were taught to hate each other. 

So when Jesus challenges the Jewish audience to be like the merciful Samaritan, they were probably initially defensive– because these are the people they were supposed to hate, right? And when he dared to present the religious leaders in a negative light, they were probably initially shocked– because these are the people they were supposed to admire, right?

Let's move this into our own context. 

The Black community is continually being beaten and killed by the police community. Yet many white Christians and Christian leaders are standing by the wayside, even moving further away, pretending nothing is actually happening. According to the story of the Good Samaritan, what does Jesus want us to do? 

BE LIKE THE SAMARITAN! 

There are many instances when Jesus was traveling and his journey was "inconvenienced" by the marginalized demanding justice. 

• The hemorrhaging woman who touched Jesus' garments as he was traveling to heal a dying girl: Luke 8:40-48
• The two blind men who followed Jesus on the road crying for mercy: Matthew 9:27-31
• The blind man who cried out to Jesus as he was traveling to Jericho: Luke 18:35-43
• The Canaanite woman who demanded the healing of her daughter as Jesus was withdrawing to Tyre: Matthew 15:21-28

The list could continue. Jesus never turned away from cries of injustice, even if it inconvenienced his travel plans. That being said, if Jesus was in a taxi on his way to the airport and missed his flight because of BLM demanding justice, I believe he would have gotten out of the taxi and stood in solidarity with them. 

Jesus' very life was a peaceful protest to the unjust power systems of his day. Why do you think the majority of his followers were tax collectors, prostitutes, fishermen, women, and many other members of marginalized groups? Because the message he was teaching was one of justice, equality, mercy, and love. The religious elite were threatened by his movement because their power and privilege was threatened. 

But guess what? In the rule and reign of God, there is no power structure, there is no privilege, and there is no oppression. All of humanity is one. So perhaps we should stand with the oppressed now, because one day "death will no longer exist; grief, crying, and pain will exist no longer, because the previous things have passed away." (Revelation 21:4) Some day, all will be made new– the valleys will be raised and the mountains made low.

.......

I am still learning how to be an ally, and I will always be learning how to love others and stand for justice. Yet the song Us For Them by Gungor has been very encouraging on this journey. It speaks to the solidarity and equality that the people of God are called to, and the life of love we ought to lead.  

We reject the either or

They can't define us anymore

Cause if it's us or them

It's us for them

Prepare the way of the Lord

Wielding mercy like a sword

Every mountaintop will be made low

Know, He holds the earth like dust

And His judgement comes to us

And His judgement is love

May our judgement be love

True peace is not merely the absence of tension,

it is the presence of justice.   

-Martin Luther King Jr.