A brush with the law and a stroke of love from the church
Tuesday,August 13,2019. Tuesday. It wasn’t an unusual day, really. It was a great day, initially. I began the day by sharing in a family camp setting with Michigan UMC clergy and families as the morning worship preacher. Following a moving time with them, I drove the 3 hour distance to my church where I was to meet with the worship chair and after that the Staff Parish Relations Committee and a one on one with the executive pastor. By the time I drove home, still wearing camp gear, I was energized by the prospect of seeing my children but growing exhausted from the lengthy day. I pulled into my gate for entry into my subdivision and my sticker/ sensor wasn’t working. So, I slipped in on the other side of the gate that was open. However, while I was waiting at the gate, an officer was driving by and flashed his spotlight on my car. He turned around and I knew he was coming after me. As I’m pulling up to my garage he is speeding up to me with his lights flashing. While in front of my house, he tells me that I looked suspicious going in the wrong side of the gate. I explained to him how the gate works. He asked me did I hit my car on the gate while trying to enter. I then told him, that I did not hit my car and I sensed he thought I was running from him. He proceeded to tell me that his primary concern was that I looked suspicious and I said,”so now you’re profiling.” He concurred. He said that he typically profiles suspicious looking people. My blood was beginning to boil, while my children look out of the window in terror. I offered my card so he’d know that I’m not some gang banger breaking into a closed community. He looked at it and said, “this means nothing to me.” I told him to, “give it back then.” I was very irritated at this point. He gave me a speeding ticket, which I have to contest because I’m suspicious of the entire stop and the first time he saw me, was standing at a gate waiting for it to open.
I could not believe I actually had that conversation with a police officer. I could not believe, that he was in front of my house, with police lights ablaze while my children are looking out the window. I was humiliated. I was embarrassed. I was not heard. I was not taken seriously.
Let’s just say, I was speeding. Then, ok, fine. Give me a ticket. Let’s say I had a warrant, then ok, take me to jail. But, to say, that I looked suspicious, and that his main reason for stopping me was because of such suspicion was unacceptable. By the way, where I live employs its own security, 24/7.
So, within twenty-four hours, my anger turned into deep sadness. Instead of going to the office, I stayed home to connect my thoughts and nurse my wounds.
The impact of that one stop led me to deep introspection and emotional dismay. I questioned if these dynamics will ever end, in our fifty states. I lament that the current presidential platform has perhaps normalized profiling, given permission for the incessant calls the police on black people for enjoying public venues, chastising Latinos for speaking their native language in public settings, for following and harassing people of color about where they live and where they work and publicly humiliating people for who they are ethnically, gender wise and physical ability wise. I am discouraged by the erosion of the spirit of kindness and the common work to seek unity among people and ther erosion of our racial divide.
I am not intending to sound like a whining victim. However, we are all victims actually. We are all breathing in the toxic air of hatred, racism, and violence. Is this who we are? Is this what we’ve come to be? Is God pleased with our silence? Have we not yet figured this out?
I will say this. The United Methodist Church is one place where I find hope. If we are not careful, we can be consumed with our legislative stands and authorship thereto, our general conferencing, our plans for how we will co-exist and our ways to bum rush a stubborn church which is struggling to survive in a mean spirited era.
Yet, today, I’ve been reminded of another angle of church that exists powerfully, between our four year squabbles. That is the church on the ground. Today, I encountered a lot
of pastors, some of whom, I did not know, who aren’t delegates to GC; who aren’t in seats of fame and privilege that reached out to me to offer to stand with me, to go with me to meet the police chief, to care for me as a brother colleague to awesome sisters and brothers of the faith; white, black, brown and then some. Today, in a way that I could not predict, they came to my aid, with anger, compassion, shame, remorse and a commitment to end this tiresome song of ill treatment and inequality. One of these was a bishop, several were district superintendents, pastors and laity. Some were liberal and some conservative.
But, you know what? They saw me as a holy relative of sorts. We are holy relatives to one another. And that is a type of love that no plan, no conference, and no directional path can conquer.
This church I speak of, is the real United Methodist Church that pointed the way to a dying savior for me and has constantly shown me that “the church’s ONE foundation, is Jesus Christ her Lord, she is His new creation of water and the Word.” I live that hymn. But, the verses that really speak to me from that great hymn are the 3rd and 5th…
3 Tho, with a scornful wonder,
men see her sore oppressed,
by schisms rent asunder,
by heresies distressed,
yet, saints their watch are keeping,
their cry goes up “how long?,”
and soon the night of weeping,
shall be the morning song.”
5 ‘Mid toil and tribulation,
and tumult of her war,
she waits the consummation
of peace for evermore;
till with the vision glorious
her longing eyes are blest,
and the great church victorious
shall be the church at rest.
Well, friends, tomorrow is another day to meet the struggle. As deeply wounded as I am, and perhaps will be for awhile, I will not hate, but I will address. I will not be mean, but I will be firm. The struggle is real. Yet, I am hopeful! I bid you a good night or a good morning, if you’ve read this far and hope to see you somewhere along the way in the vineyard!
B. Kevin Smalls
B. Kevin Smalls 