Rector's Notes: On the Anniversary of the Death of George Floyd-5.22.24

This Sunday is the fifth anniversary of the murder of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin, who is serving a 22-year prison sentence for his death. As part of the police response to an accusation that Floyd allegedly passed a bad $20 bill at a nearby store, Chauvin knelt on Floyd’s neck for nine minutes until Floyd ultimately died of asphyxiation. Throughout, Floyd pleaded for breath, onlookers filmed the encounter, and several called for police to let up.

The incident led to weeks of nationwide and global street protests against police violence upon Black people, including demonstrations in Philadelphia. The protests were marked by violent encounters between police and protesters, tear gas, mass arrests, and the destruction of property.

At the time, there was also an intense response by White people who wanted to better understand the pervasiveness of racism in our country and their role in it. The diocesan Anti-Racism Commission (ARC), which I co-chair, saw an exponential increase in the number of people registered for anti-racism trainings at the time. It was the height of the COVID pandemic, the heart of the first Trump administration, and a time of intense soul searching on race, police violence, and institutional and personal responsibility. Many people of faith prayed, marched, and searched their own hearts and institutions for where change should occur. Others didn’t.

Five years later, it’s tempting to say that not much has changed, that the passion for racial justice has cooled, and that things are worse than they were before. Our ARC trainings, open to all, are no longer bursting at the seams, though they continue.

According to a May Pew Research Center report, people’s energy for racial justice work and their hope in lasting change has declined. According to the report:

In recent years, Americans have become less optimistic about the future of racial equality for Black people. Among those who say the U.S. still has work to do in this area, 51% now say it is very or somewhat likely that Black people will eventually have equal rights with White people. This is down from 60% in September 2020.

As was the case five years ago, most White adults (61%) who say the country still has work to do say it’s likely that Black people will eventually have equal rights with White people. This is much larger than the shares of Black (32%), Hispanic (50%), and Asian adults (41%) who say the same.

Two-thirds of Black adults who think the country hasn’t made enough progress on racial equality say that eventual equality with White people is not too or not at all likely. About six-in-ten Asian adults (59%) and 49% of Hispanic adults say the same.

It’s important to remember that the Pew report is a measure of people’s perceptions about race and racism. And these views aren’t surprising given the state of the country at present, and the dismantling of diversity, equity, inclusion, and accessibility efforts in government, businesses, and social institutions.

Being hopeful and committed in the face of such anniversaries is hard, I admit, especially on dismal rainy Thursdays like today. But I also believe that as people of faith, formed around the death of resurrection of Jesus, we have some chops for staying in the game even when it feels like we’re on the losing side. The Easter story that we’re immersed in right now was one that the early church told over and over again even as disciples were being arrested and executed for their faith. The rituals that we inherited include death as part of the story – dying to self in baptismal waters, consuming broken bread, and sipping wine to recall a broken body and spilled blood. Meanwhile, the social practices of that early church defied the Roman culture of death and violence around them – loving one another, eating together across class difference, sharing goods in common, healing the sick, and counting the poor and vulnerable as family members. These were culturally subversive ways of saying no to empire and yes to God’s Kingdom. And the joy that they engendered allowed these communities to celebrate new members, to honor their martyrs, to hold dear those who had suffered and survived, and to find beauty and poetry in that shared life.

Remember that in the five years after Jesus’ crucifixion, the Pharisee Saul was still actively arresting Christians. The numbers were small and the consequences high. The Jesus event didn’t change the world immediately or even completely, if our current moment is any indication. But it did foster the kind of community life and practice that release the love of Christ into the world in every generation. And it still does.

On days when the Pew Charitable Trust tells me nothing has changed since the death of George Floyd, I remember this: racial justice and repair is the same practice of love, repentance, community-making, and joyful celebration that my Christian faith has formed in me – in fact, it is a deep expression of it. I remind myself that since 2020 more than 300 people have taken diocesan-sponsored Anti-Racism workshops, and I’ve met many of them. I look to the people that I work with and am reminded of the restorative power of friends who share the work, small groups and large.

As followers of Jesus, we have long practiced our faith in the Gospel even while many in the wider world celebrated and fostered evil and harm. And we have always done this with the belief that God changes the world through such defiant love. Racial justice and repair has the same muscle memory — the practice of relationship, the humility of being with difference, the call to hear a story not our own, and the willingness to try again when we fail to live up to the ideals we cherish.

Our martyrs remind us of the urgency of the work and of its cost. On your feast day this Sunday, George Floyd, please pray for us.