Two sides of the wet field are fringed by neon-bright gorse
bushes. The flowers glare a warning – the thorns are not to be messed with. I rarely
walk in that boggy field, but when I do, I enter and exit through the gate.
There are so many unjust things going on in the world right
now. Perhaps the lock down due to the pandemic has given many of us more time
to reflect; perhaps that reflective time has contributed to the global outrage against
racism which is sweeping the world as a result of the brutal racist murder of
George Floyd in Minneapolis. It’s past time for such outrage to effect real
change.
We are all called to walk through that boggy field. I have
only recently become more aware of the historic horror of racism which has
persisted despite the Emancipation Proclamation, despite the outcome of the
American Civil War. It feels like a virulent virus which has been under my
radar in many ways, for most of my life, and now I am awaking to the despicable
truth that slavery was never really abolished: it just expressed itself in a
different form which has kept our black sisters and brothers oppressed and justifiably
fearful.
I am moving into that boggy field now, joining other
protesters with placards saying Black Lives Matter, determined to do what I can
to make a difference. There are thorns around that field, thorns which need to
be tackled, but for me it is important to enter through the gate. Jesus is the
gate through which we pass. I look to him for guidance on how I can make a
difference. I’m sure there will be a time when we tackle the thorns, together.
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