The Beautiful Complexity of God-and of the World

(Guest Sermon by Rev. Marisa Tabizon Thompson)

Year A, Trinity Sunday

June 6-7, 2020

Each year we celebrate the Holy Trinity on the weekend after Pentecost. I am going to guess that it is the least popular preaching date for everyone – ministers and those who have to listen to us as we go through a set of mental gymnastics to try and explain the unexplainable. Three in one, one in three. Each distinct yet not divisible. Et cetera. I am going to skip all the heavy theology talk this year and instead try to paint a picture of duality within myself, because while it is not the same as the Trinity, there are some visible and experiential ways to think about how three make one and one makes three.

About a week ago, I had the opportunity to make a recording for one of the virtual choirs you may have seen popping up lately. Dr. Sandra Montes, a force for good in The Episcopal Church through music, academia, and more, invited people to come together to sing, “Siyahamba.” Found in our Wonder Love and Praise hymnal, this is a beloved song that was often a part of our worship in Divinity School. I love this song because it is fun, frequently inspiring dancing in pews and encouraging people to join with things like maracas and tambourines. The words of the song are simple and strong: we are marching in the light of God. And one of my favorite things about the song is that it is multilingual, sung in Swahili, Spanish, and English.

This simple song represents a lot of things for me, but today I want to focus on the

Grandma and Grandpa Tabizon with Zoe and Patrick

multiple languages aspect of the song. Growing up, I felt both fully White and distinctly Latina and Native American. We lived in the suburbs, had a cat, and even built a picket fence that we painted white. We ate hamburgers and pizza. Yet, I also have early memories of sitting with family members, learning to make tortillas and tamales, enchiladas, and chorizo con huevos. I loved seeing all the bright colors and joining in the singing and dancing at pow wows. All of these things seemed normal. The co-existence of my world and self was rarely disrupted.

It wasn’t all rosy. The casual aggressions, fear, and misunderstandings run deep and show themselves in small ways. I had a friend who freaked out when my legs were too dark for the nude nylons she wanted us to wear at her wedding. Until my name changed from Tabizon to Thompson, I was subject to a full “random” search by airport security almost every time I flew (but only once in the almost 15 years since). Despite great grades, professors would tell me I was only in honors classes because they needed a Hispanic for statistics. And more seriously, I remember my mom telling me that because of documented issues and racism, we would have to tell people my dad was Hawaiian instead of Mexican when he was coming home late after a work or community meeting. I can go on, but I think you get the point. But even that scariest last one was not too bad. To my knowledge, none of my closer relatives have been incarcerated because of brown skin. None of my relatives have been killed because of brown skin.

Despite those few examples, I still relished the richness of a dual cultural identity. I found it to be a good thing, something that was, on paper, lifted up as an asset of our melting pot nation. The older I grew, though, the more cognitive dissonance I found in how we understand, talk about, and respond to identity, to different cultures and races. What once felt like a normal combination now feels like society is forcing a choice. In college, I remember that the Latino students thought I was too White and the White students thought I was too Latina. We are told to claim a race/culture and support that allegiance to the point of exclusion. And not only does this make me exhausted, but it also leads to great division and rancor.

And as you probably have seen, the last couple of weeks have been filled with very public acts of violence. It is my belief and experience that this is not actually a new phenomenon but rather that the acts have been so egregious, and the press so engaged, that we are seeing more. We are seeing the people recognize and judge the “other” much faster and more completely than they recognize common humanity. We are seeing that racism is not limited to people in white hoods but is found perhaps suddenly and unconsciously in many of us. I am not saying that everyone is racist. I do, however, believe that everyone has the capacity to fail to uphold the dignity of all, despite the profession we make in our Baptismal vows. I believe we can be too quick to judge others as right or wrong, good or bad, scary, and safe.

One of the Omaha heroes that I have learned about since moving here is the creator of Boys Town, Father Flanagan. When he established Boys Town 100 years ago, he addressed this issue of institutional racism and exclusion by openly making space for a diversity of kids. In 1921, 100 years ago, he said, “I see no disaster threatening us because of any particular race, creed, or color. But I do see danger for all in an ideology which discriminates against anyone politically or economically because he or she was born into the ‘wrong’ race, has skin of the ‘wrong’ color, or worships at the ‘wrong’ altar.”

In a week we will launch our summer Vacation Bible School program. For 8 weeks, we will reflect on stories of creation. I don’t want to go too far down that road right now, but I encourage you to read the Old Testament lesson appointed for this weekend. The first chapter of Genesis in the first creation story in our Bible, our sacred text. And notice how after each day, each part, is created, God calls it good. That which God makes is good. That which God loves it good. That which God offers is good.

What is happening right now is evil and an abomination. As a people of faith who are taught to recognize the forces of good and evil, it is time for us to call out and name that evil, the evil that makes nationalism more important than faith, the evil that makes racial and cultural stratification more important than the duty to care for all, the evil that makes pursuit of my comfort more important than socioeconomic justice, the evil that calls women, people who identify as LGBTQIA, non-whites, older people or younger people, or any group of people inferior, the evil that allows people to be murdered for being other and reserves our outrage for destruction of property. As a people of faith, it is time to stand up and say what is good.

I do not expect that any single one of us is suddenly going to make the whole world right, eliminating all the isms or inequality overnight. I do, however, expect those of us who proclaim faith and belief in God not to see others as objects but as humans worthy of dignity and love. I do expect us to recognize that the one we follow is not one who has been tapped by man but rather the God who created humanity. Most of all, I do expect us to treat one another better, loving ourselves and our neighbors as ourselves. And a big part of that is recognizing the richness of multiple aspects and layers of identity. I would not be the same person if I was just White or just Latina. Siyahamba would not be the same if it was sung in just one language instead of three. And God would not be the same to us if we knew only the Father, or only the Son, or only the Holy Spirit.

Where that leaves us today is with an urgent need to recognize that the question shouldn’t be which is best or most beautiful or safest or anything like that. Rather, our question is, “how do we live into the magnificent complexity of the world, a world which God made and called good?” The lesson from Second Corinthians today is the end of Paul’s letter. As he says his farewell, he tells the people just what we need to hear from Paul, from God, and in our hearts, “Put things in order, listen to my appeal, agree with one another, live in peace.”

Amen.

Rev. Marisa Tabizon-Thompson