Homily | Trinity Sunday 2020 | Fr. Alonzo Cox
Today we celebrate the Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity. As Catholics, we believe that God is in three persons, that of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. It is in the Trinity that we are baptized into the one, holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church. When a priest or deacon baptizes an infant or an adult he says, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.” The Trinity is the epicenter of our faith as disciples of the Lord. We encounter God as Father, through his Son Jesus, united in the Holy Spirit. On this Trinity Sunday, may we continue to hold in our minds, hearts and souls, the eternal love that God has for us in these three persons.
We hear in today’s first reading how Moses uses the term, “stiff necked people”. “This is indeed a stiff-necked people.” Moses had no problem telling the God of Israel that the flock which he had been ordained to shepherd was as problematic as any group of people that had come before, or that would come after him. Stubborn, at-times ignorant, divisive, impatient, and yes, violent. It seems to me, even as this great Prophet helped free an entire civilization from bondage, that their human condition could simply not be helped. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to say that if I saw a guy stick a rod in the sand and part and whole body of water, with the goal of liberating my family from violent enslavement, I probably wouldn’t complain so much. It’s what I’d LIKE to say, but anyone who knows me knows I’m the guy who gets upset and wants to toss my cell-phone out the window, when I have to call GrubHub because they got my delivery order wrong, so take that as you will.
Right now, in our fair city, and across this nation, we are watching as people are banding together, standing in solidarity with the Black American community which is my community — as we once again express outrage at yet another murder of an unarmed Black citizen at the hands of a violent, bigoted, law enforcement officer. In addition, we are seeing how that justified outrage is translating into acts of vandalism and violence. All of this, lest we forget, amidst the backdrop of a horrifying pandemic, which, in addition to the tens of thousands of people on its death count, has disproportionately affected and killed countless Black & Brown Americans, simply because of issues like no access to the medical care necessary to fight COVID-19. For those of you who follow the social media platforms for my Parish, St. Martin de Porres, you saw, and heard, my homily last week. You witnessed my outrage at watching in horror as another member of my community was the victim of a racially charged summary execution by police; keeping in mind also that the death of George Floyd was one of several recent incidents, where an unarmed Black citizen, an unarmed Black American, fell by the hands, or the gun, of the very people who swore an oath to protect us.
“These are indeed a stiff-necked people, yet pardon our wickedness and our sins.”
The great thing about Moses’ prayer, as the God of Israel is in the midst of the faithful, is that he does not separate himself from his people, but rather invokes himself as a participant in the sinful nature of his flock. As a Black man raised in [what was until recently] a predominantly Black & Brown community in Brooklyn, I know all too well the kind of sins my community has committed against itself. I’ve seen the violence, I’ve heard about friends & neighbors becoming victims of senseless acts of theft and assault. I’ve watched, helpless, as good Black people have succumbed to the ills of addiction and depression. And yet, I cannot disassociate myself from people in my community who do these things, because “there but for the grace of God go I.”
You see, it’s easy for many of us to turn on the TV, watch these protests, see the violence, and demand that the people responsible be punished; of course, violence for violence’s sake should be held to account. But while it is heartbreaking to see a society dealing with this kind of turmoil, I think we need to be reminded of Moses, and his willingness to openly pray to God, and say, not, “pardon *their* wickedness and *their* sins,” but “pardon *our* wickedness and *our* sins.”
Racism, in these United States, is this country’s original sin.
And whether we like or not, whether we want to admit it or not, that sin persists, and that sin is why we are where we are today, in this very moment.
This past week, Gavin Newson, the governor of California, gave what I feel to be some of the most truthful reflections from non-Black political leaders on what is happening in our country today. Speaking as an elected official, he said that for all the violence that has happened in the past several days, and the obvious need to address it, he was clear: “Our institutions are responsible, WE are accountable to this moment.” For myself, as a shepherd of a beautiful three-church Parish, whose flock is comprised mostly of wonderful Black American & Caribbean Catholics, speaking also as Vicar for Black Catholic Concerns, I’ve seen far too many times how the despair and frustration of my people has either gone unnoticed — or unheeded — by the very institution which professes a spiritual commitment to uplifting and helping all God’s people. A commitment that is upheld by the Church at large.
We must always speak truth to power: Black & Brown people are still suffering, in our Church, in our nation, and in our world, because of the sin of racism, and this suffering has existed for centuries. Of course we want to stop this violence, and I am not supporting useless harm being done to our communities in light of these demonstrations.
But if this country — all of it — continues to act like the “stiff-necked people” Moses prayed for in the desert, if we fail to collectively recognize and provide restorative justice for the generations of bigotry, hatred, and oppression that got us here, then praying for God’s mercy may be the only recourse we have left.
St. Paul tells us in today’s 2nd reading, “Mend your ways, encourage one another, agree with one another, live in peace, and the God of love and peace will be with you.” We must remember, especially in times like these, that the God of love and peace is also, at all times, a God of justice. There is nothing right or just about the cyclical violence that is done to Black & Brown people because of the color of their skin. Keeping in mind that violence isn’t just physical. The emotional, psychological, and spiritual violence that my community has endured because of racism is so widespread, and so pervasive, that we have been willing to harm ourselves and each other in desperate attempts to free ourselves from it. But this is the very essence of American racism, and this is why we must see it as not only sinful, but systemic. We must be willing to dismantle any racist ideologies that make it acceptable — and profitable — for people to remain ignorant, or fully engage in its violence.
There is a wonderful saying among the great authors and thinkers of the Black American community, that we as a people have an incomparable way of being able to “shake the table.” To make racist people and institutions uncomfortable, pointing out their sin in word and deed, so as to make space for ourselves and our loved ones. I’m convinced that some of the inspiration for that idea comes from Christ Himself, who had no problem, literally, turning over tables, forcing vendors and money changers out of the temple. He did that without thinking, knowing the Jews at the time would be furious, because He knew it was right & just. Does any of this sound familiar? By today’s standards, many people would call what He did a violent protest too. And yet, all four Gospels give witness to the need for the Savior to “shake that table,” to get His message across: no one disgraces the House of my Father and gets away with it.
Brothers and Sisters, in our own way, in the face of the sin of racism, we must be willing to shake the table. To continue making the actions of racist people unacceptable, and bigoted institutions obsolete. History has shown that nonviolent acts of social justice can lead to major shifts in our world; as Christians, as Catholics, we are called to bring about justice in this way. St. Paul is clear when he tells the Corinthians to mend their ways; we must do the same. We must allow our God to guide our actions, ensuring that we will truly no longer tolerate or support the deadly effects of systemic racism anywhere, but especially in these United States. We must call on the Savior, Jesus Christ, to help mend and dispel this society’s ignorance, its bigotry, and needless violence. We must invoke the Holy Spirit so we can better use our gifts as we demand the restorative justice that Black & Brown Americans need and deserve.
As we move towards this goal, in love and solidarity, we look upon the one woman whose unbounded love for all of us has carried us through times even more difficult than these. Mary, our Mother, mirror of justice, and comforter of the afflicted. We ask our Blessed Mother to bring a full healing to all those afflicted by racism, that we may be agents of that healing, to uplift Black & Brown communities to a state of true freedom and self-acceptance, knowing that we are made in the image and likeness of her only begotten son: Christ Jesus, sent into the world, not to condemn it, but that through Him, it might be saved.
Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning is now and ever shall be; world without end, Amen.
