In amongst the potatoes this evening, I’m making signs.  I started to edit the photo, you know, make it Instagram-worthy. But I decided it was a good representation of how things really are.

You see, my life, like my kitchen counters, is cluttered with stuff and tasks and obligations. I could create an artsy sign-making photo  and pretend I live in House Beautiful. But that’s living a lie. (And besides, if you know me, you know… my counters are cluttered with dirty dishes, mail, and… potatoes!)

Here’s the issue, the ugly truth that we who have white privilege have to admit: when it comes to social justice and living out our faith, we either make time for it (in the middle of the mess of our lives), or we move on, busy and oblivious, and go on about our business.

So tonight, I’m making signs. Signs for my fellow marchers, friends or strangers. Signs for an obvious statement that has not been said loud enough and often enough.

BLACK LIVES MATTER.

Despite all the years of our black brothers and sisters  praying, preaching, protesting, speaking out and acting out, the signs are still necessary.

Like many of you, I have been silent too long. I have let the “stuff” of life fill my calendar and my commitments. I have said one thing… and done another. Let me be clear: We have not stood with our friends and co-workers, fellow clergy and lawmakers. We have just… done nothing. And said (probably, no — actually) way too much.

Tomorrow is the 54th Anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr’s “I Have a Dream” speech.
The Dream is still there… quietly percolating to the top, alive with hope and promise.
The Dream is still there… motivating, cajoling, reminding, challenging, encouraging and emboldening us.
The Dream is still there… unrealized.

We are late to the protest, but join you in solidarity. As long as we need to carry signs and protest, we will…

Black Lives Matter.

I Can’t Breathe.

Hands up. Don’t Shoot.

Say Her Name.

Say His Name.

Silence is Violence.