Rhetoric Race and Religion
On Monday, more than 400 Episcopalians spent a few hours in cold and snowy Washington, DC, praying a modern-day stations of the cross as a public witness against gun violence. More than 20 bishops were there in their purple/magenta cassocks, and a few hundred clergy in their collars. All of the witnesses were following a large, prominent cross throughout the city, stopping to pray at the Capitol Building, Ford’s Theater, the White House, and the War Memorials, among other places. (Photo from Kevin Eckstrom via Religion News Service).
The procession actually disrupted traffic on Pennsylvania Avenue at one point, and garnered plenty of media attention throughout the journey. My friends and colleagues tweeted and posted pictures along the way. Their public witness reached far beyond the city and those who saw them on the streets. I was so proud of my church and the many friends I had among the crowd. I longed to be with them.
I have a rather tortured history with public witness and protest. I don’t come to it easily or naturally. My first public protest was ten years ago last week, when the United States began its campaign of “shock and awe” against Iraq. In the days leading up to March 19, 2003, I participated in a peace march. I joined with a crowd of about 100 people in Toledo, Ohio to participate in a candlelight vigil to pray and witness for peace.
I was ill at ease, uncomfortable, unsure. We were out there, on the public streets, with signs and candles. People saw us. I wasn’t sure what to do, or what purpose it all served, but there I was, a protester. The war started anyway, of course. Despite my unease, I was proud to have made my feelings about the war known to others who felt the same way and to the public.
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