I arrived in Ferguson on Sunday, August 9, finding activists engaged in resistance through protest. Police paddy wagons were arriving, and their stance was changing – the atmosphere was shifting. I made my way through the crowd.
The police are preparing to aggress, which will include arrests. Are you straight? If you don’t make it home tonight, are your babies good? Is your car secure? If you don’t make it to work tomorrow, are you good?
As activists realized that the police were preparing their next move, many started toward the sidewalks. Our nonchalant walk turned to running for cover as shots rang out behind us. Activists were frantically looking for their protest partners, family members and children – it was terrifying!
When we were able to reenter the area, activists again faced off with police. In the chaos one young man just sat down in the middle of the street. Police yelled at him to move, but he was too traumatized.
I urged him, “C’mon, baby, let’s go.” He looked up and asked, “How long? How long do I have before they take me out? If the streets don’t get us, the police will.”
Tears were running down his face, so I just sat on the street with him until he was ready.
Later in the night we were sitting in the street again—this time in front of the police.
“You’re a pastor, right?” he asked. Yes.
“Then you talk to God, right?” Well, yes.
“Can you tell me why God lets this stuff happen?”
Right there in the middle of West Florissant, with police in riot gear before us and shouts of F* the Police behind us, this young man and I engaged the issue of theodicy which has plagued humankind since existence: Where is God in the presence of evil?
I answered, “Us sitting here together – watching out for each other and fighting with each other – is the presence of God on earth.”
My answer felt lame then and feels lame now. However, in that moment it seemed to bring him comfort. He squeezed my hand and we chanted together, “The people. United. Shall never be defeated.”
I believe folks struggle with seeing God in the uprising because what they see is interpreted as hate toward the men and women line officers. The officers serve as enforcers of the system of oppression hell-bent on genocide and therefore receive verbal condemnation. The words chanted, spoken, yelled and cussed are not out of hate for police, but rather out of love of and desperation for life.
Too many of our young people live with the reality of never knowing when their time is up. Daily harassed by police who exploit authority and flex power, the community is constantly on edge. Parents, myself included, have a permanent lump in our stomachs, which stirs every time our black children venture out.
This reality begs the question, “Who do you protect? Who do you serve?”
As I write this, the community was again terrorized by teargas, pepper spray and rubber bullets while grieving two more state-sanctioned murders of young black men. Again, I stood on the street with young men and women who wonder if they will be next.
The policies and practices that lead police to shoot to kill and allow police to shoot persons fleeing must be changed. Those who order and allow chemical warfare against citizens in our neighborhoods must be changed.
The system will be disturbed, disrupted and resisted until it bends toward justice. No justice, no peace.
So, where is God? God is in our fight for justice – in our words on the streets and in the meetings; in our songs and chants; in our memorials and videos; in our banners, signs and gigantic kites.
God is in our resistance.
I know. I know that we will win—we are winning.
Rev. Renita Lamkin is an ordained itinerant elder in the African Methodist Episcopal Church pursuing a doctorate in ministry in social justice from Eden Seminary.
