On Freeing Captives and Being the Light: A Sermon After the Minneapolis ICE Shooting

 In the name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

From the Prophet Isaiah: “These are the words of the Lord who is God, who created the heavens and stretched them out, who fashioned the earth and everything that grows in it, giving breath to its people and life to those who walk on it: I the Lord have called you with righteous purpose and taken you by the hand; I have formed you, and destined you to be a light for peoples, a lamp for nations, to open eyes that are blind, to bring captives out of prison, out of the dungeon where they lie in darkness.”

This has been God’s message, God’s hope, God’s dream for humanity from the start: that we would be free. That we would see. That we would live in the light. Even more, that we would be the light, filled by the radiant power of God’s mighty Spirit. This is central to the calling of the people of ancient Israel, as well the disciples of Christ, who share in his baptismal life of transformation—transformation of our souls and our world, from something broken to something alive, from captivity in the darkest dungeon to abundant life in the light and glory of God.

Unfortunately, over the past week, the light has felt especially dim. Many of you know that I am from Minneapolis. I was born there. My parents were born there, as were three of four grandparents. My immigrant ancestors—great-grandparents, two from Sweden and two from Finland, made Minneapolis their home along with many other Scandinavians. Because it was cold? More likely because they could be with others who shared the same language, culture, and religion, while enjoying the incredible freedom and opportunity that this young nation offered.

My Finnish great-grandparents opened the first grocery store in their community. They founded a church across the street from their house for fellow Finnish immigrants as well. My Swedish great-grandparents met in Minneapolis and were married in a Swedish Episcopal Church in 1899. When my great-grandmother died in childbirth, her gravestone was beautifully carved in Swedish, still visible in Minneapolis’ pioneer cemetery. After my great-grandfather remarried, he built a home for his family. A cherished photo from 1909 shows the house with the family of seven outside and an American flag flying from a tall flagpole. Proud of their heritage. Proud to be American, too. The descendants of these immigrants are many, hundreds even. They served in the two world wars, opened a successful bakery, worked in factories and offices. Their great-grandson is vicar of the Old North Church.

Over the past week, the city they and I called home was ground zero for US government action, with officers in battle gear, carrying lethal weapons, wearing masks, overtaking city streets, in search of today’s immigrants. In the process, Renee Good, an American citizen, was shot and killed in her car. I won’t debate justification for the officer’s action. That needs to be investigated. But, usually, there are alternatives to lethal force. The residential streets of Minneapolis are not a war zone. This was about three miles from my great-grandfather’s house, the one that raised the American flag over an immigrant family.

On Friday, a family friend, who is Native American, was questioned by ICE in a Target parking lot. Thankfully she had identification and could prove her citizenship, but now she’s afraid to leave her home. Other Native Americans have been similarly stopped and detained, perhaps because they have darker skin, or a different accent, or insufficient ID. 

Here’s the thing. I don’t carry my passport or birth certificate with me everywhere I go. I lived in Canada for five years, an immigrant there, and I didn’t carry my passport and student visa every day. Because I am white and speak with a midwestern accent (a little less Minnesotan than it was 30 years ago), I am most likely safe. Then again, Renee Good was white, with a midwestern accent, and she was killed, shot by law enforcement three times: first through her windshield and then twice through her open window. The residential streets of Minneapolis are not a war zone. They just aren’t. So how did we come to this? How do we get out?

The America my ancestors immigrated to was not perfect. They settled on land taken from Native Americans by a government that failed to uphold its treaty commitments. The country was founded on an economy that relied on slavery. People of color, including those born here, have long feared the government and their neighbors in ways that I can’t begin to understand. Yet we have always said that at our deepest value we believe that all men, all people, are created equal, endowed by God with certain inalienable rights: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. That’s promise that drew my ancestors here, likely many of yours as well. How do we recapture that dream? How do we shine the light and bring the transformation that is so needed, right now?

I don’t know what to do about Washington, except vote, and stay engaged, and be vocal about what’s right and what’s wrong. We might add “Do not be afraid,” as the angels so often urge. Most importantly, I believe we are called to be the light ourselves. That’s the message we hear in Isaiah’s prophecy and it is the message in baptism as well—in Jesus’ baptism and in ours.

My favorite theologian, Frederick Denison Maurice, was an Anglican priest who lived between 1805 and 1872. He spoke of baptism as the sacrament of constant union. In baptism we are united to God in Christ and through him, to the whole human race and even the whole universe. He preached: “Each of us is baptized as a sign that his life is not in himself but in Christ, and Christ gives us His Holy Spirit in baptism to testify that we are united to Him, and are the sons [and daughters] of God in Him, and have power to do the work He gives us to do.” Elsewhere he writes, “Men are told that they are made in the image of God: how could it be that they knew not.  Here is [God’s] express image, not shown in the heavens above, nor in the earth beneath, but in a man.… In [Christ] we find how humanity has been a holy thing, though each man felt himself to be unholy…. In [Christ] it is proved how humanity us meant to have a dwelling with God.”

This is who we are and how we are called to be. God’s express image, with power to do God’s work, while recognizing God’s reflection in our neighbors as well, whatever their background, color, or immigrant status. We are called to recognize God’s reflection in Renee Good, in neighbors who are afraid, in those in desperate for a better life. We need to be the light that casts out darkness, frees the captives from dungeons, and helps others to see. Because that is who we are. That is the life of Christ, into which we, too, were baptized.

“These are the words of the LORD who is God, who created the heavens and stretched them out, who fashioned the earth and everything that grows in it, giving breath to its people and life to those who walk on it: I the LORD have called you with righteous purpose and taken you by the hand; I have formed you, and destined you to be a light for peoples, a lamp for nations, to open eyes that are blind, to bring captives out of prison, out of the dungeon where they lie in darkness.”

God needs us to make it so.

To God be the glory: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

© The Revd Matthew P. Cadwell, PhD