Holy Ground

 

 Yesterday was such a moving and powerful day. I arrived in Louisville, KY on Saturday in preparation for the Sunday service. I unwittingly gave away my location by checking in at a restaurant on Saturday to show off how adorable Rubi is! But that was okay because I knew the exact location would remain a surprise.

I spoke from Jefferson Square, a small park across the street from a row of courthouses that has been Ground Zero for the Breonna Taylor protests. I wanted All Souls to see the power of this place; it is hallowed ground, made sacred by the tears and sorrow, anger and determination, pride and relentless love of those who now occupy this land.

There is always some activity happening at the Square. When I arrived at a little before noon, a man others referred to as Papa was setting up the shade awning and putting out snacks and masks on a table in the center. There were also several ice chests with cold water for anyone that asked. On the corner of the block, three folx staffed tables that had a wide variety of t-shirts, hoodies, masks, and bumper stickers for sale, all proclaiming a message of justice.

Behind the table were tents, populated by folx experiencing homelessness who took it upon themselves to watch over the shrine of remembrance dedicated to Breonna Taylor, making sure to keep it safe from the elements or from anyone wishing to vandalize it.

The shrine has grown since I was here in late July; people have come from around the country to pay homage to the untimely death, the senseless murder of Breonna Taylor. There are signs, candles, flowers, living plants. Volunteers keep it tidy, honoring the sacredness of these offerings. When it looks like rain or high winds are headed in, it is covered with a large tarp to protect it. While I was there, someone was watering all the living plants while another volunteer canvassed the park picking up litter and debris.

I started my sermon by saying: Today I am standing in a place of witness,  a place of protest, a place of

power, a place of memory, a place of action, a place of sorrow, a place of love. I went on to speak of how not only do the supports of justice for Breonna Taylor focus on getting justice for her murder, but they also open their hearts and resources to the folx populating the park who are unhoused. They have formed a community of black and white, housed and unhoused, young and old. People from a variety of faith traditions gather there to pray, offer communion, join in rallies and marches.

Even the barricading of the streets by the city of Louisville hasn’t stopped people from making their way to this hallowed ground. When I was there on Saturday for the Zoom worship rehearsal, I met a woman who had travelled from Ohio to take part in a rally. She noted it was difficult to get to, due to the huge concrete barriers, but she was determined to make it there.

Of course, the most sacred moment happened during the Sunday service, when I realized that Breonna Taylor’s mom, Tamika Palmer was there. She was just sitting on a ledge a few feet away from me. People would come up to express their condolences and to say Breonna’s name.

During the offertory song, while I was muted on Zoom, I went over to share my sorrow at her loss and asked if she would be willing to say a few words to All Souls on Zoom. She graciously agreed; it was such a powerful, moving moment. In that instant, it brought home to me how what we do as individuals and as a community of faith really matters. We touch lives thousands of miles away with our words, our actions, our determination to be the change we seek.

I couldn’t have known I would have the opportunity to meet Tamika Palmer, I just knew I had to speak from the hallowed ground of Jefferson Square and share that window of justice with you. We never know what sacred space we will find when we walk out of our door. I am reminded of the story of Moses, in the Hebrew scriptures, out for a walk, when he sees a bush that burned but was not consumed and went over to examine it only to discover he had crossed over to another plane of existence, one of unending grace and power and divinity. “Take off your shoes, Moses,” the voice of the Holy said, “You’re standing on holy ground.”

There in Jefferson Square, listening to Tamika Palmer address All Souls, with the shrine of remembrance to her daughter in the background, I felt crossed over; I was in a place of unending grace and power and divinity. I was on holy ground.