Sermon on February 14, 2021: Blessed Absalom Jones
A sermon for the commemoration of blessed Absalom Jones, by the Rev. Matthew Simpson
I have the privilege of preaching on the life and legacy of another saint in our calendar: Absalom Jones, whose feast day was yesterday, but at the request of our Bishop, is being honored in parishes around our Diocese today.
So who is Absalom Jones?
Absalom Jones was born a slave in Delaware in 1746. When he was 17 he was separated from his mother and siblings as they were sold to another slave owner, and he was moved to Philadelphia with his master, a vestryman of Christ Church. In 1784 he was finally freed by his master. That same year he officially joined St. George’s Church of the newly established Methodist denomination in Philadelphia. However, in 1792, St. George’s enforced a rule where only white members could sit and pray on the first floor, while all black members had to go in the balcony. Jones and his fellow black colleague Richard Allen walked out with the rest of the black congregants. Richard Allen would go on to form the African Methodist Episcopal Church. While remaining friends, Absalom Jones choose a different path.
In 1793 the Yellow Fever Pandemic struck Philadelphia. And while white clergy and other white privileged lay members fled the city. Absalom Jones and Black Christians remained in Philadelphia tending to the sick regardless of race. History books are not concerned with how many of our Black Christian brethren died serving in that pandemic, but indeed it lived out our Gospel lesson today: “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” Enough were lost by the Black Christian community so that the standing of Jones and those Black Christians became such that they were granted permission to form The African Episcopal Church of St. Thomas in 1794. Absalom Jones was allowed ordination to the transitional diaconate in 1795, and to the priesthood in 1802. However, although ordained a priest, neither he, nor St. Thomas Church ever had a vote or voice at Convention. In fact, it was not until the 1890s that St. Thomas and other historically black parishes would be welcome at Diocesan Convention.
His remaining ministry was spent to his congregation and towards the abolishment of slavery. He died in 1818.
I find the honoring of Absalom Jones problematic from a white perspective. As a Christian saint his life is awe-inspiring, and it is clear to see that he was touched by the Holy Spirit in a special way to be honored as one of our saints. Born a slave boy, he found ways to teach himself to read, which was an illegal practice at the time. Even though he was separated from his family because of the barbaric institution of slavery, he chose to have a new family with a wife and children, and he used all his resources to get his wife freed before himself. For it was the law if a child was born to a black freewoman, the child was free. Even though the Church had given him no real reason to stay loyal—segregation in the pews, a prolonged transitional diaconate, never given an equal voice or vote at Diocesan Convention—he remained loyal and committed to Her. And we can look back now, and see those things which he so ardently fought for were not only on the right side of history, but more importantly, were the echoes of that prophetic Spirit that has been with us since Pentecost. By the evident grace of God, Absalom Jones, stands and points to God, which is the role of any saint.
But Absalom has another part to play in that he brings to attention to our Church’s participation in this nation’s legacy of racism. And to look at him on this day is also to face our own history, our progress, our sins. Yesterday, Bishop Carlye Hughes of the Diocese of Newark gave a great sermon at the Commemoration of The Blessed Absalom Jones. In her sermon she said a profound statement that I think sheds some light on where we are, and what we are to do with this feast day as a Church. Bishop Hughes states
“We are at a time, at a moment in the history of our nation, and a moment in the history of our Church, at a moment in the history of ourselves as faithful people; at a moment that is full of challenge and full of opportunity, that is complex and confounding; at a moment where sometimes we feel like we’re able to make a difference, and sometimes we’re wondering if anything we say or do has any impact at all, and on some level we know one thing to be true: that the things that are done and left undone in this moment, will reverberate, long past us beyond our children, beyond our children’s children to generations that we will not know.”
In this mindset, I imagine how Absalom Jones’ Day sermons would have sounded and looked different throughout history from a white perspective. Of course, in 1802, before such a day existed, a sermon would have addressed the white voices that showed angst for ordaining a black man to the priesthood. Assurances no doubt were made, that even though this Jones character was ordained, he would never preach or celebrate the Eucharist in a white parish, and he would never attend or have a vote in Diocesan Convention. In any integrated parishes in the Church, whites would be on the first floor, while black folk would be in the balconies. No doubt Ephesians 4 which we read today saying, “There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to one hope: one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all,” would be read without a blink or blush. And the white laity in the Church would be assured not to worry, a diversity of opinions on the enslavement of human beings would still be honored and permitted. In fact, The Episcopal Church never took a stance on slavery until after the Civil War. Those things done and left undone reverberate long past us.
An Absalom Jones sermon in the 1890s from a white perspective would boast about how The Episcopal Church ordained a black man so early compared to other denominations. And after a century of membership in the Church, black churches in this Diocese were finally being allowed to vote at Diocesan Convention. However, as the darkness of Jim Crow was descending upon the South, the Church largely sat back believing it had done enough; and, desiring to avoid controversy either placated or participated in white supremacy. The damage done by the silence of good white Christians is unmistakable. In 1877, only 12 years out from the Civil War and as Reconstruction ended, over 1500 black officials had been elected to office, from local government to the U.S. Senate. But as Jim Crow Laws took effect, as a scourge of malicious legislation backed by state-sanctioned violence and lynchings darkened the land, the Black Vote in the South was suppressed from 80% participation in the 1870s to less than 1% by the turn of the 20th Century. In the coming decades, lynchings would be public events of entertainment for church-going white folk, who would bring food, and sell postcards of the event entitled, “sorry you missed the BBQ.” The formation of the Ku Klux Klan also occurred during this time by so-called Christians, and they would adopt a Satanic appropriation of Christian symbolism, and burn crosses as symbols of white terrorism. The Church, wanting to avoid controversy, and looking back at what it had done as being enough, unknowingly co-signed onto a system of white terrorism and white supremacy that we still bear the wounds of as a nation today. Those things done and left undone reverberate long past us.
An Absalom Jones sermon in the 1960s from a white perspective, would again boast on how early we were to ordaining a black man to the priesthood. But, the views would vary widely after that depending on where you were at in The Episcopal Church. Bishops and Dioceses in the South still largely backed segregation and compliance with white supremacy and Jim Crow Laws. However, in other parts of the Church there was an awakening happening. In the 1960s numerous Episcopal Clergyman and members of The Executive Council were arrested at protests at various times advocating for Civil Rights. In 1962, The Diocese of Massachusetts elected our first African-American Bishop Suffragan, Bishop John Burgess. The following year, in 1963, Presiding Bishop Arthur Lichtenberger issued a "Whitsunday Statement" committing the Episcopal Church to maximum participation in the Civil Rights Movement. In 1964, General Convention officially prohibited racial discrimination in parishes. And my personal favorite, the Ash Wednesday Protest in 1969, where a bunch of clergy, took all the racist materials in the official Church curriculum, burned them and made them into ashes and imposed them on persons seeking penitence from the sin of racism. There were parishes like The Church of the Epiphany in L.A. known as the birth of the Chicano Civil Rights Movement, the Church of the Advocate in Philadelphia host of The National Conference of Black Power, the Black Panther Conference, and The Ordination of the First Women in the Episcopal Church. And while we know there was systemic racism in the House of Bishops during this time, we also had figures like Pauli Murray, the theologian and social justice advocate, and Johnathan Myrick Daniels, whose martyrdom had a profound impact on the church. I would imagine from a white perspective, a sermon during this time would be fraught with anxiety, excitement, and personal conflicts of following that calling to the Kingdom of God, but being pressured not to cause too much controversy. I think though this time in the Church had an impact on us as well as society; it bears noting that all these penitent acts around racism occurred as a new prayer book was being formed in The Episcopal Church. I don’t think it is a stretch to say the faithful actions of Episcopalians in this time, helped shape our Baptismal Covenant and Theology we have today. Those things done and left undone reverberate long past us.
And of course, the question for us is how will an Absalom Jones sermon look like in 50 years? How will we be perceived and judged by future generations? How will our actions or non-action reverberate through time? On the eve of another wave of legislative efforts to suppress the Black vote in the South, will the Church sit back again? In 50 years will there finally be a lament and shame from the Church in the South for its evil Confederate past, and for its complicity during Jim Crow? As political violence and gun violence become more commonplace, will they look back and see we chose courage and faith in the Kingdom of God, or that we chose acquiescence for safety’s sake? Will we be seen as an institution bringing about the end of white supremacy, embracing power-sharing, which inevitably means wealth-sharing in the church, or will we be a corpse of institution dwelling in the stasis of injustice? After 50 more years, will we have lived more fully into that Baptismal Covenant, seeking out and incorporating into the community the outcast, the disenfranchised, and those different from us, even if that means it calls on us to change our worship style? Will we be a church that embraces in its entirety the joy and zest the Black Church is already experiencing? (I often laugh inside during the service when we recite dully, “my soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my Spirit rejoices in God my Savior.”… but does it though?) With dwindling numbers and strained budgets and pandemic about, will they look back and see and know that when the threat of extinction was around us, we chose the pursuit of justice for the oppressed, we chose the transformation guaranteed by the Gospel, we choose these things over the preservation of buildings? Will they see that we really believed what we proclaimed to believe in Jesus Christ and the Kingdom of God? Time will tell.
But it is my prayer and hope that the Church, with myself included, will be given the grace of courage and the will to follow the Holy Spirit to that undiscovered country of racial justice and equity, knowing that in this journey it will require lament, repentance and reconciliation for our racial past and present in this country.
We find ourselves in a critical moment. What will we as a Church do with it?
“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”
Amen.