Bill Cosby has a routine about little old ladies who stand around looking cool. He says that if you mess with one of these harmless-looking, gray-haired little old ladies, don’t imagine that you can take them on and win. Says Cosby, you ought never to mess with a little old lady standing around looking cool. They may look small and sweet and weak. But just when you least expect it, that little old lady standing around looking cool will say something to stop you in your tracks and cut you down to size. Gruff Goliaths have been reduced to tears by little old ladies standing around looking cool. In fact, says Cosby, that’s how you get to be a little old lady, by standing around looking cool!
I think he means that if you can keep yourself together no matter what is going on around you; if you can marshal your inner resources, you can make it. You can be strong. You can prevail. And as the Bible puts it, you will not lose heart.
Standing around looking cool is a theme in the Christian experience. It is also a theme in the African-American experience. Silence, keeping your mouth shut, lest a job be lost or an insult be counted, or worse, a life be forfeited. Keeping quiet, though the mind and the heart want to speak up. Standing around looking cool.
Now in the African-American experience, it may sound like a betrayal for anybody to stand around looking cool. That may sound dangerously close to the old “yassuh shuffle” of yesteryear, when Uncle Tom and Aunt Jane were supposed to duck their eyes and agree to whatever Mr. Charley said. Standing around looking cool, quiet and collected in the face of whatever is happening – that might be mistaken for accepting insults and bowing to the system.
But I’m talking about more than simple silence. I’m talking about more than accommodating the system. I’m not speaking of cowardice or swallowing the bitter pill of prejudice. Standing around looking cool is what strong people do in a time of great stress. Standing around looking cool is what spiritual people do in a time of trial. That is indeed how you get to be a little old lady or a gentle old man or a great saint – standing around looking cool.
Thank you, St. Cosby, for that word! I don’t think it’s a whole lot different from Paul’s word:
“We do not lose heart. Even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day. For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure, because we look not at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen; for what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal.”
Sterling Allen Brown was a great voice, lifting up the African-American experience in poetry. His poetry is special, for he used the language of the people as well as the language of the academy. Brown heard the people, deep down, and in his poetry blended dialect with a style like his contemporaries Carl Sandburg and Robert Frost. When you hear dialect in Sterling Brown’s poetry, it is never a putdown. It is always the heart of the people, rendered faithfully.
One of the most celebrated of Sterling Brown’s poems is, “Strong Men”. It is a conversation between the poet and the people. The poet describes the horrors of racism, the middle passage, and onward. But the people counter, in dialect, with sage wisdom and a shrewd spirit. What the scholar sees and understands, the people have already understood. And they express their understanding by “standing around looking cool”. Remember – that’s not being passive. That’s not doing the “yassuh shuffle”. That’s not giving in to the abuse of power. It’s strength. Great strength.
What does it mean to be strong by standing around looking cool? Sterling Brown’s poem, “Strong Men” can help us grasp the African-American experience; and Paul’s powerful word in Second Corinthians can put it all into spiritual context.
I
First of all, let’s face it, life deals us crushing blows. Things happen to people that are so horrible they exceed what the most daring storyteller might make up. Who would have imagined that man’s cruelty to man would mean that human beings, made in the image of God, might be snatched from homes and families, herded like cattle into the holds of ships, and made to lie in stifling heat and sickening filth for months? Words cannot do justice to the terror of the middle passage. Sterling Brown can approximate it in a few pointed words:
“They dragged you from the homeland,
They chained you in coffles,
They huddled you spoon-fashion in filthy hatches,
They sold you to give a few gentlemen ease.
They broke you in like oxen,
They scourged you,
They branded you ..”
The African-American experience began with something so crushing that it is a miracle that anybody at all survived. And yet survive they did, and thrive. Though many died, many also lived to do the work for which they had been bought, and kept at it for years and years. How could they do that? How can you explain it? Why did they not just buckle under the load and die? Why did they not simply yield to the heat and succumb to the filth?
Sterling Brown heard what the people said:
“Keep a-inchin’ along
Lak a po’ inch worm ...”
By and bye
I’m gonna lay down this heavy load...”
“Keep a-inchin’ along, lak a po’ inch worm.” Sterling Brown heard that; Paul heard it too: “We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed.” Afflicted in every way – enslaved, beaten, captured, overworked, but not crushed. Living today in an economy that values profits for the boards of directors more than jobs for the people; living today in a city where life is cheap and people are blown away for a jacket. Afflicted in every way – but not crushed – because, by the grace of God, sometimes you just have to keep on keeping on, “lak a po’ inch worm”. Sometimes you just have to do the best you can do. Sometimes you just have to work as though there were no end to your strength, because to lay down your heavy load before it’s time is to give the upper hand to the oppressors. Sometimes you have to look to the Lord and know that you may be afflicted in every way, but you will not be destroyed. You will not be crushed.
When tragic things happen, sometimes you just have to stand around looking cool and keep on going, “lak a po’ inch worm.”
II
But it is not only the huge tragedies that hurt us. It is not only the big things that happen. It is the emotional hurt. It is that awful sense that in the eyes of others, you don’t matter. A few years ago I brought a message based on Ralph Ellison’s book, “Invisible Man”. He spoke about how black folks seemed invisible to the rest of America – didn’t count, didn’t matter, weren’t worth considering. The harshness of segregation was not just in foreclosing opportunities; it was doubly damaging in that it played on the hearts: you don’t matter, despite all you have done.
Sterling Brown gets at this strange thing:
“They point with pride to the roads you build for them,
They ride in comfort over the rails you laid for them.
They put hammers in your hands
And said – Drive so much before sundown”
Have you ever felt totally unappreciated? You’ve worked hard, only to see it written off, the credit grabbed by somebody else. Then you know what Sterling Brown is talking about. This world would be impoverished indeed if suddenly the achievements, the craftsmanship, and the culture of black Americans were to be removed. I sat the other day with one of our members who is having regular blood transfusions, and as I listened to what he is going through, I thought, “We sure can be grateful for Dr. Drew and all his work on blood.” We would be in real trouble if we did not have among us all the accomplishments of African-Americans. And yet there is little credit. There is little recognition. That’s why we need to have Black History Month – so that these achievements will be lifted up and appreciated.
But you know what? Even if they are not appreciated – even if they are forgotten – the people have a word for us. The people have something to say for themselves. Sterling Brown heard it:
“Ain’t no hammah
In dis lan’
Strikes lak mine, bebby,
Strikes lak mine.”
Don’t you like that? “Ain’t no hammah strikes lak mine”. Paul heard that too: “[We are] perplexed, but not driven to despair.” We are perplexed and puzzled and our feelings are a little hurt, but we are not driven to despair, because we know what we did. We know what we are capable of doing. We know our work is worth something, even if others refuse to look at it. “Ain’t no hammah In dis lan’ Strikes lak mine, bebby, Strikes lak mine.”
When you are ignored and underestimated; when you are perplexed because somebody has implied, “That’s not bad work for one of you” – if you know who you are you will not be perplexed unto despair. When you are misrepresented, it’s all right: stand around looking cool. You know who you are. Your time will come. Perplexed, but not driven to despair.
III
But there’s more. Stay with me. You know, better than I, that the African-American experience has had yet other damaging dimensions. It is not only that tragic things were done to your ancestors; and it is not only that emotional damage was wrought, as others put down black accomplishments. It is also that spiritual damage has been attempted. Spiritual attacks have been launched, because if you cut people off from fellowship – if you isolate them from one another – if you cut their roots from the past and at the same time cut their ties to their neighbors, you deny something very fundamental in the human spirit. You deny fellowship. We need each other. We were not made to be alone – Genesis tells us that. We were not made to be cut off from one another; we were made to live in community.
But slavery and segregation cut people from their roots. Slavery and segregation pushed folks of African descent off to the side, out of sight. The stupidity of segregation was that it seemed possible to some to live as though other folks did not even exist.
When I was a child in Louisville, Kentucky, in a border city, I very seldom saw black folks, and even less interacted. If it had not been for the janitor at our church, whom everyone called Roscoe – we didn’t even learn until he was retiring that his last name was Ritchie – if it had not been for Roscoe Ritchie, I could have made it all the way through high school without even so much as having a casual conversation with a black person! But now, I ask you, who was impoverished by that? Who was spiritually malnourished by that? The African-Americans I never knew? Or was it that young Kentucky man who thought he wanted to preach the good news, but didn’t have a clue about other people’s bad news?! I think you know the answer to that. Both of us were impoverished. Both were malnourished. For you cannot write off others without diminishing yourself. You cannot put down others without lessening yourself.
Oh, let Sterling Brown say it for me:
“They cooped you in their kitchens,
They penned you in their factories,
They gave you the jobs that they were too good for,
They tried to guarantee happiness to themselves
By shunting dirt and misery to you.”
Sterling Brown said it. Paul can say it too: “[We are] persecuted, but not forsaken.” Not forsaken. No matter how badly white America shunted dirt and misery off; no matter how cooped up and penned up black Americans were – praise God, they were not alone. Praise God, they knew they were not forsaken. For the key truth of the Christian faith – the thing we were dealing with all through the Christmas season – is that we are not alone. We are not forsaken. God is with us. God right here, in our space and time. The one who in His lonely vigil in the garden prayed for us; the one who in His solitary struggle carried the cross for us; the one who was despised and rejected of men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief – Jesus knows! Jesus understands! Jesus is Emmanuel. Jesus is with us. We are not alone. Maybe that’s what Sterling Brown is getting at when he hears the people’s song,
“Walk togedder, chillen,
Dontcha git weary ..
Me and muh baby gonna shine, shine,
Me an’ muh baby gonna shine.”
Persecuted, but not forsaken. Walking “togedder” Standing around looking cool, but not alone. Never alone. Secure, strong, together. Gonna shine. Persecuted but not forsaken.
IV
Brothers and sisters, we’ve come a long way in this country. No doubt about it. We’ve come a long way from the bad old days of slavery and segregation, lynching and massive resistance. We’ve come a long way from Sunday morning as the most segregated hour of the American week. It was good to be at the American Baptist Ministers’ Conference this past week and to see leadership from blacks and whites, men and women, English speaking and Spanish speaking. I saw someone we had here once as a speaker, Reeves Nahwooks – he’s an American Indian. And then I connected with an old friend, Sam Chetti, who really is an Indian, from India, now an American Baptist executive – all these different people! That’s got to be what heaven is like! I got to thinking a little about your future as a church; what kind of pastor will you seek when I’m finished? I’ve promised not to dabble in that process, but I couldn’t help but fantasize a little – if you are true to your character and hold on to the values we’ve cultivated, I got this mental picture of your next pastor: an Asian woman who speaks fluent Spanish and went to both Howard and Harvard!
Sterling Brown gives voice to the deepest side of this whole thing. It is not just that the history of race in this country involved physical harm; it is not just that the practice of oppression meant emotional damage. It is not even that the stupidity of segregation wrought spiritual damage. There is more. There is the issue of forgetfulness. There is the issue of complacency. We may think today that the beast of racism is dead, but it is not. We may suppose that cultural insensitivity is gone, but it is not. We toss around platitudes like, “Everybody is the same, under the skin”; but that’s not really true. We comfort ourselves with singing, “Red and yellow, black and white, They are precious in His sight” – and it’s right – but not when it becomes an excuse for failing to hear one another. Not when it is a reason to disparage one another’s cultures. The beast of racism is not dead; it has just morphed into something more subtle.
Sterling Brown spoke the warning for us::
“They coaxed you, unwontedly soft-voiced ..
You followed a way.
They laughed as usual,
They heard the laugh and wondered:
Uncomfortable,
Unadmitting a deeper terror ...
What reaches them
Making them ill at ease, fearful?”
There is still a deep ill-at-ease. There is still a profound mistrust. If I were brutally honest, I would say I feel it from you sometimes. Maybe you feel it from me. I do not profess to understand all my own attitudes. The beast of racism dies very hard indeed. But I take comfort from Sterling Brown’s ongoing refrain, his constant song:
One thing they cannot prohibit –
The strong men ... coming on
The strong men gittin’ stronger,
Strong men ..
Stronger.
I take comfort from Brown’s refrain; and I take comfort from Paul’s victory cry, “[We are] struck down, but not destroyed.” We are struck down, but not destroyed. We are struck down by our own blindness, we are struck down by our own ignorance, struck down by insensitivity, struck down by the stony coldness of our own hearts. But we are not destroyed. We are not destroyed because Christ is at work among us. Christ is at work in His church. Christ is working to redeem us. I know that’s true.
There is more to do. Let us be under no illusions. Not even Sterling Brown had it all squared away, because he sang only of strong men and not of women. He did not catch the full flavor of the gospel. Not even he heard that in Jesus Christ there is neither male or female, Jew or Greek, slave or free. I must amend Brown to say, “Two things they cannot prohibit – the strong men coming on, and women too”. For there are frontiers for us to cross – that women as well as men be admitted to full potential. And young people. And senior citizens. And immigrants. And the differently abled. There is so much more to do. Frontiers to cross and barriers to push back. Injustices to be corrected and prejudices to be fought. There are histories to be learned and achievements to be appreciated and cultures to be understood. There is more to do.
But I have learned that it is the little old ladies standing around looking cool who have it right. You think their minds are dim and their bodies frail, but you are mistaken. They know, because their hearts are settled on Christ, that we may be afflicted in every way, but we are not crushed; we may be perplexed, but we are not driven to despair; we may be persecuted and alone, but we are not forsaken. And most of all, Brother Cosby the little old ladies standing around looking cool spring into action and do something that makes a difference – struck down but never destroyed.
So we do not lose heart. We do not lose heart. For this slight momentary affliction – centuries of slavery, decades of segregation, eons of prejudice – this slight momentary affliction has a meaning and a power. It is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure, because we look not at what can be seen right now but at what cannot yet be seen. We look not at the mess of the present, alone, but we look at what Christ is going to do. Christ Jesus the redeemer, Christ the reconciler, Christ risen. Oh, they put Him down, you know. Into that middle passage between life and death, they put Him down. They taunted Him, they attacked Him. They said, “You can’t do anything, not you.” They nailed Him to the tree and sealed Him in the tomb. They wrote the ultimate Jim Crow statute – they called Him King of the Jews and put Him over there with His kind. Keep Him out of here, away from us, they said. But one thing they cannot prohibit – strong men coming on. Strong men (and women too) gittin’ stronger .. Stronger .. Stronger. Until eternity breaks through and God’s will is done on earth as it is already in heaven.
