Racism and Iconoclasm
The moment I knew I needed to be Orthodox was when I understood that the Church taught that people are living icons of Christ. I was so deeply convicted. I saw how far I was (and still am) from viewing and treating people with that type of reverence and wonder. I saw that the Church was the best hope I have of becoming someone who encounters another human and sees them with the right vision, treats them with the wonder and dignity they deserve, and knows how much I have to learn about Christ from them. Every Liturgy, we confess together individually that we are the worst of sinners, which sounded contradictory until I understood that we are to attend to the disease of our own hearts while not viewing ourselves as separate from each other. My salvation is bound to the salvation of others. My thoughts and actions do not occur in a vacuum.
Recent events in our country have shined a spotlight on the racism that exists in it. We’re seeing what’s lurked underneath the surface, what people of color have always seen, and there is so much healing needed. As Orthodox, we have the gift and responsibility of the concept of icons, the knowledge that Christ elevated humanity by Himself inhabiting flesh. Every person we’ve ever met is a living icon of Christ. Whether or not that icon is polished and easily visible beneath the grime of life, it’s there. When I make snap judgments about someone else, when I think less of them, when I position myself as better than them for any reason, I make myself an iconoclast.
Of course I want to view myself as separate from the racism and the violence that has specifically targeted people of color, but if I am allowing the medicine of my faith to be applied to my wounds, I must be willing to bring into the light the places where racism exists in my own heart. I must be willing to humbly listen to the pain of the people who’ve been impacted by racism. I must be willing to view my fellow humans and the wondrous images they bear of Christ as being of higher value than my own pride and defensiveness.
We’re on the verge of Pentecost. The hymns for this feast juxtapose the story of the tower of Babel with the events of Pentecost when the Holy Spirit descended and brought unity through tongues. I look at my own tower-building: my pride, my opinions, my judgments. I see how I cling to them, how they cause me to speak different languages than the people in my life, how my “towers” deprive me of the beauty of encountering Christ in others. I see the need for the Holy Spirit to descend into my heart, to give me renewed sight to see Christ in everyone, to smash my pride and judgments, and to give me a spirit of repentance, humility, and love.
“O Lord, when You close all the loftily divisive and distracting worldly windows, bring us to the doors of repentance.
By the left door of remorse, let us bring our hearts, broken and humbled. By the right door of resolve, let us bring our minds wholly redirected by your Holy Spirit to the throne of Christ.
Bring us to that table where all may find a place.
For all the races of humanity can be found in your garden, where each of us is one of your beloved flowers.”
Read the complete Canon for Racial Reconciliation
You can learn more about movements in Orthodoxy to end racism by visiting the site for the Brotherhood of Saint Moses the Black, which is where we were inspired to use the icon of St. Moses for this blog.
