As you all can imagine, as a Louisville native, my eyes have been glued to television news since the Kentucky Attorney General announced that though there are three charges of wanton endangerment for one officer who blindly fired his bullets through the walls and into an adjacent apartment, there will be no charges for the killing of Breonna Taylor. Protests quickly ensued around the city, and even around the country. I sat on my couch as I saw a seminarian classmate march on my living room television. I scrolled through my Facebook newsfeed, seeing videos and updates from people on the ground. And I wish I was there with them.
Weeks before moving to West Chester, I was protesting in downtown Louisville because of Breonna Taylor’s death. And though I protested for racial justice and criminal justice reform, I also assumed that based on the letter of the law, there would be no charges for the officers who killed Breonna Taylor. At least, not any murder charges. In my reasoning, Breonna Taylor’s death could not simply be blamed on three officers. Instead, it was due to a flawed system that ordered a wrongful no-knock warrant at the wrong location, for someone already in police custody. The right to self-defense (arguably reckless self-defense) in response to another exercising their right to “stand your ground” caused six bullets to hit Breonna Taylor, who was simply there. Not shooting. Just being in her apartment.
Yet, I still felt sorrow hearing there would be no charges. Sorrow because prosecuting a system, and not a person, does not feel like real justice. What recompense is there when the perpetrator is a system issuing a poor order? Reforms are restorative, and for them I am thankful, but how do they bring justice for what has been done? Though I understand the lack of murder charges, there is a large hole in need to be filled. In regards to this case, even when the justice system issues a reasonable verdict according to the letter of the law, justice is not served.
As you can see, I am perplexed. On one hand, I understand the reasoning of the jury and Kentucky’s attorney general. And on the other, I am mad because Breonna Taylor was wrongfully murdered and there is a lack of justice. I wish I was marching in Louisville, as I want justice to roll down like waters (Amos 5:24), yet, for Breonna, I am unsure what that looks like.
You’re probably wondering why I am telling you about my wrestling. I want you to sit with me in my unresolved thoughts. I want you to understand what seems to be a loop of the same thoughts. They have kept me up to 2 am, typing this. And I want you to welcome it. As Christians, we do not have the luxury of complacency in moments of injustice. In a case like this, we have to sit with complexities. We have to feel sympathy for the oppressed. It is easy to accept that it is a nuanced issue, thus, not needed to be touched. But that is not what we are called to do.
Right now I feel inadequate for my lack of firm positioning. Because of my ongoing questioning, I am not fully sure what exactly God calls me to say at this moment. But I know words are necessary, and silence in moments of injustice is violence. Thus, I must sit with this troubling reality. And you’re not off the hook, either. We’re in this uneasy time together.
God has something to say. Your reflection upon Breonna Taylor’s death or race relations may be different from my own. Perhaps you think justice was served. Perhaps you think there should have been murder charges. Nonetheless, we cannot ignore the reality. Theologian Karl Barth, pastor during World War I, frequently preached on the privilege of living in “a unique time of God.” We are in a unique time as we are placed in our time to be witnesses of God’s justice. Privileged to carry-on the fight of the civil rights movement. Privileged to provide the healing words of the gospel to a broken world. Though it may feel burdening, we are privileged to be in God’s redemptive work. And sometimes, the discernment to answer God’s call is not crystal clear. Now may be one of those moments, yet, now is not a time to look away; it is a time to be uneased.
Still Wrestling,
Pastor Alec Brock
(he, him, his)