Rev. Joseph Boyd
We used to think that the world is flat. Sailors would be too afraid to sail to unfamiliar waters because they feared they would literally fall off the face of the earth. Though now we know the world is round – this presents us with a different problem. We could sail forever, never setting foot on land for the rest of our lives. We know now that the sailing journey is endless if we so choose – one body of water inevitably becomes another and then another. Whereas before we were afraid of the unknown, now we see the limits of our known – of this planet, of our own capacity to be at sea.

There’s something about being in the middle of water for too long that makes me feel panicky. I like to look at water – the ocean, lakes, rivers. But I limit my time wading into them. I like the feeling of land – something solid under my feet – something that reminds me that I’m supported. One time I went on a ship off the coast of Oregon. It was a whale watching ship that would take you out in the middle of the Pacific to see if you could encounter whales in their natural habitat. It was grey and rainy. I had just finished eating some salt water taffy. I was ready. As we set sail for the ocean, the rain began to pick up. It began to pour. I immediately felt ridiculous.

Why would i go out of my way to get soaked on a boat, just to see a whale. Moby Dick came to mind. Perhaps this was my Captain Ahab moment – dogged determination to catch a glimpse of this miraculous creature. After about an hour, the boat came back to shore. The rain still poured. Nobody saw a whale. Well, one person thought he did, but I’m almost certain he just didn’t want to feel defeated. I was feeling mildly disappointed, and my friend noticed me brooding a bit. He said – well, at least you got to go on a boat.

I’m fascinated by water. I’m just not sure I want to spend much time wading into it. I was speaking with two older gentleman here in Youngstown who told me about their experience in the Navy. They told me after awhile they both started hallucinating, or they thought they were hallucinating. They said the alternative would be too scary. They both said they saw things out at sea they can’t explain, and even the things that had explanations for seemed surreal after awhile. One man said he had been at sea for many weeks, and he had night duty. He said it was so dark out in the middle of the water that he couldn’t see past his hand.

One night he saw another boat in the distance –  it was a small boat that could only fit two young boys. He shined a light and saw them fishing. After weeks of seeing nobody else, he said he felt like he was dreaming. The sight of another person was almost overwhelming. Both of these men had seen combat. And they both confirmed that combat was not the most scary thing they experienced out at sea. The most terrifying experience in their military experience out in the water – they both confirmed – was storms. Major storms would rock the boat so wildly that it felt like the ship was about to be flipped over. The sea was in control during a storm – this fact could not be avoided. Trouble would hit their ship with buckets of rain, and wind that howled through every nook and cranny, and one man said he was stationed in the back of the ship where he witnessed the boat being flipped to nearly a 90 degree angle by the waves. He would look out of his window, and look down to see the ocean right below as the tail of the ship went up in the air. He said it felt like the sea was ready to swallow us up at any moment.

The fear of course in the back  of their minds was drowning. It was always a possibility – having to face to possibility that they couldn’t survive out in the water.

There was always a possibility that the sea would swallow them up, consuming them and the ship they rode in on. Drowning was a fear they said no sailor every dared to talk about.

There is a spiritual that was written by slaves planning their escape called “Wade in the Water.” For these slaves, the danger of water was nothing compared to the danger they encountered on land every day of their lives. Those trying to escape would use water as a way to navigate their journey up north, following the water all the way to freedom. Wading in the water felt like a much safer alternative than the threat of being caught on land and lynched or sent back to the hell they just came from. Harriet Tubman used this spiritual as a code for those seeking escape and freedom. She would sing the song to signal runaways to get off land and go in the water, so that the dogs wouldn’t be able to detect their smell. I’m certain that many of these escaping slave were not fond of water. The last time many of them had been in the water was when they were taken on a ship from their home country, suffering in unimaginable ways, and brought to a land that treated them as property.

For many, I’m certain this was their memory of water – a pathway to hell. Harriet Tubman in a brilliant act of imagination knew she couldn’t promise safety, but she could offer hope and courage. She knew there could be trouble no matter where they went, but she insisted that there were two kinds of trouble – the trouble brought by humans on other humans and the trouble that existed in that water – a trouble with an unexpected origin. She said to those seeking freedom: “Wade in children. God is going to trouble the water.” For many of these slaves, I’m sure that the God they prayed to was synonymous with freedom and justice. This is what they longed for, what they prayed for – freedom and justice. And Harriet Tubman was not abstract. She said matter of factly – the freedom that you pray for – you’ll get it by wading in. Wade in that water. This water is different from the water you’ve known. This water will not lead you back to hell. This water, if you have the courage to wade in, will take you home to your humanity – God is going to trouble this water, so don’t fret.

I’ve been reflecting on this line this past week. “God is going to trouble the water.” It’s a line that has given me a lens through which to see the world.

It does not say that God will get rid of all trouble. It does not say that you’ll somehow be above or beyond tragedy and danger, but it challenges me to think that are different kinds of trouble. There’s the trouble that just happens to us, for reasons we can’t explain or understand. And then there’s the trouble we can make a choice to get into. This kind of trouble is inspired by courage. It’s trouble that connects us to our deepest desires. It’s a trouble that shows us the root and heart of our life. This kind of trouble has the capacity to offer us freedom instead of bondage.

What kind of trouble am I talking about? I’ll give you a few examples, but they all have one thing in common. It’s the kind of trouble that everybody knows. It’s the kind of trouble we’ve come to take for granted because it’s so widespread, so systemic, so unstoppable it seems. It’s the kind of trouble everybody knows. But something is happening right now that is unique and special. Instead of being silenced by the prevalence of immense trouble, people are wading in to it, to seek some way to respond that grants dignity and courage. One of these examples is the scandal with the film producer Harvey Weinstein.

It has been an open secret in Hollywood for decades that actresses are sexually assaulted and harassed especially by those in power to make or break careers. It’s a cliche, something everybody knows. Actresses and women in general are vulnerable and likely will get assaulted. Our culture knows this and has grown sadly more or less accustomed to this. It something everybody knows, but what is there to do? There’s a way of engaging the fact that everybody knows with an air of complicity by doing nothing. The fact that everybody knows must mean that on some level everybody is perhaps mildly bothered, but at the end of the day more or less okay with it. Well now, the narrative has begun to shift. It’s begun to shift away from “everybody knows, so I guess it must be ok,” to “Everybody knows, and that means everybody is in deep trouble.” Women are coming forward in a campaign called “me too” where they explicitly share stories of sexual assault. I can’t even imagine how difficult that must be. I’m not sure I could do it. I’m not sure I’d be willing to wade into that trouble, especially if I believed my livelihood and reputation would be on the line. But women are – they’re wading in.

And it doesn’t stop there. The topic of race is again becoming a public conversation. Everybody knows that racism is so intertwined with our identity as a nation. And now that everybody knows this at a level of depth that is highly distressing, responses are being crafted. In professional sports, athletes are expressing their response during the national anthem. Everyday citizens are seeking responses for the trouble that everybody knows is there. Our church has begun a program called Beloved Conversations, which begins to talk about race, and how it impacts us personally and as a community. That’s just a start for how we might respond.

This last week posters were put up at Cleveland State University that encouraged LGBTQ students to hang themselves. The president of the university said that this act was freedom of speech, and did nothing to denounce the messaging or reach out to those students being targeted. Our local clergy group crafted a letter to the president, saying that this kind of hate demands a moral response, not a legalese one. That’s the kind of leadership we need right now – moral leadership.

It seems we are entering a time when it’s no longer good enough to allow trouble to pass us by, to let it travel its own way downstream. We’re given the invitation to wade in. Do we feel like sometimes we might drown in all the trouble we find? Yes. Do we think that the power of this water is cold and overwhelming? Yes. Do we think that in the depth of that troubled water may be the source of our deepest longing, our deepest desire? That our freedom will be found somewhere in those depths? That’s the question I leave you with this morning. It will be up to you to answer it.

But I’ll give you my answer. My sense is yes- I think that the freedom I crave and the intimacy i seek is to be found in the troubled waters we are experiencing right now. I’m tired of living in a culture that often sees a person as a thing, and where our relationships are often transactional rather than familial – seeing that we are part of each other’s family. I yearn to feel that all of you are my family, and that we have the gift of this life on this day, here together. I yearn to feel that my understanding of myself and of you is more than just skin deep. I’m tired of looking at statistics and seeing how much of our experience seems to be dictated by our skin or our gender or who we choose to love.

That world feels like hell to me. It’s hell on earth. And maybe I’m naive, maybe I’m a dreamer, maybe I’m obsessed with finding this freedom that I believe is possible, but I choose to believe it’s there. It’s there is the water lurking in the darkness, in the middle of trouble, in the times when I can’t see past my own hand. It’s waiting for me, and perhaps it’s waiting for you. All we have to do is have the courage to wade in.