Mercy on the Cheesecake Looter
Someone stole a whole cheesecake from the downtown Seattle Cheesecake Factory during the first weekend of protests after the killing of George Floyd. It may or may not have been lacquered, a display. TV news narrated as the woman walked under the convention center carrying the perfect dessert, a whole strawberry on top, while cars were set on fire and police used aggressive riot control tactics on protestors.
A girl at the protests who is the same age as my son was tear gassed that day, and we watched video of her screaming while strangers poured milk over her eyes. It was one hell of a Saturday.
Citizen journalists streamed live footage on Facebook of protests outside the East Police Precinct in Capitol Hill on the nights that followed. Worried about exposing a high-risk family member to Covid, I didn't protest. But I watched these live streams hypnotically from my farmhouse sunporch outside of the city.
I looked hard at the sea of umbrellas until they blurred, held by protestors facing the front police barricade—a tactic I read was borrowed from the Hong Kong protests. I watched a line of police rotating in and off duty on the other side of a barrier I could trace across the screen of my phone.
Seattle’s protests might not look that different from what you experienced in your hometown. A spectacle was taking place, and our phones were like Foucault's panopticon. We watched plumes of pepper spray float and blur the screen after the kids went to bed. I wonder, were we bearing witness, consuming content, or scoring ringside seats?
As a white Christian, I’m considering what it means for the white-facing church to be an ally. I'm looking to the past for ideas. I think of the Freedom Summer in Mississippi in 1964, which helped further the civil rights movement. Black leaders partnered with hundreds of white volunteers who traveled south to the polls to help minimize voter suppression.
2020 looks a lot different than 1964. The church is fractured not just denominationally but over social issues and political allegiances. Words are charged and bucket us into groups. Wearing a mask does, too.
But truly, I believe in the power of a great and good God that made each of us. If God knows every hair on every head, God also knows every heart. God knows the ways we are hardened to change, and sees all racism and hidden hate. God also receives all grieving, repenting, and hoping.
In my city, and everywhere, join me in praying Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy.
Mercy on the hipster neighborhoods with fancy toast.
Mercy on the Black and brown families who’ve swapped with white folks who used to live in the suburbs, before the cities were gentrified and they moved back.
Mercy on the Cheesecake Factory girl.
Mercy on the church, for us to be brave and true in an election year.
And mercy on you, reader, as like me you navigate the caverns and peaks of your very own heart.