Cancel Culture

My grandfather passed away during this pandemic after a 7-year battle with multiple myeloma. It was a difficult moment in the life of my family for several reasons I will not divulge. After a year of being too worried to see him, I could no longer see him, and I will live with that year of absence for the rest of my life.

We did not agree on everything, but I knew he wanted what was best for me. I knew he cared for me. Most importantly, I knew he wanted me to know that I was loved.

He did not need to shout it from a pulpit, advertise it on TV, the internet, or even say it for all to hear.

I knew because love is who he was. Love was the way he tended to his work; the way he cared for my grandmother, and his three sons. Love was the way he approached each day, each task, and each moment, no matter how difficult.

Before the funeral, my grandmother asked me to share a memory of him and this is what I determined best captured who I knew my grandfather to be:

"My memory of my Grandfather, or Beep as my brother and I call him, is not one specific event or occurrence; actually, it is something that happened quite often, and I did not fully appreciate it until I was older.

During our holiday gatherings, our family, as most do, tend to be more on the talkative side. With that talking, comes loud conversations, and sometimes it can be hard to hear. However, it was not until one family gathering that I began to notice a trend.

The family was gathered around the dining room table with multiple conversations going on and bellies full - when my grandfather spoke. As soon as he opened his mouth, the room went silent.

I am not talking about a silence where whispers and creaks were audible, but a silence where not even the normal creaks and moans of a house were audible.

I attribute this to my grandfather's presence. His presence was not loud, it did not boast, and it did not seek to intimidate or control. His presence was patient, it was kind, it was humble, it was loving. When my grandfather spoke, it was meaningful, and the entire room knew to listen. For me, my grandfather's presence was one of the best examples of Christ I have seen in the world.

In the years that have passed, I continued to witness this beautiful occurrence take place at all of our family gatherings. Each time, it continued to impress me, humble me, and help me to understand how truly special Beep was.

My grandfather gave me something to strive for: to be wise, humble, loving, gentle, and kind. My grandfather taught me the power and responsibility of presence. For this, I am truly grateful."

We live in a world that elevates the presence, power, and voice of some while admonishing or negating the presence, power, and the voice of others. In doing this, we effectively cancel out people who do not think like us, look like us, or experience life the same way we do. By dismissing someone’s presence, we dismiss the very image of God (yes, the image that exists in all of humankind - per my faith perspective).

We have spent far too much time highlighting the voices of those who do not need help and drowning out the voices crying for relief, assistance, and love.

However, if your social media account has been suspended or flagged, but you are still able to speak in front of a congregation, a classroom, congress, a live television audience, or elsewhere – your voice is not being canceled. If you are able to gather, march, and do what you wish without the risk of physical injury and death in the name of your beliefs – you are not being canceled. If the only time you feel uncomfortable, violated, or like your rights are being dismissed, is when someone publicly disagrees with you – you are privileged, not canceled.

While I do take issue with a culture that cancels individuals at the mere hint of a problematic statement or belief, I do not find it to be outside the Christian calling to denounce and cancel any evil ideology and action that incites violence or causes harm to those made in God’s image. I firmly believe this is what the oft-quoted verse Amos 5:24 is speaking about: “But let justice roll down like waters, / and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” Let us not forget the proceeding verse (23) either: “Take away from me the noise of your songs; / I will not listen to the melody of your harps.”

There is an awful racket coming from the people we elevate.

We need to make space for voices who have been trying to be heard. Voices that have been drowned out by squeaks and groans of systems and the powers that be, led by people playing “victim” when their greatest fear is losing their control of the room.

The less we provide space for the loudest voices in the room, the more we might be able to see those being excluded in the room.

My grandfather never asked to be heard, we humbled ourselves, and listened. He did not seek to harm or diminish; he spoke to provide insight and perspective without the expectation of an audience or complete support and agreement.

This reminds me of the character of Christ – exemplified in scripture.

We must remember the who, the what, and the why people were elevated and the who, the what, and the why people were canceled:

The woman set to be stoned (John 8).

The woman who washed Jesus’ feet with her hair (Luke 7:36-50).

The Ethiopian Eunuch (Acts 8:26-40).

The story in John 8 is about a woman who is set to be canceled by a group of people (more than likely all men) claiming to be righteous. Yet, Jesus steps in and liberates her from her oppressors. Jesus gave her room to finally be free when no one else would, by quieting the voices attempting to silence her into submission. Who have we worked to liberate in our communities?

The woman in Luke 7 who had little, but gave much, was deemed inferior and not worthy; therefore, her existence was questioned and belittled. If not for Jesus, she would have been effectively canceled. However, he highlighted the power of her love, ultimately propelling her above the others in the space. Who in communities have we given a long-overdue platform?

Finally, the Ethiopian eunuch, whose appearance and place in the world was less than desirable in a society where fertility reigned supreme. An outcast, someone who was “non-traditional,” was given a chance to speak. Rather than ignore the eunuch or silence them, Philip provided room for the eunuch to have an opportunity and a voice. Who is the outcast in our community that we have met with radical inclusion?

So then, where do we draw the line?

The line is between what is helpful and what is harmful; what provides space and room for movement, rather than a tickling of an ego or a further divide of power. From the examples above, Christ canceled the opinions/ voices of people who were set to do harm rather than educate. As Jo Luehmann beautiful articulates in this recent tweet of hers: “Education ≠ indoctrination.

Education develops critical thinking skills, exposes to opposing views and fosters curiosity.

Indoctrination teaches beliefs uncritically, encourages echo chambers, demonizes opposing views.

Education invites questions, indoctrination gives answers.”

In a loud room, we must invite voices and opportunity, space for questions, not turn up the volume. Sometimes this means, we must turn down the volume of others.

Amen.