Today I had the privilege of going to the funeral for John “Big
Daddy” Harris, the father of a good friend. It was held at a church in
South Central L.A. While the funeral took 2 hours, it passed by so
quickly you hardly noticed and in the process, it moved my heart
deeply. I was especially impacted by Reverend Prentiss Lewis’ rendition
of “I won’t Complain.” I cried like a baby.
At another point in the service, an old minister named Reverend Clifford Johnson walked up to the microphone to pray. While he began his prayer calling out to Jesus, in the middle of it he started to refer to Christ as Master. Now we who follow Jesus know that he is Lord and Master, but it meant something far deeper coming from this man.
Earlier in the service, Rev. Lewis talked about how good God had been to answer prayer and rescue their people from slavery. The African-Americans in that room have a collective memory in their community that I do not share. They can recollect what it is as a people to be enslaved and oppressed. They remember what it was like to live in a society where they were seen as property. They remember what it is to come under the heavy hand of a master.
Along with this memory is the remembrance they were freed by the grace of God. You would think that this freedom would embolden this community to never again utter the word master, and yet, over and over again this pastor called out to God as Master. Each time he spoke the word it seemed to become more personal and affectionate. With each utterance, the power of how he spoke the word penetrated my heart at a deeper level.
Here was a man, who shared a collective memory of what it was to be subject to a master against his will, and he was willingly and affectionately, subjecting himself to God. Having been freed, he now yielded his freedom in order to glorify the one who loved him enough to set him free.
This was deeply moving to me.
I have thought of Jesus as my Savior, my Lord, my friend, my help in time of trouble, but I honestly do not know if I have ever thought of him as my Master, at least not in the way I did while I was listening to that man pray.
While I do not share the same collective memory of slavery as this brother in Christ, Jesus has freed me from a great many things in my life. Maybe the reason I have not thought of Christ in the same way as this Rev. Johnson is I do not recollect just how enslaved I was. Maybe if I did, I would also, willingly and affectionately, yield my freedom in order to glorify the one who loved me enough to set me free. When I prayed, maybe I too would call out to my Master.
Going to this funeral was a great gift to me. It expanded my vision of what it means to give myself to Christ, my Master.
At another point in the service, an old minister named Reverend Clifford Johnson walked up to the microphone to pray. While he began his prayer calling out to Jesus, in the middle of it he started to refer to Christ as Master. Now we who follow Jesus know that he is Lord and Master, but it meant something far deeper coming from this man.
Earlier in the service, Rev. Lewis talked about how good God had been to answer prayer and rescue their people from slavery. The African-Americans in that room have a collective memory in their community that I do not share. They can recollect what it is as a people to be enslaved and oppressed. They remember what it was like to live in a society where they were seen as property. They remember what it is to come under the heavy hand of a master.
Along with this memory is the remembrance they were freed by the grace of God. You would think that this freedom would embolden this community to never again utter the word master, and yet, over and over again this pastor called out to God as Master. Each time he spoke the word it seemed to become more personal and affectionate. With each utterance, the power of how he spoke the word penetrated my heart at a deeper level.
Here was a man, who shared a collective memory of what it was to be subject to a master against his will, and he was willingly and affectionately, subjecting himself to God. Having been freed, he now yielded his freedom in order to glorify the one who loved him enough to set him free.
This was deeply moving to me.
I have thought of Jesus as my Savior, my Lord, my friend, my help in time of trouble, but I honestly do not know if I have ever thought of him as my Master, at least not in the way I did while I was listening to that man pray.
While I do not share the same collective memory of slavery as this brother in Christ, Jesus has freed me from a great many things in my life. Maybe the reason I have not thought of Christ in the same way as this Rev. Johnson is I do not recollect just how enslaved I was. Maybe if I did, I would also, willingly and affectionately, yield my freedom in order to glorify the one who loved me enough to set me free. When I prayed, maybe I too would call out to my Master.
Going to this funeral was a great gift to me. It expanded my vision of what it means to give myself to Christ, my Master.
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