Somebody

I met Rev. Jesse Jackson once. I was an aspiring young journalist at an HBCU, and Rev. Jackson was doing a tour of college campuses, warning young college students to “Stay out of the Bushes!” prior to the 2000 election. Even in the late 1990s, he was still coming up with catchy phrases for us to repeat. (Nothing will ever top “I am Somebody) He was an impressive figure, even then. His appearance was striking and his voice was strong. Standing next to him, I felt small. (Granted, I was probably only a hundred pounds and barely over 5 feet tall.)

This weekend, they buried the civil rights icon, and I didn’t watch for multiple reasons. First, I didn’t have 10 hours of free time this weekend. Those funerals were entirely too long. Yes, Rev. Jackson was a legendary figure who deserved all the accolades, but two days is too much. Second, I did not want to watch his children grieve. Yes, this was a tremendous loss for our community. But the Jackson children weren’t burying a presidential candidate and cultural critic. They were burying their father. I could bear witness to and acknowledge that grief, without watching it on TV.

I heard three presidents spoke, and songstress Kim Burrell remixed Tamela Mann’s “Take Me to the King.” I heard everybody went over their time limit. I heard that Jesse Jackson, Jr. berated the musicians for trying to rush one of his sisters through her portion of the program. But the thing I have heard the most about is President Obama not acknowledging Rev. Jeremiah Wright who was sitting in the front row.

As a Black Baptist, I have become familiar with pulpit etiquette. You acknowledge God, who is the head of your life, the pastor and other ministers on the roster, clergy in the pews, deacons, elders, officers, members and friends. In some places, you also acknowledge their wives. (I’m Black and Baptist. All of the church officers and every person in the pulpit is usually a man.) I’m pretty sure President Obama knows black church etiquette, too. And I don’t know if he did it on purpose or not. I can’t imagine he would purposely not acknowledge his former pastor. I don’t even like most of my former pastors, and even I would acknowledge them if I was behind the lectern. (The LORD does not allow me behind a lectern for a reason!)

Here’s what I know. Pastor Jeremiah Wright was a powerhouse preacher in the Chicago area. He was there paying his respects as we laid one of his contemporaries to rest. He was not supposed to be the story. Neither was Barack Obama. The fact that nearly every commentary I’ve read about the funeral talked about the two of them is insane.

Do I think Rev. Jeremiah Wright deserves to hear accolades while he is alive, especially from the people he directly impacted? Absolutely. But to make that all we’re talking about after 10 hours of a memorial is too much. We focused on the wrong thing.

The church is guilty of this on so many fronts. We focus on protocol over praise. Some of the best gospel artists in the industry sang at those funerals, and other than a parody of Kim Burrell’s remix, I haven’t heard a single word about it. We focus on possible grievances over an actual grieving family.

I hope the purpose of these services was to memorialize a man who worked to make the world a better place. I hope we aimed to honor his service and his sacrifice. I hope we wanted to offer comfort to a family who lost their patriarch. And I hope we wanted to thank God for the gift that was Jesse Jackson.

He was somebody, for sure. And he reminded us all, that we were, too. That should have been the story.