[Taken with permission from the BlackVoices section of HuffingtonPost.com]

The Liturgy of Trayvon Martin: Skittles, Iced Tea and a Hoodie

By the Rev. Michael W. Waters

Founder and Pastor, Joy Tabernacle A.M.E. Church, Joytabernacleame.org, Faithforchange.org

Symbols have long been important for religious and spiritual reflection. These symbols have been employed to provide greater understanding to transcendent truths, to provide comfort amid chaos, and to inspire the faithful to put their faith to action towards the common good. Many times, these symbols have emerged from rather mundane objects closely associated with a historical event.

Prior to the beginning of his passion, Christ blessed and broke bread as a symbol of his soon to be battered and bruised body. He blessed and poured wine as a symbol of his blood which was soon to pour from open wounds. These rather ordinary objects, bread and wine, are symbols that remain central to Christian worship in celebrating the Eucharist today.

And that wooden Roman instrument of public execution, the cross, has emerged as the primary symbol of the Christian faith. I have always wondered how baffling and unnerving it would be for a first-century Roman citizen to see a known instrument of death now adorned with gold and jewels and adorning countless necks while also on display in houses of worship and within our homes. Yet, the cross, as a symbol, now transcends Roman execution and is widely held as a symbol of victory.

Considering the brutal murder of 17-year-old Trayvon Martin, three rather mundane objects have emerged as greater symbols towards reflecting on the historic and on-going persecution of Black masculinity in America and towards a newly-energized movement to end it: Skittles, iced tea, and the hoodie. It has been widely reported that as he was being followed that fateful night, Trayvon covered his head with his hoodie to conceal himself from his pursuer. Unarmed, much also has been mentioned of Trayvon's sole possessions, a single bag of Skittles and a can of iced tea.

Since Trayvon's death, thousands have marched in protest themselves donning hoodies, and thousands more have posted, shared, and tweeted photos of the same throughout social media. Bags of Skittles have been mailed by protesters to authorities and have been creatively incorporated into signs of protest. Iced tea has remained central in our discourse and dialogue on the tragedy. But what do Skittles, iced tea and the hoodie now symbolize? What greater meaning do they possess? How can these objects form a new liturgy, not only for reflecting upon the life and death of Trayvon Martin, but for all who seek to "do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly before God" (Micah 6:8)? I humbly propose the following:

Skittles possess a hard, sugary shell manifested in a multiplicity of flavors and colors, held together in a single package. The liturgy of Trayvon Martin inspires us to rid our nation of systemic racism and consider that although, like Skittles, we Americans come in a multiplicity of "flavors" (read preferences) and colors we are still held together in unity in the single-packaging of being created in the image of God. It is forever true that each of us has been endowed by the Creator with the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Sweetened iced tea, a staple of Southern culture, refreshes the parched palate. Tea, however, does not originally emerge in sweetened form. Its sweetness is the result of an intentional action to remove its bitterness. The liturgy of Trayvon Martin reminds us that in our quest for justice against all forms of injustice and prejudice we must remain sweet, not bitter, lest we become what we oppose. This will take intentionality on our part, for it is easy to confuse revenge with justice. We do no justice to Trayvon's memory by likewise embodying the bitter racism that took his life.

The hoodie, that hooded sweatshirt of particular popularity within urban America, was first designed by Champion in the 1930s to provide warmth to workers who had to endure freezing temperatures. As such, the hoodie shielded them from the bitter cold, thus giving them the warmth needed to endure the biting elements around them. The liturgy of Trayvon Martin reminds us that the season of our fight against injustice may turn bitterly cold, but we must remain resolute and hooded in our commitment that we not grow "weary in well-doing" (Galatians 6:9) and endure to the end.

Let Skittles, iced tea, and the hoodie become symbols of truth, inspiration and comfort for a new generation of protesters against the on-going crucifixion of innocent flesh at the hands of a corrupt system of oppression and marginalization that has for too long tortured the masses and tainted our country's legacy.

Amen.

Follow Michael W. Waters on Twitter: www.twitter.com/RevMikeWaters

Trayvon Martin and the Fight for Equality and Justice for All

By the Rev. Gilbert H. Caldwell

Retired United Methodist minister and member of the PFLAG National Board of Director

One of the joys of my long justice journey is to have been invited to be a member of the Board of Directors of PFLAG National. The inspiration I get from working alongside the loved ones of lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender people fuels my advocate soul, and their commitment to the well-being of all LGBT individuals -- be it their children, family members, friends, or co-workers -- is an example that all of us should follow.

And just as they, and I, could not be silent in response to the beating death of Matthew Shepard in 1998, I, and they, will not be silent in response to the death by shooting of Trayvon Martin in 2012.

My wife and I, as the parents of two sons, have lived our lives seeking to help them understand and survive as black boys (and now as young black men) in a society that still, in too many instances, judges them by the color of their skin and not by the content of their character.

As so many of us grieve over the shooting death of Trayvon Martin, we cannot help but acknowledge the intersections of the verbal and physical violence that is too often perpetrated on our youth because someone fears their diversity. Whether that child is black, gay, differently abled, or just somehow perceived to be different, we are all heartbroken when they experience the injustices and ostracisms that too much of society imposes on them. And there is a clear commonality to our respective concerns and fears about the potential outcomes of that violence.

We do not have all of the facts related to the death of Trayvon Martin; after so many have spoken out, investigations are now underway, and in time we will be able to assess for ourselves the circumstances that led to his tragic death.

And I know that the people I have been working alongside and standing up with to fight the injustice in the treatment of their children will be standing alongside me and the rest of us, demanding justice for this child. I am grateful that so many of the people I work with have a deeply personal understanding of those of us who are the parents of young black men and women, and will join with me in the ongoing fight for justice and equality for all.

Trayvon, Emmett, and Dangerous Black Bodies

By the Rev. Dr. Jacqueline J. Lewis

Senior Minister, Middle Collegiate Church

In Psalm 139, the psalmist thanks God for being awesomely and wonderfully made. This Psalm began to speak to me when I was 5 years old.

We were the only black family on the Air Force base in New Hampshire. I had great friends, little blond and red headed girls and boys, and life was just fine. Then, Lisa moved into our community. She was from Mississippi and she called me a "nasty nigger." In her gaze, I had my first experience of otherness, and it really hurt me. My father went to the base commander to make these racist words stop in his daughter's classroom. And my mother had one of those talks with me that black parents have with their children.

Sometimes the talk goes like this, "Can you believe how silly this is: some people will not like you because you are black. Isn't that crazy? You just ignore them and keep on doing your thing, child. You are my child, you are black and beautiful and fabulous. And I love you!"

My mother gave me a version of that one. She read the Psalm to me, told me that God made me just as I am, awesomely and wonderfully, and then we prayed and I went to sleep.

Sometimes the talk goes like this: "Baby, you will have to work harder, be more superior in school and at your job in order to get ahead. That is just the way it is."

And then there is this one: "You better smile, nod, and be quiet. Don't look those people in the eye; they will think you are sassing them, and they might kill you. Just because you are black."

Mamie Till gave that talk to her 14-year-old son, Emmett Till, right before she sent him to the Mississippi Delta to stay with relatives for the summer. After an encounter with a white shopkeeper named Carolyn Bryant, Emmett was hunted down by her husband, Roy, and his half-brother J.W. Milam. They took him to a shed, pistol whipped him, gouged out one of his eyes, shot him in the head, and threw Emmett's 14-year-old body in the Tallahatchie River.

It was dangerous to be a black boy in those days.

Interviewed in Look magazine in 1956, Milam said, "I stood there in that shed and listened to that nigger throw that poison at me, and I just made up my mind. 'Chicago boy,' I said, 'I'm tired of 'em sending your kind down here to stir up trouble. Goddam you, I'm going to make an example of you -- just so everybody can know how me and my folks stand.'"

It is dangerous still, it seems, to be a black boy.

You can be walking down the street, wearing a hoodie, look "dangerous," and someone will chase you and kill you dead.

On Wednesday night, hundreds of people ⎯- women, men and children -⎯ took to the streets of New York and marched from Union Square in reaction to the senseless killing of an unarmed black teenager, Trayvon Martin. In their hoodies, with their children hoisted on their shoulders, they marched and chanted, full of lament: race clearly still matters in these United States of America. Black teenagers scare some people; therefore, walking while black is a dangerous thing to do in some places, some times.

How dangerous is a black boy, armed with Skittles and a soft drink? How frightening is some mother's baby, some father's son, just because he is black, wearing his jeans down low, hoodie-adorned as a fashion statement?

I walked by some black young men last night, on the way home from the church meeting that kept me from marching. I saw them in my singular march to the subway; they were standing close together, just across from Grand Central Terminal. They were beautiful these young men, strong black bodies, awesomely and wonderfully made. As I approached, my maternal instincts kicked in, along with my desire to hug and protect them from harm.

I said, "Excuse me, baby, can I get by?"

And the hooded one said, "Yes, ma'am -- sorry."

"No sorry needed," I said, "Have a great night."

"You, too, ma'am," He said.

Those young men were about the age my own son would be right now, if I had one. So was Trayvon Martin.

These are our children: Trayvon Martin, those young men I passed last night, the two little girls in this photo taken by my colleague. And they are in danger. We have to fix this; we have to address the ways racism in these United States is like a virus that mutates and continues to infect us. Our children are not born to hate, nor are they born with fear. But adults who have the virus can harm them, and children can catch the virus, too.

It can feel overwhelming to address racism, but we have to do it. You can join our multiracial/multicultural community, Middle Church, on Sunday in person or live stream our celebration at 11:15 a.m. EST; wear your hoodie and plan to pray for healing. Hear special music written just for Trayvon by Bil Wright and Dionne McClain-Freeney. Hear my sermon, a call to action. Wherever you are, sign this petition. Send a bag of Skittles to the Sanford Florida police department. And post a photo of yourself or your friends on Facebook or Twitter in a hoodie, with the caption: "Warning: We are NOT dangerous, racism is."

Is the Life of a Black Boy Worth Anything Today?

By the Rev. Ruth Hawley-Lowry

Pastor, Michigan

Several days ago my friend Michelle Alexander, author of the profound 'The New Jim Crow,' asked via her Facebook page, 'Is the life of a black boy worth anything today?' I wept when I read her question, because I knew the answer. This is an edited portion of what I wrote to her that day.

No, the life of a black boy is worth close to nothing in our nation -- and that is why I am so passionately crazed about the justice work that I do. When I loved a black man in seminary and thought about birthing a mocha child from between my legs I realized that such a child would never receive the presumptions and privileges that my brothers do -- and that my blond-haired, blue-eyed son does. 

Twenty people have been shot in Chicago in just a few days, and people who look like me don't even notice in the northern and northwest suburbs. So no, "Is the life of a black boy worth anything today?" as you asked on Facebook -- no, it isn't. The only ones of my friends who are outraged on this are my black friends. It hasn't even hit my white friends' radar. And you, too, as a mother are horrified -- because you have been reminded (again) that we are not that far from Emmett Till's time.

When we last spoke we talked about what it takes to create a movement -- to move from addressing isolated incidents (the "Underground Railroad") to creating a cultural shift ("Abolition"). Obviously, it takes a change of heart and mind. But as Jeremiah Wright quoted Jim Wallis at the National Press Club, "We haven't confessed of racism, much less repented."

So how do we do that? Yes, we need more stories (as you brilliantly did in "The New Jim Crow"). But even more, we need laws that prohibit abhorrent behavior (because during the Civil Rights era it was the laws that insisted on behavior that was to protect everyone).

This article will make your blood boil. This is the quote that most outraged me:

Was Trayvon Martin, who was unarmed, posing a threat to Zimmerman's life? We may never know for sure, but in Florida -- and a growing number of states -- what matters isn't whether or not Martin was actually a threat, only that Zimmerman "reasonably" believed he was. But what is reasonable? Ekow Yankah, an associate professor of criminal law at Cardozo School of Law in New York, says that to some people, it is reasonable to be suspicious of a young black man walking alone in the dark.

Michelle, I believe it is time to talk more openly of what many of us know to be true regarding racism, privilege, etc. You've told the stories, but as you address the racism and ask questions of whether the life of a black boy is worth anything more people will upset -- because white moderates can fight for sentencing laws but to ask such a question baffles many. The same was true with the Troy Davis issue: my black friends wept and my white friends thought it was "unfortunate." The night Troy was executed/murdered, my black friends and I were screaming at each other on Facebook, shocked that the court didn't stay the execution. And most of my white friends were commenting on the new timeline on Facebook. Sorry for the typification, but really it was pretty much along race lines.

Obviously, many days later, more voices are being raised in protest -- white, black and all hues. But even today, one of my African-American friends has raised the question: Why was there so much more national outrage with Michael Vick and the dog incident, and, in comparison, silence on this issue? I suggested, "There is an internalized presumption that a Black Male may mean 'danger' and a lot of folks (even if they don't allow themselves to ponder on it) wonder if they might have done the same thing. So rather than naming that sin -- they justify it (without even knowing it)."

I yearn for those of us who have "pink skin" (as my daughter suggested, when she was little) to know the enormity of what it was for President Obama to say, "If I had a son, he'd look like Trayvon" because President Obama spoke the truth. Even a president's son wouldn't be safe in a hoodie carrying Skittles.

As we continue into the coming weeks of conversation and investigation we need to remember that there are MANY Troy Davises and Emmett Tills and Trayvon Martins in our nation. May those of us who have white skin remember -- and live into -- the wisdom and courage of Archbishop Tutu when he said, "If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality." 

Follow Rev. Ruth Hawley-Lowry on Twitter: www.twitter.com/RuthHL