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Killing the Innocent
 Jesus was the forerunner. An innocent who was crucified on a cross because no one believed in Him nor agreed with his message, whether among the wealthy or the political and those who tagged along with the good thief Saint Dismas, and the unrepentant thief, Gestas. Poor Pilate - who didn’t know what to do with someone liked Jesus, but he couldn’t convince the big guys to take the blame, because, really, he didn’t think Jesus merited death. How come punishment and slaughter seems to happen to the best people, often those who should not be in that picture at all.
Think of the assassinations of our Presidents! Abraham Lincoln, and John F Kennedy - two of the most needed and useful and creative and honest of all the presidents. It was not about them. It was about what they could do to make the world a better place. Humble Lincoln was the first hope for including the African slaves into independence and the privileges we all are allowed to have. John Kennedy who had to deal with the crisis in Cuba, knowing when to hold on and when to let go, so that our nation would not be destroyed - would it have been destroyed by such a small nation where most of the rich people - like my auntie who went to Cuba for a fun in the sun type vacation now and then - and yet with the new, wild and really amazing Fidel Castro, things were getting tumbled up to create a new reign in Cuba which had nothing to do with all the good things that went on there in the past. Anyway, war would be put out the window without coming to life.
And then we were shocked at the murder of probably one of the greatest men ever to walk on these streets to this day. Cuba has not recouped from those days when the wealthy Americans would leap over Palm Beach or Miami to Cuba and enjoy the music, the sun, and the charming people who welcomed them. Then ironically, when I had somehow found Uruguay in the 1980s and my life began in its portals after I was ordained the first woman deacon in the Anglican realm, my bishop for many years was wonderful Miguel Tamayo and his wife Martha (she had become a deacon in Cuba) - and they were the ones who opened the doors for my ministry in prisons in Uruguay even though my Spanish was awful, but somehow enough people understood so I could get the point across.
I met my husband, a champion boxer who came to the Olympics in Los Angles in 1984. Sergio led me to Uruguay after we were married in Santa Barbara, where we lived briefly. After a super life with La Felicidad racing stable and then after fun and victories, somehow, working in a soup kitchen in the Anglican Cathedral, I was accepted as the first female deacon in the Anglican church in the Southern Cone of South America. Amazing Bill Godfrey made me the first woman deacon in South America. But a year later, he moved on up to Peru. And in his place came Bishop Miguel Tamayo and Martha who remain years after precious friends. With things the way they are today, and with their daughter living in Miami, they retired to Miami and have charming ministry in their neighborhood. I love visiting them. And Bishop Miguel and Martha taught me so much about visiting AIDS patients in the public hospitals. Oh, how many Martha and I buried of those with HIV. Yet it was the best time in my life, a time of learning and breaking barriers, those kinds of days. I even had gotten to know soccer (Futbol) since Sergio was owner of Basanez, a team that needed a bunch of help, I was still creative, and a fighter, and fearless and trusting the Lord would put me where He wished. Still does. Prisons have been my calling since I began in early 1990s - and when I returned to my Memphis precinct and their CIT courses, I knew a bit about the pain and danger and training a policeman must go through, risking their lives every day.
Probably the worst of the worst assassinations in my years (and that’s a bunch at 84) was the horrible killing of Martin Luther King, the one person who knew how to open doors to speak about God in a spectacular way. He was given to both African Americans and Blacks, as well as the bland and abusive whites, who didn’t like anyone of color having any kind of power, and still don’t. I was driving the Coach of the Memphis Ice Hockey team (Memphis South Stars) into the parking lot of the giant - it seemed then - Liberty Bowl Stadium. I screeched on the brakes, and we just sat there. Both of us were horrified. Both of us had no word. And we sat there, silent, listening to the radio, letting our hearts and souls try to get the picture, and hopefully restore life in our own abilities, so we could help somewhere, somewhere, somehow.
But all we could do was to listen to the radio - which basically told us to get everybody off the streets and go home. So, we cancelled the Memphis Stars game that night.
Those of us still living - have never forgotten that moment, that afternoon, that picture of African American leaders standing on a balcony of the old Lorraine Hotel, where Dr. King was going to spend the night. But nothing was truthful, regional, correct, reasonable, sayable, or figure out the whys and whose and please God, why did YOU allow this to happen.
As if that was not enough, the one great hope of organizing and spiritualizing the black community to get together with the white, Dr. King Jr. was murdered as he stood on a balcony right in downtown Memphis. Why was he staying at that hotel? I wondered. He was certainly surrounded by the best African American leaders anywhere in this country. And so many of us were hoping, praying, believing that good things could be done and all this racism and greed and horrors that had been going on, might be eliminated. No hope in that.
Outside the Auditorium where the splendid Grizzlies play, believe you me, basketball became a black or African American skill that no one, but maybe one or two white, could even come close to the dedication, the skills, the sharp eyes, and grins that of those men who became NBA’s best players. And look the many teams and the amazing stars, and those well paid to make basketball a super event for us all. It is so so exciting these days and the stories that got it to where it is today are extraordinary. Sadly, some tragic, for their unexpected losses, like Kobe Bryant. But we hold on to our Grizz jerseys and wave those small yellow towels and fuss and cuss and cheer and scream with all one’s might to encourage our team to be the best they can be. God keep us safe whether we are in church or the FedEx Forum or walking to our cars.
~ Rev
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audrey@audreytaylorgonzalez.com
www.audreytaylorgonzalez.com
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