From These Ashes

By Rev. Terry Davis 

Delivered at Northwest Unitarian Universalist

Congregation on February 10, 2013

When Susan approached me to see what I thought about inviting Tonya Groomes to join her in sharing their reflections about racial injustice and the personal and cultural experiences that have shaped  their perspectives, I imagined that we would be in for two powerful narratives this morning.

As Tonya indicated, she and Susan were brought together by a shared history . . . a shared history of racial oppression that links them together . . . that links all of us in this country together in pain and in promise.

Susan spoke so eloquently of that promise when she discovered a deeper meaning to Geneva’s remark that she was “better than you” . . . that she would never perpetuate the injustices that African Americans had suffered (and I believe many, because of their economic circumstances, continue to suffer). She quoted Victor Frankl, who says that we must know why we exist in order to bear our burdens with grace and accept our blessings in life with humility.

Similarly, Tonya spoke of that promise when she said that the dignity that comes from faith is what kept African Americans whole and able to move forward during slavery and their re-enslavement following the Civil War. Tonya says she believes that African Americans found that “why” – that reason for existence – in their faith in a power greater than themselves, the God of their understanding.

In both Susan’s and Tonya’s stories, it seems that the opportunity for healing – the opportunity to rise out of the ashes of fear of annihilation and separation from the best of the human spirit – is made possible when we come to recognize that we are connected to one another in deep and profound ways.

We rise out of the ashes, like the mythic phoenix rises from the flames of its ancestor, when we recognize that there is no “them” – only “we.” It is the recognition of “we” . . . that we’re all in this together . . . that brings forth the empathy that our world needs to overcome the oppression of racism and its frequent companion, classism, and to set us all free.

The story of the phoenix rising out of the ashes is one that our city, Atlanta, felt befit its own difficult and ongoing journey from oppression to freedom. The image of the phoenix can be found in Atlanta’s seal and its message of rebirth is captured in the city’s motto Resurgens, which means “rising again.”

Some scholars believe that the story of the rising phoenix was written by the Roman Poet Ovid, who lived during the first century. According to the myth, when the phoenix has lived five hundred years, it builds itself a nest in the branches of an oak, or on the top of a palm tree.

A spark from the hooves of the celestial horses that belong to the Egyptian sun god Ray ignites the nest and burns the phoenix inside. Out of the ashes, a beautiful new phoenix eventually emerges and shapes the remaining ashes into an egg . . . an egg which it then carries to the temple of Ray as an offering before flying away to paradise. Every 500 years, the phoenix returns to earth and repeats the cycle.^[1]

It’s perhaps easy to see why this beautiful story of rebirth was adopted by Atlanta . . . a city that has experienced bitter struggles and amazing triumphs as it has risen from the ashes of the Civil War, slavery, and Jim Crow laws to become the birthplace of the civil rights movement.

And, as Atlanta continues to struggle and triumph, I do, too. I know that being white, highly educated and economically advantaged gives me a great amount of power and privilege in our society . . . even as my gender and same-sex sexual orientation temper some of that.

And, as it is said, with power comes responsibility . . . the first responsibility being, perhaps, to bring an attitude of humility and open-mindedness to the struggle for justice and a willingness to serve as an ally wherever I can.

And so, in thinking more about today’s topic, I asked my partner Gail if she would take a ride downtown with me after dinner this past Friday night. I had read about a bronze sculpture located in Woodruff Park that I wanted to see for myself.

Entitled “Atlanta from the Ashes,” the sculpture depicts a woman with her arms raised above her head, holding the legs of a gilded phoenix as it takes flight and lifts her from flames. Rich’s Department Stores gave it to the city in 1969 to commemorate its 100^th anniversary.

As we approached the intersection of Edgewood Avenue and Peachtree Street, we could see the tall monument at the very corner of the park. It stood high above a nearby tree and gleamed in the light of the street lamps. Our awe of its beauty and grace was dampened by our surveillance of the surrounding area.

Many stores and buildings that lined the streets were closed or boarded up. Few pedestrians were out and about – and this was 7:30 pm on a Friday night. A lone horse and buggy taking tourists on a sight-seeing tour was just ahead of us, winding its way through the lonely landscape.

Will we ever revive our downtown, I thought to myself. Will we ever reverse the damage of white flight? Will we ever face the ugliness of racial oppression . . . an ugliness that seemed to take form that night in those abandoned buildings and lifeless streets?

We traveled east on Edgewood towards Boulevard Street and home . . . and as we did, the area slowly began to change. Block by block, barber shops, convenience stores, and a few ethnic restaurants began to appear. We saw apartments and coffee shops and art galleries.

As we approached the Old Fourth Ward, we encountered young men and women – black and white – walking along the streets, ducking in and out of pubs, and basically having a night out on the town.

They were hopeful signs . . . signs where race and class divisions don’t exist and don’t matter. Granted, this was a small sliver of downtown Atlanta, but I found it inspiring nevertheless.

As we go from here, I hope for myself and for you that we can continue our path of doing kindness and seeking justice. The ashes of injustice have provided a fertile ground for us . . . they provide us with a chance to see where we can use our power for the greatest good . . . where we can make a difference.

May we go from here, ready and inspired to make it so. Amen.