Breathe

I couldn’t breathe…

Another black man killed on camera. Yet, I was supposed to keep my mouth shut. With a knee on his neck—or maybe his back—I was told to pipe down and wait for the facts. Yet, I was gasping, unable to catch a deep breath. But I’m still alive.

More riots. More violence. I didn’t condone it, but I did believe our lives matter. I still do. Yet when I speak my mind, I’m slammed flat on my back, the wind is knocked out of me again, staring at my teammates who don’t seem to want to help me up. 

I couldn’t breathe.

With an angry heart and clenched fists, I was determined to speak my mind. I shouted. I yelled. I screamed.

Until I was out of breath. 

Yet my anger didn’t produce righteousness. As I looked at the carnage of strained relationships and hurtful words in the aftermath of my EF5 anger, I realized that I, too, was part of the problem. “They won’t listen to me!”, I screamed. God’s voice thundered, “Be quick to hear, slow to speak, and slow to anger”. “They don’t love me as they should!”, I cried. The Lord spoke again, “Love your neighbor as you love yourself”. 

Again, I was breathless.

This time I felt like Isaiah. As I beheld God in His glory, I was in utter silence. Though I was wronged, I had no reason to wrong others. Though I was hurt, I wasn’t justified in hurting others. Though I was angry, I had no right to sin in that anger. It was then that I remembered that in order to become more righteous, I needed to value Someone greater than the man in the mirror. The only way to be transformed is to keep beholding the Son of God in His glory, not by baling up my fists, furrowing my brow, and holding my breath.

I can breathe again. 

I hope to never see another breathless black man whose life has been ripped from him through injustice. But if I do, Lord willing, I will know how to catch my breath.

Just breathe.