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Editor’s Note:
The following sermon was delivered at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco, California on June 10, 2001, using John 16:12-15.

ANWR: Worth My First Arrest
by Sally Grover Bingham

Religious leaders kneel in protest against oil drilling in ANWR (Sally Bingham at bottom left)
Sally Bingham is arrested by the Washington police

Trinity Sunday has traditionally been a Sunday that clergy dodge because we feel that congregations want an explanation of the relationship between God, the Father, God, the Son, and God, the Holy Spirit. Even if congregations don’t want it, clergy feel it is their job to explain it. But I don’t think it can be explained in any practical comprehensive way. It is an awesome mystery. The Trinity moves through our lives in very different ways. Each of you has stories that demonstrate the interaction of the Three in One, and I invite you to reflect on those times by telling you a story as it happened to me. This is my story, but it can also be yours.

A few months ago I was asked to sign a petition in protest of oil drilling in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. After I did that I was asked to come to Washington DC with other religious leaders for a prayer service in front of the Department of Energy. The service was held to pray for our leaders to forego disturbing the sacred land of the Gwich’in people who live there and are opposed to the oil rigs moving in. The Gwich’in people are largely Episcopalian, and our Bishop of Alaska was just here at the National Cathedral expressing his opposition to drilling in ANWR.

So I had a reason to go from the outside pressure, but I had even stronger reason within. My heart calls me to fight against anything that destroys God’s Creation. This national wildlife refuge is one of the last remaining pristine areas on the planet, and MOST importantly it is loved by God. This land was created by God and made sacred when God said, "It is Good". We read in Isaiah 6 this morning, "The whole earth is full of His glory." I love God and I love the land that God created for us to take care of. Here God was playing a strong role in my decision to want to be there — God, the Father.

While I waffled over whether or not to go, the Holy Spirit moved. A few days after receiving the invitation to participate, I realized that a board I am on was having its spring meeting in Washington the very same week. Holy Spirit — are you telling me to go?

Then two appointments that I had here in San Francisco — not one, but two appointments — were cancelled. And besides the clearing of my calendar here, I got a call from the couple that I would be marrying over Memorial Day weekend, wanting to know if I could meet with them while I was in DC for the board meeting. Unless I went a day or two early, I wouldn’t be able to do that.

I know that standing up for what you believe is often difficult and often inconvenient, but this was being made easy. I should have been suspicious.

This was a call to Washington, and I decided to go and be part of the prayer service. Thank you, Holy Spirit — God, the Holy Spirit. While I was apprehensive, I really thought it was the right thing to do, and there was now nothing to hold me back. I know that standing up for what you believe is often difficult and often inconvenient, but this was being made easy. I should have been suspicious.

It was a beautiful day in Washington and I had no trouble finding my way to the meeting point. At 9:30am, I was dressed in black pants and shirt with my clergy collar and stole, standing with 100 or so other people. Many were ordained clergy, but most of the crowd was lay people carrying signs and banners. There were two other Episcopal priests, one who I knew slightly. Except for him and a Methodist woman friend, there was no one I had ever seen before, yet I felt held up and pushed forward, by the Spirit. God had gotten me there. The Spirit was holding me.

As we walked through the garden of the Smithsonian weaving our way to the Department of Energy, I had thoughts of "What are you doing here? This is a demonstration!" I marched on.

When this large procession arrived in the courtyard in front of the Department of Energy, we stopped and made a huge circle within a circle. The clergy were mostly situated at one end of the circles. An elder from the Gwich’in tribe spoke first, and then the service began with prayers, chants, homilies, and song.

I’m not sure just when, but in the midst of the prayer service I became aware that police were all around us. There were TV cameras, reporters and more police. When the service ended at about 10am, certain people went over to the doorway of the building. I was pushed over or nudged along by some other clergy, so I went. They obviously wanted people with vestments in the front, and I was wearing a stole with a wind turbine on it.

These clergy seemed to have a plan. They all got down on their knees and others stood behind them. I joined the clergy on my knees. They started to sing a song: "O Lord make me a sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true/ and with thanksgiving, I’ll be a living sanctuary for you." We repeated it over and over; I had it memorized.

After several minutes of this, a large police officer came over with a megaphone and said, "This is your 15 minute warning. If you don’t disperse, you will be arrested." I looked around and no one was moving, not a soul. I began to wonder: What are these folks thinking about? After a little while the officer came back and said, "This is your five minute warning. Leave or you will be arrested." I looked around. Still no one moved, and my knees were killing me.

If one person had moved, it would have sent me on my way. But I wasn’t going to be the only coward in the group and, after all, I do believe that drilling for oil in ANWR is a crime. Was I willing to be arrested for it?

So I wondered, should I get up and run to the other side of the courtyard? Why wasn’t anyone moving? If one person had moved, it would have sent me on my way. But I wasn’t going to be the only coward in the group, and, after all, I do believe that drilling for oil in ANWR is a crime. Was I willing to be arrested for it?

Well, with short, but deep conviction, I decided "Yes". This is what it’s all about. Standing up for what you believe in or kneeling for what you believe in was my call. God, the Father, whom I love and loves me created the land that was threatened, God, the Holy Spirit, had brought me here. Yes, I would let myself be arrested.

One by one we were handcuffed and taken to the waiting paddy wagons: eleven men and eleven women. They drove us around for a while in the wagons with no air and no windows, so we didn’t know where they were taking us. I was in a section of the wagon with another woman who was a professional protester. What? Yes, a pro at being arrested. I had never heard of such a thing. Here I was being driven around Washington DC, my hands behind my back, sliding around on the seat which was made of stainless steel, and wondering if I had made the right decision. I was passionately convinced that drilling for oil in ANWR was going to disrupt the breeding ground of the caribou, destroy the culture of the Gwich’in people, and ruin a pristine area. And I was with a professional protester. She convinced me that she was serious about this issue, and she also gave me information about what might and might not happen to us. That served as little comfort, however, as I wondered where is the Holy Spirit now.

I knew that the other women were in the front section of this paddy wagon, but I had no idea where the men were and as it turned out we never saw them again. My companion had convinced me that we would be booked and kept for only four hours, so I was already thinking about the rest of the Science Advisory meeting that was going on and dinner with my friends later. I’d surely make that meeting, since according to my companion we’d be out by 2pm at the latest.

The next two hours were spent getting in and out of the paddy wagon three times. The first time was to be booked and searched, during which we gave up our personal belongings. Then we were put back in handcuffs for another ride to the holding cell. This time all eleven women were in the same cell — a small 8x8 cell. At some point we starting asking each other: Where do you think the men are? No one knew, and in despair we started to sing.

A woman with a beautiful voice started and we all followed along. After the first verse we paused just long enough to hear the men singing back to us from the cells down the hall. They sounded like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. It was so beautiful, and for the next couple of hours we sang back and forth. I had tears in my eyes for reasons that I cannot explain: just to know they were there and we were not alone.

Eventually the guards came and got us, and we were placed back in the paddy wagons with our hands once again behind our backs. This time we were taken to the downtown city jail, and placed two at a time into dirty green cells with steel hanging cots, where we could lie down if we dared to. They brought us the first food we had seen since breakfast: it was now about 8 at night. (I thought of the dinner I was missing at some fancy hotel.)

Our long-awaited food was a bologna sandwich that was so disgusting I couldn’t even look at it. The bread was gray-green and the bologna was smelly. So I wrapped it back up in the saran wrap and put it under my head for a pillow.

Our long-awaited food was a bologna sandwich that was so disgusting I couldn’t even look at it. The bread was gray-green and the bologna was smelly. So I wrapped it back up in the saran wrap and put it under my head for a pillow. My cellmate was the only other Episcopal priest in the group: thank you, Holy Spirit. I was so grateful for her presence. She was more afraid than I was, but even in her apprehension about our future she was a comfort to me. We started to hum Christian hymns, which we could do for the first time all day; we had had to be respectful of the other religions present. But in our own cell, away from the others, we could sing them and we did: "St. Patrick’s Breastplate," which I sang at my ordination; "Lift High the Cross"; and other familiar hymns. What an amazing comfort it was.

It was at this point that I realized the acute presence of Christ and the strong sense of belonging. My fear was replaced with courage and strength. I knew I was doing the right thing, no matter what happened to us. I felt energized and full of the Spirit. God, the Son, was there with us in all his glory. It was a religious experience for me. My new best friend and I were identifying with Nelson Mandela, Martin Luther King, and Jesus Himself. We had a chance to experience the strength that comes from true deep faith in Jesus.

I had been inspired by God, the Father, to love Creation; led to Washington by God, the Holy Spirit; and given the strength to endure by God, the Son, Jesus Himself. God, the Father, God the Son and God, the Holy Spirit. I could endure whatever discomfort came my way because I was standing up for God’s Creation.

There are some things that are worth getting arrested for, and this is one. Amen.

 

Sally Grover Bingham is a priest in the Episcopal Diocese of California currently working as the Environmental Minister at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco. She has been active in the environmental community for twenty years, and serves on the national board of Environmental Defense. Sally is the founder and co-director of The Regeneration Project, a nonprofit ministry focusing on global climate change, which includes an initiative called Episcopal Power and Light whose mission is to have the Episcopal Church become a zero emission community. She was recently appointed by Mayor Willie Brown to serve on the Commission on the Environment for the City and County of San Francisco. Sally, California native, has three children, Sarah, Stephen and Lock. She can be emailed at ecosal@aol.com.

 

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