A year after I was born, my father was hired by Johnson Wax as a salesman, visiting grocery stores across Indiana, peddling his wares, mostly Raid bug spray and Pledge furniture polish. Then in 1970, the shaving cream world was rocked when Johnson Wax invented Edge shaving cream, which Dad told me was going to be huge, that if a man used it just once, he’d be hooked for life. He gave nearly every man in Danville a free can of Edge, like a drug dealer passing out free samples of cocaine.
As a result of the free shaving cream, my father became well-liked, parlaying his popularity into a seat on the Danville town board. This was in 1970, which turned out to be a banner year for our family. Dad won a sales contest for Edge shaving cream and was awarded a free color television, our first one ever, then was elected to the town board, and we moved to a new house. Unfortunately, having so much success in such a short time went to my father’s head and he began boasting about all the things he would accomplish for the town. It was kind of a Make Danville Great Again campaign without the racism, sexism, and xenophobia. He was going to improve the town swimming pool, build a new water treatment plant, and maybe even, and this is what really filled our eyes with stars, get Danville its very own Burger Chef restaurant.
He spent 25 years on the town board and only accomplished two of his three objectives—the wastewater treatment plant, which turned out to be a timely addition after the construction of a Burger Chef restaurant. The grand opening of the Burger Chef was the most memorable day of my young life. Cowboy Bob and Janie and Cowboy Bob’s dog, Tumbleweed, came out from the city to Danville, and Tumbleweed sat and spoke and shook hands, and Cowboy Bob lassoed small children while Janie passed out coupons for Big Chef and Super Chef hamburgers. I stood next to my father, amidst all this glory, soaking it all in, and looked up to see him, radiant with joy at what he had accomplished.
It had not been easy. Like most politicians, my father had made great and grandiose promises, only to meet resistance after winning office. It turned out a surprising number of people didn’t want a Burger Chef in Danville, and some of them served on the Zoning Committee and fought it tooth and nail, despite my father showering them with cases of Raid and Pledge and Edge. I am as certain as certain can be that my father’s 25 years of public service caused him to become an alcoholic. From the ages of 37 to 62, he was a worrying wreck of a man, his dreams thwarted at every turn by those whose cooperation he needed, but couldn’t secure.
We’ve been thinking about the things that give us hope. We’ve mentioned the movements and moments of resistance we are witnessing. Last week, we celebrated spunky women who are resisting cruelty with wit and creativity. Today, I want to add to our list, the power of the status quo. I’m calling this message Thank God for the Status Quo, which is something of a stretch for me, since at pivotal moments in my life I have been an ardent foe of the status quo. But today I am profoundly grateful for the human impulse to resist change, and not just resist change, but actively subvert and sabotage it. These days, I am profoundly grateful for those who are standing up and saying, “We’ve never done it this way before.” and “That’s not how we do things.” In the past, those two sayings were fingernails on my existential blackboard, but now they are sweet music to my ears.
When I was called to pastor my first Quaker meeting, I was determined to grow it into a Quaker megachurch. It was located in a rural area and had only 20 attenders, but I had a dream. I read all the books I could on church growth, attended conferences and symposiums on discipleship, preaching, and general whiz-bangery. I watched and read sermons by famous preachers, determined to emulate their success. I announced my plans to the meeting’s elders who were excited about the possibilities of growth. What I had not counted upon was a large, gruff woman who stood in the doorway of the meetinghouse every Sunday morning, her hands on her hips, saying to everyone she didn’t recognize, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
I asked her not to do that, but she persisted. I spoke about it with the elders, but they were afraid to challenge her. Nevertheless, I persisted and am proud to say after that after four years, our Sunday attendance rocketed from 20 people to 21, when one of the young women in our meeting had a baby.
So I never thought, in my wildest imaginations, that I would be grateful to hear someone say, “We’ve never done it that way before.”
Because whenever I heard that said in the past, someone was getting the shaft.
We heard it when Black people wanted their freedom and then equal rights. “We’ve never done it that way before.”
We heard it when gay people wanted to marry one another. “We’ve never done it that way before.”
We heard it when young men were old enough to be sent to war, but not old enough to vote for the politicians sending them there. “We’ve never done it that way before.”
We heard it when people of color were allowed to live in some neighborhoods, but not others; when they could use some restrooms, but not others; drink from some fountains, but not others; sit in some seats, but not others. Attend some schools, but not others. “We’ve never done it that way before.”
We still hear it when women want equal pay for equal work or access to reproductive healthcare. “We’ve never done it that way before.”
Donald Trump and Elon Musk can dream all day long about creating a fascistic oligarchy in which the wealthy are beyond the reach and rule of law. For a while they might even think their dreams are coming true, but I promise you one thing, there’s a lady standing in a doorway somewhere, her hands on her hips, saying, “Who are you? What are you doing here?” And not just that one lady. There are others standing in doorways, too. There are judges who treasure the rule of law. There are soldiers who remember their oath to support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic. There are police officers determined to protect and serve. And there are millions of folks just like us, people who might never have sworn an oath, but are every bit as committed to justice, democracy, and liberty for all. We are standing in our doorways, hands on our hips, and we will not be moved aside, so help us God.
I am grateful that sentence is being redeemed. It is long past time for that sentence to be used on the side of justice and not injustice. It may soon become the loveliest sentence I have ever heard. We’ve never done it that way, and we will not start now.