Letters to a Church in Quarantine - Chapter 2
In my family, we’d be quick to tell you that we weren’t racist. We meant it.
We didn’t hate anyone. We had some black friends. We had some Muslim friends. We often hired people who weren't white.
Our churches were mostly white, but anyone was welcome at them. We believed that God loved all people. Racism was mostly a media ruse.
Racist families existed, but we definitely weren’t one of them.
And yet…
~~~~~
When I was ten, we were stopped at a stoplight and a black man with sagged pants crossed the street in front of us. This prompted an adult family member I lived with (NOT Mom) to say, “I’m not racist, but you know, there are black people and there are (N word)s.”
I asked what that meant, and was told that the former acted “normal” (like white people) and the latter were “black people who acted like black people.” They continued, “Just like how there are white people and there are whiggers.”
I'd heard that word from adults and teens in our family and church before. Again I asked and was answered, "those are white people who dress and act like blacks.”
I vividly remember being uncomfortable. But I also remember laughing. I really liked that family member. If they thought it was funny, maybe it wasn’t that bad?
We’re not racist, it’s just that black culture is bad and/or broken.
Anyone who likes or resembles it gets a less-than nickname.
I disagreed with that person. I later wanted to say something, but I never did.
~~~~~
When we’d see commercials or ads with interracial couples, adults in my immediate and extended family would chime, “I really just feel bad for their kids. I’m not being racist, because people can marry who they want. But the kids will be confused. They won’t know if they’re white or black, or where they belong.” #thinkofthechildren
I disagreed with them. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t. No one did.
~~~~~
I was a teen when we moved to the suburbs of Flushing. When the neighborhood’s first black family bought a house down the street a couple of years after we moved in, I was elated because they had kids our age. My enthusiasm was discouraged by an adult in my household, “there goes the neighborhood. When one moves in, more will follow. Then property values go down.”
I heard this restated and repeated by dozens of adults and teens at parties, church potlucks, and holidays that year as word spread about our new neighbors.
We’re not racist…it’s just that black people have their own neighborhoods.
It’s better for everyone, if we just stay where we belong.
I disagreed with them. I wanted to say something. I almost did, but I stopped.
~~~~~
In Sunday School, after shouting a self-rousing sermon about our great country, the teacher told our class of white teenaged boys that America would "face God’s judgement and cease to exist if a black man ever became president.” With his next heavy breath he smirked, “or a woman, because they’re just so darn emotional.”
We’re not racist, it’s just that black people can’t lead. Nor can women.
And anger and smugness are not emotions.
I strongly disagreed with him. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t. None of us did.
~~~~~
Weeks later, that same Sunday School teacher told us all black people were cursed descendants of Ham (from that one time when Noah got sauced, got embarrassed, and screamed at his son in a drunken fit of rage). This made blacks lower than whites.
“I’m not racist,” he pointed his finger at his page, “It’s in the Bible.”
It is NOT in the Bible. I later learned he was quoting a footnote (editorial commentary) in a popular study Bible. This heretical interpretation is NOT widely held in Christianity, thank God. I’d bet most owners of that Bible aren't aware of that footnote.
We’re not racist, it’s just that black people are cursed.
And I can make the Bible say anything I want.
I disagreed with that. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t. None of us did.
~~~~~
There was a young white couple in our church circle who had adopted black children. Growing up, I cannot count the white adults who spewed statements like,
“They just want to draw a check from the government.”
“They just want attention.”
“They must feel bad for something.”
“Were there no more white kids left?”
I disagreed with that. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t. No one I knew did.
~~~~~
If our white friends’ daughters ever dated a black boy it was very taboo, often accompanied by a remark about her being a “wild child” with minimal restraints, and follow-up quips about teen pregnancy.
Never once heard talk about the childish white boys who fooled around, though.
We’re not racist…it’s just that white girls who date black boys are rebellious,
and will wind up pregnant and alone. But white boys will be boys.
I disagreed with them. I wanted to say something. But I didn’t.
~~~~~
I was hanging with a church friend and their dad (a church elder) was watching the news. When the anchor spoke of welfare reform, he muted the TV and spouted "(N-word)s just want free government money. Why don't they just get a job?"
I was ashamed. Welfare and social security had kept my grandparents and parents afloat before, and they worked hard. Plus I knew that all my black friends had dads with jobs. I also didn't want to lose my friend if I spoke.
We're not racist...it's just that black people are lazy.
And welfare recipients are just leeches.
I disagreed with him. I wanted to say something. But I didn’t.
~~~~~
I could go on. I have many points for this post, though none of which are to make you dislike any people that I know and love. Thankfully, my family tree is large, I went to many churches, and I had many SS teachers, so you can't guess who said what, unless you were there.
I guarantee you that most of the people I heard these statements from would have denied they were racist, because they didn’t hate black people. Many of them have grown and changed either their views or their language over the years.
Then why give enraging details? Why fan the flames?
I'm not fanning the flames; I'm trying to smother them, starting with my own.
I tell these stories because racism happened daily in our good-seeking, white Christian households and churches that claimed to be anti-racism. We set our own fires.
"Not hating black people" didn't exempt us from racism. It still doesn't.
I also highlight the harshness in order to greater contrast my own failure.
I do not race to share this post with you. I limp up to it with my biases still smoking and sizzling, for the brutal truth is I am as guilty as every oppressor in these stories. I was racist, even when I didn’t think I was. Especially when I didn’t think I was. I've grown, but I have not yet left my racial sins behind. My affair with inaction and silence (perhaps the stealthiest racial sins) plagues me to this day.
I have stayed quiet SO. MANY. TIMES. in my life. Even recently. Even now.
Sometimes I’m afraid to speak. (usually when the offender is angry and stubborn)
Sometimes I don’t know what to say, or think my words won’t suffice.
Sometimes I don’t know enough info to rebut.
Sometimes I’m not sure I’m the right person to say something.
Sometimes I don’t want to fight.
Sometimes I think my words will fall on deaf ears.
Sometimes it’s all of the above. So I have often stayed silent.
It's contradicting, because I am very vocal, and have zero tolerance for racist remarks or actions while I’m subbing, or with our youth group.
Yet when family, neighbors, acquaintances, church folk, or strangers make jokes or jabs at people of color, my reserves of passivity and tolerance are miraculously bottomless; my cup runneth over.
I’ve realized SILENCE is a part of my privilege package.
My silence doesn’t affect me at all.
Yet for black Americans, silence remains an unattainable luxury.
If I were the only silent one, perhaps it wouldn’t be an issue. But it is the continued silence of millions that has stretched our conflict of race through today.
A most wrenching part for me is how often silence has emanated from The Church and its people throughout history. Even recently. Even now.
Especially the more I study Jesus. Or Paul. Or even the Israelite Exodus.
If we believe Jesus reveals to us God’s true nature, then we are blind if we can’t see, or stubborn if we won't see, it’s the oppressed He fights for.
Jesus used his power, influence, and words to
bring down the lofty
raise up the lowpull in outcasts from the shadowsand bring love to the forefront.
As a white pastor, from mostly white-led and white-filled churches, this hits hard.
Because silence is what we have seeped in. We have soaked in its lukewarm waters for decades.
In my thirty-six years of being in churches, and sixteen years of working in churches, I have heard more messages about abortion and politics (#ourfavoriteidol) and cultural immorality than I can count. But on racial equality? I might not even need both hands to count those.
Again, in full remorseful transparency, do you know how many sermons on racial divides that I have given or scheduled? Zero. Maybe a few brushes during “Tough Questions” segments, but that’s it.
Shame on me. Shame on us. Our silence is damning to all.
We have to do better. I have do better.
No matter who I’m with. Or who I’m speaking to.
When I look at my black friends' posts, I see them saying in solidarity, “Speak up!”
So I will.
~~~~~
To my black sisters and brothers, I am so very, very sorry that I have been silent.
Black lives matter.
So dearly.
Every single one.
No addendums. No substitutions.
It IS a serious problem that some of us can’t say it. Even more serious that some of us won’t. Because saying “black lives matter” doesn’t mean that others don’t.
To my fellow white Christ-followers, if we claim to follow Jesus in actions and love, and we cannot say that black lives matter–without substitutions–it is imperative that we go to the Lord and ask him why it is difficult for us. Sometimes the plank was shoved into our eye by someone else; sometimes we do it ourselves. Removing it is painful, no matter how it got there. But if we don't remove it, we will lose our sight.
Any thing or any thought that we allow to hinder us from loving our black neighbors in the way we love ourselves is an idol.
This is NOT a mere political issue. May we stop playing the devil’s endless, clever little game. Jesus refused the temptation of political strength and power. We should, too.
This is NOT a mere media issue. Racism exists when the cameras are off. Racism exists even if we don’t like it, most often in corners and conversations that we allow to stay darkened.
This IS, however, a humanity issue. One you and I contribute to with every decision.
I pray we use this tumultuous time to flip our own tables. And that I flip mine.
I pray we seek the Spirit in discernment and allow it to shine into our dark corners and conversations, so we may align with Christ and humbly contribute to Restoration.
So please: join me, as we join them.
May we speak it out loud until we can say it loudly.
Then may we say it loudly until we can act in love boldly.
Then may we act in love boldly until everyone can breathe.
Black. Lives. Matter.
Black. Lives. Matter.
Black. Lives. Matter.
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