On a Dark Day (and When Racial Tensions Persist)

Last night we were met with an act of violence that seems to come not of 2015, but maybe 1955. A young white man entered an historic AME church and killed nine people, including their pastor, who was also a prominent local politician. Those murdered had gathered for a prayer meeting and Bible Study, reports say.

Recent racial tensions around our nation have been a reminder (for those who needed it) that our hatred, bias and prejudice is not as long gone as we thought. Or hoped. And yet…how? Haven’t things changed?

Sadly, perhaps one thing that has changed is that a young white man entered an historic African-American church for its Wednesday evening gathering and stayed for an hour. An hour. Before he opened fire. That such an occurrence (a white person coming to be part of worship or study at an African American church) is more common today is a sadly positive reflection. One hopes. That church is not a protected, safe place is a reality which is sinking in for some today, but a truth which has long been at least buried in the back of the minds of those whose lives were shaped by the Civil Rights movement. When cowardly, hateful whites—sometimes themselves convinced of God’s favor for them—violated not only the God-given lives of their African American brothers and sisters, but did it while they worshipped God.

I am white. Can’t hide it. Pale skin, blue eyes. I was, however, raised by parents who held openness and overcoming racial barriers as an important part of who they wanted to raise us to be. I don’t know how it happened, but by third grade I had asked for (and received) an African American baby doll, a kente cloth vest, and texts of the sermons of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Throughout my life, I would attend public schools, including two in Baltimore City, where I had opportunity to learn far more about African American history and culture than most white kids in the US. In middle school, we did an entire unit on the Harlem Renaissance. It was awesome. I suspect the majority of whites in the US today have no idea what that is. A few weeks ago I learned my husband Chris had never seen the film Malcolm X. So I ordered a copy. I realized, looking at its release date, that when my father had taken me and my brother Dan to see it in the theaters (I remember it was long and there was in intermission) I was 12. Dan was 9, maybe 10.

I am a graduate of Western High School in Baltimore City. I was a racial minority at that school, but had the blessing to serve in leadership in the student body and city, including as Student Government president senior year, but also as a student member to the Baltimore City School Board.

In college and seminary I had both formal and informal opportunities to learn even more about African American history, issues and traditions. One of the most powerful college classes I took was an upper level history class called “Martin and Malcolm” that examined the teachings, leadership and development of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Minister Malcolm X. In seminary one year, I and a couple other students similarly interested in preaching would spend our Friday lunch hour watching and discussing sermons on DVD—nearly all by powerful African American pastors.

I say all of this to make one point: I shrink before a day like today, not knowing what to say. I cannot fathom the depth of sorrow, anger and any other emotions that the families and community of Emanuel AME Church is feeling today. I mourn for and with my colleagues who shared a personal connection with Emanuel, and who have a background in the AME Church. As United Methodists, we share a history with our AME brothers and sisters. Indeed, the existence of the AME and AME Zion churches are themselves largely a painful but true judgment upon and reminder of the racism that infected our predecessor Methodist church (north, south, and MP) many years ago.

I do not, however, feel comfortable not saying something. I think we would like to not admit it, but my newsfeed, I believe, would look very different if a Muslim extremist, or an African American had walked into a predominantly white church and taken such actions. All those racial divisions aside, just the level of violence, and AT A CHURCH, should cause disgust and anger. But we are human, and the nature of sin…SIN…is a focus on self. To say such is not a political or social commentary, but it strikes at the very heart of the Christian message. Our problem is our obsession with ourselves (and those like us). Augustine called this curvatis in se ipsum, being curved in on one’s self. It is the early’s church definition of sin. It remains, in my estimation, the same today (and always).

There is much more to say today. Much truth telling about where we really are as a nation and how we sweep our prejudices and hatred under rugs, not really dealing with them and hoping they don’t pop up at inconvenient times. There is much that people of faith must say and do to present the message of the Gospel that calls us all to healing, hope and wholeness. Wholeness never comes at the expense of the other, though. With the oppression or silencing of the other.

Here is what I am asking my white brothers and sisters to do:

• Listen. Read. Use this as an opportunity to learn more about the experience of our African American sisters and brothers. Know that even the African American experience has many differences and similarities around the country. Be open. Don’t give answers, just be present. Admit, at least to yourself, if true, that maybe you are indeed, as sad as you are for it, reacting differently than you would if this happen to people who looked like you. Or to your church or community. That maybe we all still struggle with sin, focus on self.
• Pray. For those grieving. For those murdered. For this broken community. For our nation and world. For the police and first responders. For the leaders. The pastors. For justice. For healing.
•  Speak out. Your silence may make your brothers and sisters believe you don’t care. You don’t need all the answers. You really don’t need any of them. Speak in love. Meet people where they are.
• Do something different. You may be active in efforts to eradicate racism and prejudice, an activism which challenges me and many others to do more. But do something more today (heck, if you’re one of those people, you’ve got a better idea than me what you should do). If you have struggled with the racial tensions recently evident, if you challenged the assertion made by many that some of these incidents were racially motivated, if you have lots of African American friends, if you think you’re really a very nice and loving person and don’t see skin color…do something today to learn more about your African American brothers and sisters and do something to make connections. Real, authentic and loving connections.

Yesterday, I was talking with a colleague, an African American District Superintendent, about a workshop on Forgiveness we will be teaching this summer at Pastors’ School in Zimbabwe. We talked about how forgiveness is not an end, but a means to the end. It is a way to get to the healing and wholeness God calls us to. Do something today to lead to healing and wholeness, specifically as it relates to the racial tensions and divisions that continue to plague our lives.