I’ve been working at listening to my black friends. As I’ve said before, I’ve always avoided writing about racial tensions on the blog because I feel many people have their opinions on how it should be handled and few simply live out love. But after Charlottesville, and after several requests to address racism, I decided I needed to enter the conversation.
But what do you say when you’re a skinny white guy and life has always gone well for you, economically and socially? Do I jump aboard Black Live Matter (BLM) and vehemently oppose white supremacy? Isn’t that almost as ignorant as asking, “What is white supremacy”?
Furthermore, my desire in writing about racism is not to aggregate heated emotions and have a colossal bout to see who is right. I want to be a part of reconciliation. I want all of my life to be about reconciliation. And how can I be about reconciliation effectively through mere words on the increasingly distracting Internet?
I’m not sure I really know the answer to that. But I do know nearly seven thousand people read this blog a month, seven thousand of whom I am sure also long for racial reconciliation. So, perhaps we can at least humanize the conversation. Perhaps this can be a place where those who don’t feel heard can be heard. . .because I’m a skinny white guy.
Therefore, in an effort to move in that direction, I love listening to my black friends give their stories, share their perspectives.
My black brother’s take on racism
Recently, I had a conversation with a friend who is black and lives in the south. He was born shortly after desegregation was fully integrated, so he grew up with parents and friends who remember well the pain of segregation.
He told me he’s not in favor of BLM, the total demolishing of statues and so forth, but neither does he appreciate the statues standing in city squares. He thinks they should be taken down and put in museums to remember, similarly to the holocaust museum. We don’t celebrate Hitler, but we remember what was done. We grieve the tragedy and learn from the mistakes made in that time.
But my friend also said something that resonated even more with me.
He said, racism is not a social issue. It’s a depravity issue. What drives racism, no matter what color of skin one has, isn’t the way the judicial system is set up; it’s that we are broken people with hearts bent on serving ourselves.
The flesh thrives on partiality because it gives us what we’re looking for immediately and on our own terms: a sense of significance, ownership, privilege. And folks, partiality extends far beyond race.
Partiality is what led to sickness and death in the Corinthian church because they were being selfish when they came together for the Lord’s Supper (1 Cor. 11:17-34). People were feasting while others went hungry. James rebuked the believers at Jerusalem because they were drooling over a rich man while despising the poor (Jas. 2:1-13).
What leads one to grab food first or welcome someone who has something to give him and turn a cold shoulder to those who don’t is that ultimately, in our natural state, all we care about is what is in it for us. Our nature is broken. Depraved. Entirely selfish.
More than just talk
Now, let’s bring this close to home. We skinny (or fat) white people love to talk. And if you’re from Swedish-German background, like me, you carry strong opinions. And every one of us has a strong opinion on how to deal with racism.
But when will we get our hands dirty?
The black community is full of brokenness, and as my friend also pointed out, they are crying out for more but aren’t sure how to get it. They have deep scars of horrific oppression. They want healing. They want recognition and validation. But they also face threats within their own community.
My friend’s biggest fear growing up was other black men. He remembers gunshots and robberies happening in their apartment building. I can’t fathom what that would be like as a six or eight-year-old.
We can’t expect the black community to just “get it together” or “be good, responsible citizens” without stepping in and caring for them to the degree our own people once abused them.
In other words, since blacks were once beaten and thrown out of public meeting places, I should be willing to serve the blacks that now find themselves homeless and addicted to drugs. I should disrupt my comfortably scheduled life enough to walk with at least one black brother and help him find work. Or whatever needs he has.
What keeps us back
We’re afraid of what’s different. As inhibited and shy as we whites can be, blacks are uninhibited. Instead of delighting in their beautiful personalities, it’s easier (and safer) to write them off as abrasive and “in your face.” Then we don’t have to get close to them.
But that’s just depravity showing itself. It’s partiality. Preferring ourselves above others (Phil. 2:3)
This unwillingness to “get dirty” actually seems to be a major weakness of Christians with multi-generational Christianity in their background. When someone comes into our circles and doesn’t snap into the grid of our lifestyles in the amount of time we assume they should be able to, we start chattering. We conclude things about them. And the quiet chatter and unspoken conclusions reveal themselves in our demeanors towards them and the way we don’t choose them to hang out with when we have an open evening.
Partiality, depravity, racism. It’s all one and the same. Hearts focused on ourselves.
Why we can’t just ignore it
These are people we’re talking about. People who have years of brokenness scarring their history. If we are the redeemed, if Christ lives in us, as I believe He does, then it behooves us to come alongside in an un-showy manner and gently help them be restored.
Racism (as with any kind of discipleship issue) isn’t going to be solved with a law or abolition of a law. It’s going to be solved with the people of God faithfully caring for those who want healing. It’s not going to be solved in one year or even one generation. It’s going to take lifetimes of longsuffering.
At the foot of the cross, everyone finds restoration. The rich young ruler and the demoniac slave girl. The black man and the white lady. The first-generational believer and the multi-generational believer.
We all come from a broken line of humanity. Can we gather together around the One who had more right than any of us to be partial, but wasn’t? Can we extend a helping hand to those our ancestors violated?
Or are our own comforts and lives all we care about?
If we’re going to get anywhere in this conversation, regardless of what we believe about the civil war, regardless of whether we want statues to remain or be destroyed, it seems to me we must start here.
Question: When was the last time you helped someone our who you knew couldn’t give you anything in return? What did you learn from that experience? Share in the comments below.
