black lives matter,  christianity,  justice,  reflections

A New, Old Justice

August 29, 2020 /

“Black Lives Matter.” When was the last time in recent history that three words were simultaneously incredibly unifying as well as incredulously divisive?

On the 57th anniversary of the iconic March on Washington, similar cries resound throughout our nation, bringing awareness to injustice in America and demanding reparations for African Americans.

Over the past several months, since the murder of George Floyd at the end of May, I have watched, listened, observed, learned, and processed this movement in America. My heart has been broken over and over again as I listen to the stories of many Americans, both intimate friends and people who I may never meet, as they share the deep injustices they have experienced in a country that proclaims to be “the land of the free and the home of the brave,” yet American citizens continue to oppress others and act out of fear and ignorance.

As I have delved into educating myself on race in America, I have also reflected on how and why my reaction is so different in 2020 as compared to 2012. I remember talking to a friend who was deeply grieving the death of Trayvon Martin and how it affected him as a Black man in America, yet I did not empathize eight years ago like I have these past months. What has changed? Since 2012, I have experienced intimately what it is to be an outsider myself, have been at the mercy of changing government regulations and policies, and have allowed the Lord to open my eyes to the plight of the marginalized. I have been exposed to my own ethnocentrism and have become more aware that perhaps my opinions and experiences are not the final word on a situation. I have learned how to listen better and deeper. Having lived in a different country that operated as a communal culture, my individualistic mindset has been challenged to see how actions affect a whole community. I have allowed myself to grieve with those who are grieving and set aside my pride for a minute to repent of the ways that I have been racist and have allowed prejudice to result in despising and fearing someone else, just because of the color of their skin.

In the midst of all of my inner reflection, I have been afraid. I’ve been afraid to speak out and share what I am learning and what the Lord is teaching me. And the people I have been most afraid to share these learnings with have been my fellow American evangelical churchgoers. Isn’t this contradictory to what Scripture instructs us as the body of Christ, to come together with a word of instruction or revelation to build up the church (1 Cor 14:26)? Yet, as I have listened to the stories of my Black brothers and sisters in Christ, I have also listened to the response of the white evangelical church. Though there are many who are seeking to learn and understand, it seems that the overwhelming narrative of the American church falls more along political party lines rather than caring for one another in the church.

Now, I am not here to debate the semantics of the Black Lives Matter movement as an organization (though that seems to be the defense that white evangelical Americans jump to immediately). If I may, for a moment I will address the American church. Though it is important and healthy to be engaged in politics, our actions and how we care for our brothers and sisters in Christ should not be divided along party lines. Our allegiance is not tied to our political affiliations, but to the kingdom of God. Our call is to follow the example of Christ and listen to, care for, and speak up for the overlooked and marginalized. When there is an overwhelming cry from Black brothers and sisters that they are in pain, we must bear each other’s burdens and mourn together, then seek change. It is easy to find the few voices that align with your ideology and conservative politics, but that is neglecting the needs of your neighbor for the sake of your own pride.

I confess that I fail at this over and over again. I operate out of fear and love of myself more often than out of love for my Lord and my neighbor. But I am willing to mess up again and again if that means that I can eventually love others more wholeheartedly.

At the bottom, I have included a range of resources, from blogs to videos to podcasts, that I have learned the most from during this time. It has been important to me that I listen to a wide range of voices, but the ones that have caused me to repent and see others’ needs more clearly have been those that have explained the Black experience in America with an understanding of the gospel of Christ. Yet, one of the most impactful memoirs I have read in the past several months has not been about America at all. In Dr. Helen Roseveare’s insightful memoir Give Me This Mountain, she describes her experience as a missionary doctor in the Congo before and after the days of Congo’s Independence from Belgium in 1960. For many months, she was imprisoned and endured much pain and trauma at the hands of those she had come to help. Yet, she explains her revelation during that time thus:

“I witnessed the outpouring of hatred against the white man. I became very conscious of the extent to which we had earned this. If I was willing to be identified as a European with the sin of the white people against the African in the past fifty or more years–the injustices, the cruelties, the hardships, cheap labour with flogging, black women-folk and illegitimate children, bribery and corruption in courts and administration–then perhaps, in some small way, I was privileged to be part of the extirpation of that sin. We whites had to be identified with it, to bear its penalty, to suffer for it, that Africa might be rid of it, to start again freed of it. This was our hope; this was what made it worth while. Somehow He was working His purposes for our Congo; somehow He would bring ultimate blessing out of the terror of all this suffering; for He alone could make even the wrath of man to praise Him” (146, emphasis added).

How can she say such things when she was enduring such suffering? How are we as white Americans so far from this understanding, though we endure so little? Until we can come to terms with the ways that America as a whole, and white people especially, have sinned against African Americans over the past 244 years, we will never be free.

 

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