Just when you think things cannot get more divisive, they
do.
As recent events in our country erupt, I watch black Americans
and white Americans shoot, one to another, and I struggle to respond, not
react.
As a Christian, I know
I am an alien in a foreign country (Hebrews 11). I know that unity is the answer; love heals
all; and that what I see in front of me,
Is not it!
Can I solve the myriad of problems we see unfold?
No.
Can I be honest about my own reactions?
Yes.
In an inter-racial event last summer, my own prejudices
grabbed me, and exposed a naked ugliness that exploded from the nooks and
crannies of my heart. Surprised me. Why?
Because if you had asked me prior to the incident, my answer
to “Are you prejudiced?” would be, “No!”
Reflection upon that answer alone embarrasses me. The pride, the glibness, and more to the
point,
The unknowing of my own heart.
Jeremy (not his real name) changed my unknowing, to a painful
knowing. The scene? My neighborhood last summer, hot, humid,
Friday evening. I partnered with a team,
two African-Americans who focused on the black community – the program, tagged
11:45, purposed teams who consistently “showed up” to be a solution, a
listening ear, a hug, a prayer.
We wore chartreuse tee-shirts, and walked the area every
Friday night during the summer.
Most of you know, I am white, a senior, and – well to be
honest, not much in tune with what I witnessed that summer.
My journal began to foreshadow my true feelings, “I feel
invisible during these walks, and I don’t like being invisible!” But wait! It gets worse.
Jeremy’s apartment building set the scene – kids playing in
the parking lot, the hot concrete their only playground on that hot night
–T.V.’s blaring through windows with no screens, and adults hanging out windows
to catch a breeze. Jeremy approached our
team immediately, his conversation grew more heated as his evident anger
increased, and he shouted, “This god-forsaken neighborhood, I am sick and tired
of those blankety-blank no-goods taking over my neighborhood and sending me to
this white slum!”
A push-me-over-the-cliff moment! My own anger rose, I clenched my fists, I
felt short of breath, and I knew without a doubt that I could have, WOULD have
thrown a punch, had a pastor not been by my side (and probably praying!) My
thoughts, crystal clear, screamed “Then get out you dirty rotten
scoundrel. This is my neighborhood, and
I don’t like the likes of you in this place!”
A come-to-Jesus moment.
I wish I could report that instantly I saw the error of my own
prejudice. I didn’t. That MY neighborhood indeed was NOT MINE!
Over the next months, I journaled, sat with those on my team,
confessed my true feeling, submitted my resignation to the team (they refused,
and loved me into staying), and talked much with my black friends about my own
feelings, confused.
My journals are rich with our conversations – and perhaps they
will find their way into a deeper essay.
But as I recognized my own predilections based upon my own experiences,
I owned them. I see that as a white
person, I can never fully empathize with a black person’s pain, induced in a
society where I am in the majority. I can understand that I don’t understand.
Cultural differences
are real, but the richness all the more evident as connections are forged. I will end with a quotation of a good friend
whose response to our dialogues sums up my heart as well.
“The default in this country is white. There’s food and ethnic food, there’s history
and black history. I will know this
country has truly made progress when history includes all history. Right now all folks need to acknowledge and
appreciate and COMPREHEND (italics mine) the value in the differences and diversity
of people.”
I, personally, am on a new journey. I have work to do.
But God.
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