on changing our culture of white centrality

The primary block to justice is not intentional corruption or overt racists. The primary blocks to justice are white folks consumed with themselves, habituated to ignore or diminish the lives of others. Economic, legal and racial inequities continue to define our country because they are the foundation upon which our country was first established. Our American founders gave rights to people based on their wealth, race and gender. This became the status quo, and every study of history and culture reveals that status quos are powerfully resistant to change.

Video recordings seen across America in recent weeks have alerted many to the long-standing, violent mistreatment of people of color. Many are shocked, appalled, confused, and outraged; they continue to lean in to ask what can be done, even though they might be overwhelmed or scared. I am grateful for these people. They have decided that the status quo is not okay. That what is normal is not acceptable.

These sentiments offer a wonderful chance to start again, but norms will not change unless systems change. Deciding “in my heart” that I am sad for victims and suspicious of unjust authority will not change the nature of the power that erases hope in communities of color. If we want our society to disavow racism, we can’t simply understand our history or label overt evil, we have to each actively become antiracist in our thoughts, speech and actions. If we want to create a just society, we have to actively change the one we have been creating for 250 years.

 

To that end, here are a few suggestions for how we in the white community might begin:

First, make is personal. Don’t start with ‘them’, start with yourself. Take inventory of your life, relationships and investments. Do you regularly share experiences or routines with anyone outside your tax bracket, religion or race? Do you seek advice from or lean on a person whose life experience is different from yours? Do you read, watch, follow or listen to podcasts made by people of color? The purpose of such inventory taking is not to shame, but to help you see who you trust in your life, whose experiences you value, and what you think is normal based on that information. If you don’t spend meaningful time with people whose reality differs from yours, you should not be surprised when a viral video reveals that different realities exist.

Educate yourself, seeking to learn with humility. I have been flooded with messages from folks who are discovering for the first time that our country’s status quo undervalues, restricts and violates the dignity of people of color. I am thrilled people are engaging with such desperate passion, and thankful I can share my own experience on this journey. Unfortunately, many black friends have also been bombarded. Nearly all of them are thankful to know their white friends care, but most are also exhausted by the idea that they are asked to comment on, explain, defend or teach a well meaning but uninformed person about what it is like to be black in America, this week, or today in Nashville.  

(PSA: if you want to reach out to a black friend, colleague, student or mentor, but feel frozen about what to say, I gently urge you to get over yourself and reach out! When you reach out, even if you feel awkward, you remove the need for them to wonder whose side you are on. Simply say something like: “I have been thinking about you this week, and want you to know I am thankful to know you. I value you and I am learning how to be a better ally to help change our city/workplace/church/school/country. I hope you feel safe. You aren’t alone, and I’m here if you want to talk. No need to respond.” Your words will not rescue them, and you need not ask anything of them either.)

As you educate yourself, notice who you ask to pay for your education. You must actively engage in your own journey rather than climbing on the back of a generous black friend willing to carry you from first to second base as she teaches you what is yours to discover. Even more costly, when African Americans do the heavy lifting for you, they usually do so in a way that privileges your feelings and comfort, rather than allowing you to discover that our status quo began and continues based on the comfort and feelings of white people. Don’t ask someone else to do what is yours to do. (I’ll provide a reading list to help you get started at the end of this essay).

 As you become educated about our racialized society, I hope you will take time to lament all we have lost by only privileging one type of life. We are all victims of the racialized hierarchy that determines our status quo. I am furious that my city’s segregation makes it difficult for us to live in multicultural neighborhoods. I am sad that my moving to a diverse neighborhood often means I will accelerate gentrification that displaces impoverished people. I am shamed when I realize that my white culture makes it bad manners to challenge a comment reflecting racial bias, or that I participate in a culture that normalizes only white wealth, while ignoring or actively avoiding an experience with a person from a different perspective in the name of safety or comfort. If we don’t take time to grieve these failures, we are more likely to abandon our efforts to change because facing our habits makes us feel terrible. You are not alone! We have much to face, and need honest courage to do so. Don’t stew in despair; instead, admit the failings you see and commit to live and speak differently.

It is easy to point a finger at an actively racist person; it is much harder to begin to notice and correct small, racialized biases, and stereotypes or fears that shape my behavior. Not many of us are overt racists, but most of us take actions to avoid certain areas, keep distance from certain people or vote against certain policies—all along racial lines. These implicitly racist habits explicitly impact the lives of others in devastating ways. Acknowledge the subtly racist thoughts that occupy you, and confess your sadness and frustration. Share your lament, your broken heart, with others in your circle. Doing so invites them to join the journey you are on and is much more hospitable than shouting them down once you “get woke.”

Moreover, sitting with your sadness will likely spur you to action. It might lead you to change your routine so that you begin to spend time in places where you are not in the racial, religious or socioeconomic majority. You can be kind and good as you go about your day, but you will never understand the reality of our unjust status quo if you only spend time with people whose lives mirror your own. If you want to challenge the norms that lead to black necks being knelt on and crushed while silent others watch, you have to share your grief with those in your circles, and you have to disrupt your own comfortable path.

Finally, as you walk along this journey, be aware that your life will change. You will become comfortable with difference, and will likely develop sincere gratitude for how much strength you derive when you learn from other people as they share their lives with you. As you do this, you will begin to de-center yourself. As you recognize the wildly different realities Americans live, you will soon begin to know and articulate your perspective, while simultaneously hungering for someone’s take that differs from yours. You will want to vote in local elections and pay attention to policies, housing, education, policing, oversight and power in your town. You will be less consumed with finding folks to affirm and agree with you, and more interested in listening to the different perspectives others might bring. You will be reluctant to share an opinion, a policy, or a voting position without seeking to understand how someone different from you approaches a similar issue.

Celebrate this fact, because when this is true of your life, you will have expanded your us. Your sense of community, of belonging, of “your people,” will have grown. You will find yourself going to bat for people in a way that offers you no direct benefit. You will create a more just and equitable society because you will use your intellect and voice and power and money and influence and vote to elevate people other than you. When wealthy white people do this (because our power is unparalleled in America), our status quo will change, our society will become more just, and we will all breathe. Every person has a role to play, and it will take all of us to create a status quo where black lives obviously matter.

If you are looking for a place to start, educate yourself by reading these (mostly) recent books. For a white person, this is the order I suggest (many of these reference or mention Christian outlooks):

 

On Race:

Waking up White, Irving

How to be an Antiracist, Kendi

I’m Still Here, Channing Brown

White Fragility, D’Angelo

Between the World and Me, Coates

The Color of Compromise, Tisby

Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People about Race, Eddo-Lodge

 

Podcasts:

Code Switch

Truth’s Table

1619

Still Processing

 

Other helpful texts

On Christian Engagement with Social Justice:

White Awake, Hill

Generous Justice, Keller

Disunity in Christ, Cleveland

Seek the Peace of the City, Banister

Knowing Christ Crucified, Copeland

Dream with Me, Perkins

 

On Education, Criminal Justice and the Law:

13th, film, DuVernay

Just Mercy, Stevenson

New Intro to Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria, Tatum

The Color of Law, Rothstein

Democracy in Chains, MacLean

The Sun Does Shine, Hinton

 

On Economics and History:

1619 Project, New York Times (Hannah-Jones)

Toxic Charity, Lupton

Stamped from the Beginning, Kendi

The New Jim Crow, Alexander

The Economics of Neighborly Love, Nelson

Stony the Road, Gates, Jr

12 Million Black Voices, Wright

Lent Readings, 2020

The presence of Lent in the church calendar—40 full days of preparation for Easter—reminds us in the Biblical record, God uses the number 40 as a measure of time to bring God’s children closer: to heighten their thirst, to remind them of God’s power and provision in their daily lives, to encourage and pour into them before a hard season ahead.  Many of us live as if life is linear, as if our only chance to find meaning or joy is to work hard until we achieve it. Developing an annual practice of Lent allows us to recognize that joy and meaning often come through cycles of stillness, silence and solitude. Intense effort is useful, but so are moments of waiting and of sacrifice.

Each Tuesday I will post readings for the week ahead. Every day there is a poetic scriptural reading, ending each week with the Beatitudes. This Lenten season I am reminded that if I want to prepare myself for Christ’s coming kingdom, I would do well spend 40 days marinating in the words Jesus used to describe it. We diminish the power of God when we try to protect and expand our own power and security instead of looking to God for significance and peace. In the past, I decided God’s Kingdom was made in my image, so that the hardest workers and the kindest, the most intentional people won. The Beatitudes remind us that God’s values are different. God promises to be present, generous and sustaining to those who have no power, to those near the margins, to those who align themselves with the overlooked and against self-interest alone. 

In the Catholic Church I visit on Ash Wednesday, the priest reminds us that Lent is experienced most fully in three ways:

1) We sacrifice something in order to remind ourselves of thirst, of hungering after God, or to disrupt patterns that diminish our flourishing in Christ.

2) We willfully use this experience of disruption to push us toward Christ, placing Jesus in the front of our minds, or at the top of our day.

3) We turn our eyes from ourselves and toward others as we intentionally live more generously toward those in need during Lent.

For these 40 days, I pray you would be mindful of these 3 practices, and maybe use them to orient yourself toward God. Allow yourself to recognize the abundance in your life, and to lean in to the lean places. In my own experience of God, there is a connecting holiness—an embodied solidarity—that comes when I decide to stay present in my pain instead of escaping. The Torah and the Bible speak of a God who is willing to wrestle with us, to cry with us, to listen to our lament. These Lenten readings teach us that God is just as present when I cry as God is when I refuse to let the tears come because I have Jedi mind-tricked my spirit into only hoping for, or seeing, the good. This Lent, create moments of stillness so you can notice your own joy and heartbreak. Cry. Or don’t. But don’t believe the lie that crying is unfaithful.

The one place I want to be when I am present in my pain is near God. Given the chance to introduce himself, God says, “I am.” That’s my best name. I am the present one. The always here one. The never past or future tense one. The ongoing in the moment one. To be near God is to be awake for this life, for these current moments: joyful and heartbreaking and everything in between. Allow yourself to think about people who live with very little, and know that they often hunger for and understand God in ways hard for some to understand. May these readings be an invitation into presence, with yourself, with others, with the God of “I Am.”

Find stillness, and believe the Gospel.

To Ponder:

“God is that way with us, He wants to hold us still with Him in silence…They cannot all be brilliant or rich of beautiful. They cannot all even dream beautiful dreams like God gives some of us. They cannot all enjoy music. Their hearts do not all burn with love. But everybody can learn to hold God…We shall not become like Christ until we give Him more time.”                                                    -Brother Lawrence

“Maybe you search for understanding, but find only one thing for sure, which is that truth comes in small moments and visions, not galaxies and canyons; not the crash of ocean waves and cymbals. Most traditions teach that truth is in these small holy moments.”                                          -Anne Lamott

To Read:

Feb 26 Matthew 5:1-12

Feb 27 Proverbs 2:1-15

Feb 28 Ps 94:12-22

Feb 29 Micah 6:6-8

Mar 1 Matthew 5:1-12

Mar 2 Ps 90:12-17; 91:1-2

Mar 3 Ps 95:1-8

resolving for empathy

Tis the season for resolutions.  Rather than thinking about what we hope to accomplish in the New Year, I want to suggest we acknowledge what we will see in the year ahead. With presidential primaries beginning, we can expect pointing fingers, totalizing stereotypes, and nationwide eyerolling to increase. With our addiction to smart phones and social media, we can expect habitual distractedness, flaring insecurities and performed but disappointing experiences of belonging. With our refusal to have meaningful dialogue about society’s ethical commitment to nurture life, we will continue to put people to death, to have mass and accidental shootings, and to watch unplanned pregnancies lead to desperate abortions or devastating familial situations. With problem fatigue and rising apathy, we will continue to see widening achievement, opportunity and income gaps. With our limited capacity for authenticity or discomfort, we will continue to be saddened by broken relationships.

Forgive the negative tone as we put champagne on ice. These scenarios are coming for us, but we don’t have to surrender to them.

Hope is a wonderful thing, and resolutions stem from the idea that we are better than our past behavior suggests, that we are capable of change, that inertia is not stronger than our will power. In my observation, negativity can run high as the year closes out, but optimism abounds as the ball drops. How many times did you hear, “I am ready for 2019 to end” in the past month? We’ll forget these sentiments of defeat this week as we look to 2020 with hope that we are not victims of our own lives, doomed to repeat disappointing outcomes.

Our hope stems from the will to survive, an instinct placed in us by our Creator. We long for health, we resist injustice, and we need to belong because we were created to hope. Our lives are spent in the tension between acquiescing to the frustration of reality and our will to change, to improve, to reform. As 2020 dawns, I’d like to suggest we cannot find hope without a humble reckoning with our reality. The scenarios we know to expect in the New Year are nationwide; they are also extensions of our personal apathy, greed, cynicism and stubbornness. Our country didn’t find dysfunction without our help

In light of this, I’d like to suggest we collectively resolve to nurture empathy in the New Year.

The healing power of empathy cannot be overstated, primarily because of the way it positions us in relationships. Empathy requires us to acknowledge we belong to the ‘we,’ that we share humanity. So much of our American cultural framework rests on our individual desire and work. After all, the last 2 words in All American are the words I CAN, to quote a ridiculous song I learned as a kid. Empathy offers us a larger context in which to place our own stories of striving. Strive away! Work hard! But remember this year that you do so as one of many; each of us struggle between success and failure. If this is true then it becomes impossible for us to diminish or belittle the struggle of another. Empathy reminds us that we belong to each other.

The secret weapon of empathy is that it leads to frequent forgiveness. Full disclosure, I think forgiveness is the answer to all of it. Necessary to live well with others, relationships have hope when we first nurture a posture of forgiveness toward ourselves.  In the last week, I’ve noticed the incredible power of forgiveness to heal people I love. I saw a woman racked with guilt as she reflected that she had “blown Christmas Eve” for her family. She lost sight of the moment, of who she was, of what her kids needed, and she regretted it. We shared a holy moment as she realized she was worthy of forgiveness and could be gentle with herself; indeed, she required self-forgiveness before she could heal and live differently with her family.

If we cultivate a posture of forgiveness within, it will soon flow into others. This week one of my nephews broke a bowl but did not clean it up. The next morning our daughter cut her foot on a broken piece. I watched as he apologized to his hurting cousin. Several of us freely forgave him, reminding him that we all make mistakes. But then, in a Christmas miracle kind of moment, I saw him approach my husband. He shared a memory that had just resurfaced: When the boy was a toddler, my husband had also left a mess where the boy had gotten hurt. As the boy’s actions had hurt his daughter, so my husband had hurt him a decade earlier. I watched my giant husband bend down to hold his face in his hands and say, “I have been exactly where you are, and you are forgiven. We belong together.”

What a gorgeous reminder of the power to forgive. All the adults nearby teared up as we realized this is the gift we have to offer one another. Transforming our lives is less about our lofty goals for 2020, less about the insufficiencies we need to bolster, less about our deficits. This year we have the chance to embrace and cultivate a skill we carry innately: the ability to access empathy in a way that leads to forgiveness of self and of others. Such free forgiveness, born out of empathy, will strengthen our connectedness to and interdependence on one another. Resolve to remember you are one of many as the New Year dawns, and watch hope rise.

Empathy makes us responsible for words uttered and actions completed in our presence. Next week, more on that.