I am a clueless white guy. I see African American men and women featured prominently in media, as newscasters, actors, writers, and producers. I see them in leadership as politicians, judges, scholars, and military leaders. I am glad I live in a country where a black man can be elected to the presidency.
This has tempted me to think about how far we have come in race relations in this country since I was a boy growing up in the segregated South. I even remember when people tossed around the phrase “post-racial society.”
I don’t hear that phrase anymore. The killings of Michael Brown, Freddie Gray, Trevon Martin, Eric Garner, Ahmaud Arbery, Breanna Taylor, and George Floyd, among others, have some people comparing their deaths to lynchings. “I can’t breathe!” has become a national rallying cry against the use of excessive force by police officers. Cell phones with cameras have produced video documentation of abuse of power by some bad actors.
As a result, millions have taken to the streets. Recent news reports have covered both peaceful protest marches and lawless rioting and mayhem. There is a level of frustration and anger not seen in America since the sixties. Much of it has been fueled by perceptions of how police in many cities have treated people in poor and minority neighborhoods. Lawless people have exploited the situation to promote anarchy. Americans have been watching with a mixture of righteous indignation and fear.
Spiritual leaders in my city, both black and white, have shown how spiritual commitment can lead to constructive social engagement. Friends of mine have been promoting dialogue, prayer, repentance, and positive action based upon their shared commitment to Christ and the gospel.
It is not my place to be talking about how far we have progressed in race relations. I think I should wait until I hear my African American friends tell me about the progress they feel we have made. Right now, I cannot say that I understand how they feel. I remain a clueless white guy who wants to be a part of the solution and not part of the problem.
“Love your neighbor,” Jesus said. “Okay, so who is my neighbor?” asked a proud man who wanted to make himself look good (Luke 10:25-29). In reply, Jesus told the familiar story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:30-37). The lessons could not be more clear. My neighbor is someone in my part of the world, someone who might need my understanding and caring presence, and someone who may be ethnically different from me.
If I love my neighbors that way, I will build friendships with people who look different. I have read that most Caucasian Christians have few friends who are not white. If I love my neighbors the way Jesus said to, I will get down on my knees to pray with brothers in Christ who have black skin. We will choose to converse with a biblically-informed vocabulary, not with the racially divisive language of some activists or some politicians.
If I love my African American neighbors I will seek to understand their feelings, life experiences, and motivations. When Connie and I visited Charleston, S.C., we walked to the church building where the members of Emanuel A.M.E. Church gather for worship. We wanted to visit the place where a white racist named Dylan Roof shot and killed nine worshipers on a Wednesday evening five years ago next week. “Mother Emanuel” is one of the oldest black churches in America.
We wanted to see it because that site, marked by tragedy, is also a testimony to the love of Christ. The members of the church responded with forgiveness toward the killer. Despite the fact that he was filled with racial hatred, they called upon the entire community to forgive him and to pray for him. White and black Christians came together to pray and weep in a public demonstration of solidarity. There was no violence.
I want to understand how to give and receive that kind of neighbor love. I want that for America.
