Leaving The South

I was leaving the South

to fling myself into the unknown...

I was taking a part of the South

to transplant in alien soil,

to see if it could grow differently,

if it could drink of new and cool rains,

bend in strange winds,

respond to the warmth of other suns

and, perhaps, to bloom.

— Richard Wright, Black Boy, 1945

Growing up in the South, I have lived in close proximity to many African Americans; however, I have missed much of the history and personal stories of those who are different from me. One of the ways I’ve been able to address this in my life is to listen and learn from the stories of men and women of color, many also from the South. In addition to cultivating friendships with people of color in my life, books have also had a profound impact on me in this journey. One such book has been The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America's Great Migration by Isabel Wilkerson which tells the story of the exodus of almost six million African Americans from the South throughout the twentieth century through the lives of three individuals. 

A few years ago in online circles I follow, The Warmth of Other Suns was being discussed and recommended. When I was picking up the book at Little Shop of Stories (I also highly recommend this bookstore in downtown Decatur), I told the bookseller I wanted a book for my upcoming summer beach trip. Her comment was, “not your usual beach reading.” She was prophetic as it was not a light read. This book shattered many of my assumptions and biases about racism, especially systemic racism. As I read the stories of courageous men and women who faced immense challenges, I felt sad, shocked, angry, and ashamed at the depravity of how people were treated because their skin color was different. I also learned in greater detail how racism did not end for these men and women who left the Jim Crow South as they faced housing, job, and social discrimination in Chicago, New York, and Los Angeles. This allowed me to see how deep and entrenched the majority culture bias has been in our country.  

One of the three individuals Wilkerson’s book chronicles is Ida Mae Gladney.

She had lived the hardest life, been given the least education, seen the worst the South could hurl at her people, and did not let it break her… She was surrounded by the clipped speech of the North, the crime on the streets, the flight of the white people from her neighborhood, but it was as if she were immune to it all. She took the best of what she saw in the North and the South and interwove them in the way she saw fit… Her success was spiritual, perhaps the hardest of all to achieve. And because of that, she was the happiest and lived the longest of them all.[1]

This growing realization, a realization of racism’s multi-generational impact and the inequities experienced by people like Ida Mae, caused me to lament. But that was not the only reaction I had while reading. I was also struck by the resiliency and spiritual strength of Ida Mae and others, a resiliency and spiritual strength forged through suffering. While the Black Church was not the primary focus of the book, the author referenced the faith of many of the individuals as they sought a better life in spite of the adversities they faced. This has created a growing appreciation for what I and others in majority White churches can learn from the Black Church. There is a rich history and godly example from which I and others can learn much as we enter into the stories.

Why have so many of these stories not been told? I have asked that question to myself many times. Why did I not learn about this growing up? In what ways have I been complicit in ignorance? These are not easy or simple questions. As I’ve learned more about our complex, racial history, I’m finding that I am, in a way, leaving the South. However, this departure is not physical but rather leaving the White-washed, incomplete history of the South. My belief is that hearing untold stories will allow us to see a more complete history. My hope is that in this Black History Month I and others will engage, listen to, learn from, and love our neighbors.

1. [1] Isabel Wilkerson, The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America's Great Migration (New York: Random House, 2010), p. 532.

The Cancer of Racism, The Racism of Cancer Care, and Why We Should Care

“Our world is suffering from metastatic cancer. Stage 4. Racism has… been spreading, contracting, and threatening to kill the American body…” – Ibram X. Kendi, How to Be an Anti-Racist

Unfortunately, cancer has had or will have an effect on every single one of our lives. Statistically speaking in the United States, women have a 1 in 3 chance and men have a 1 in 2 chance of developing some form of cancer in their lifetime. However, did you know that certain population groups bear a disproportionate burden of both disease incidence (who is diagnosed with cancer) and mortality (who dies from cancer)? For example, the national average number of new male cancer cases per year is 480 per 100,000 men, but 515 cases per 100,000 Black men. Additionally, while there are 134 female cancer-related deaths per year per 100,000 women, that number increases to 151 deaths per 100,000 Black women. We could talk through a pretty extensive laundry list of types of cancer and different BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and People of Color) groups that are either more likely to develop that cancer type or die from that type of cancer. We refer to this unfortunate phenomenon as a racial health disparity and, like a lot of medical issues, it gets pretty complicated when we try to untangle why this problem exists. Today, as a cancer researcher, I want to share with y’all some of what I have been learning from looking at this issue as well as hopefully encourage you to do the same kind of searching in your own sphere of influence to see where the cancer of racism has spread and how we can root it out. 

One of the first ideas for us to explore when understanding the role of racism in cancer is referred to as “social determinants of health.” This concept recognizes that beyond a person’s biology and genetic family history, significant health outcomes (such as mortality, life expectancy, and how much you spend on health care) are related to the conditions of the environment that a person lives in. These conditions can range from economic stability and access to food, education, and job opportunities to a person’s physical environment and how integrated they are into their community. Because of our country’s history of oppression of Black people since 1619, when chattel slavery began in America, many Black people have lower average income, live in neighborhoods with higher poverty and crime rates, and have restricted access to health care, economic stability, and education.

One facet that has caused this disparity is the effect of housing segregation. Federal legislation in 1934 that was intended to help make housing more affordable after the Great Depression resulted in a practice known as redlining, where banks could deny mortgages to people living in “high-risk” areas—outlined in red on residential security maps—because of their high population of Black people and other minority groups. This was detrimental to communities of color, which are still feeling the effect of this discrimination today. This is seen in the lack of access to quality food, increased chronic stress due to increased crime rates and over-policing, and a disproportionate impact of environmental hazards, known as environmental racism. (Race is the most significant predictor of a person living near contaminated air, water, or soil.)

 While some of the racial disparities in cancer incidence and mortality can be explained by socio-economic status (itself a by-product of a long history of limiting the access Black people have to various means for economic growth), socio-economic status cannot explain everything. Even when normalizing data by education level and socio-economic status, a number of disparities in cancer prevention, diagnosis, and treatment persist. While much of this post has discussed the systematic and structural problems that result in health disparities, here we start seeing potential effects of interpersonal actions between physicians and patients. BIPOC are grossly underrepresented in the field of medicine and medical research, which can lead to issues of miscommunication and stereotype biases between White physicians and their minority patients. Layer on top of that a history of exploitation of Black people in medical research (the story of Henrietta Lacks, the woman whose cancer cells were taken from her and used without her consent that led to major breakthroughs in cancer research, was what first got me interested in this subject in college), and it is easy to understand the high level of distrust in Black communities of the medical establishment.

Everything mentioned above just scratches the surface of the data and anecdotes around the problem of cancer racial health disparities. I personally have been trying to dive into the deep end of this subject pool because my own field of study is cancer research. Last summer, I first started thinking of the idea of including this subject matter in a cancer biology class that I would like to teach, one day, off in the future. However, when I mentioned this far-off idea to a group of friends, their response was, “why not teach that class now?” I decided to do more research and put together a workshop series which I will be teaching this spring at Georgia Tech to start the discussion in my community about the problems that exist and what we can do as scientists and engineers to alleviate the problem. If you are not in the health care field, you might be wondering, why does any of this matter to me?

As I have been reading through the entire Bible with our Ponce community, I have been struck by how great God’s heart is for the poor, the fatherless, the widow, the orphan, and the oppressed. In fact, I have started highlighting every time God talks about defending the defenseless and helping the helpless and I am amazed how often He shares His passion about this subject. Being a Christ follower means that we are being sanctified to look more like Christ every day—in this case, I would argue, this means our hearts for the oppressed should be growing as well. Every human of every race and people group bears the image of God which means every human deserves respect and dignity. I believe it is our role as believers and as the Church universal to fight for justice and equity in each of our own spheres of influence, lifting up our fellow image-bearers and paying special attention to those who historically have been oppressed.

For me, that has looked like educating myself in how my field of work has been affected by and sometimes guilty of taking away human dignity instead of promoting human flourishing. Beyond educating myself, I have felt called to the education of others and brainstorming ways to make changes in my field to be more inclusive and equitable. My challenge to you today would be to think of what small step you can take to bring Christ’s love for the downtrodden in your sphere. How has systemic or structural racism affected your neighborhood, your workplace, your family? Are there organizations that are working to reduce disparity and increase equity in your area that you can support? How can you use any position of power or privilege you have in your community to lift up those who are disadvantaged? How can you grow to know God’s heart for the poor and poor in spirit and let His heart affect your day-to-day actions? We have a long way to go, but I am praying that we could all act like “racism cancer researchers,” detecting areas of our lives where we need God’s help to treat this disease.

Racist--Who Me?

I have black friends!  I’ve hired black people!  I’ve never burned a cross!  To paraphrase an Atlanta native – “If you’ve said one of these things, you might be a racist.”  And truth be told I’m a racist and I’ve been on a journey to grow since I became a Christian.  In fact, my faith has been the main driver of my realization that my behaviors and thoughts have been racist. 

Let’s set some context so we’re all on the same page and use the definition of a racist as follows from the Cambridge Dictionary – “someone who believes that their race makes them better, more intelligent, more moral, etc. than people of other races and who does or says unfair or harmful things” – I’d like to emphasize the “says” portion of the definition and state that these are driven by our thoughts.

Now some background on my journey.  I've been a direct participant in racism through word and deed when younger, whether I was telling a joke, insulting someone on the court/field or when angry and filled with rage blaming someone for just being of a certain color skin.  In hindsight these actions were driven out of fear that somehow acknowledging “them” as equals or admit that “they” might actually be better than me.  After all, all I heard my whole like was how “they are” different and not as smart as “us” nor able to do what “we” can.  This wasn’t a direct education, but generally spoken of and implied by action and deed of my family and friends.

As I got older, took “real” jobs, and wanted to advance a career I changed my words and actions, but this was not out of a true change of heart, but rather out of “political correctness.”  I was a Christian at this time, but it was early in my sanctification process so didn’t truly understand what “love your neighbor as yourself” meant and how I was supposed to live out my faith.

Only as I made a conscious decision to study, learn, and grow in my faith did real change happen, and this wasn’t an easy or pleasant path.   The first step I had to realize in this journey is that as a child of God, I'm OK. Who I am, all that I have, and all that I will be is from God alone. Mentally recognizing this was relatively easy compared to the changes that still needed to happen in my heart.  Taking down the walls around my own heart, letting my ego go, recognizing that, and being free enough to rely on my faith alone, stepping up, speaking out and doing what God has defined as "right" is hard.

The change is hard because as you let go you can expect personal attacks from friends, coworkers, and even family. They don’t always call you out for not using slurs but say subtle things like “you’ve changed.”  You might not get invited out to a game, for a beer, or just to hang out anymore. It’s guaranteed your life will change.

When I look at what’s going on today (not just around the country but also with people I know), the denial of racial issues or statements such as “Racist – Who Me?” lead me to ask – “Really are you kidding me!”  Of course, there’s racism going on and I’m not going to specifically accuse anyone of being a racist, but please read the following topics and honestly think through the possibility that you’re racist.

Black Lives Matter

When you say or think things like “All Lives Matter” or “Blue Live Matter,” etc., I want to ask you – when was the last time you said “All Cancers Matter.” or in October during Breast Cancer Awareness Month say “Prostate Cancer Matters” you don’t.  So, you need to ask yourself “Why?”

Removal of Confederate Monuments

You say, “They’re just representing history, they don’t represent slavery or anything bad.”, really?  Haven’t you cheered when at the end of World War II, statues of Hitler and Nazi symbols were taken down? What about when the Berlin Wall fell, a sign of the end of Communism you cheered.  When you saw statues of Saddam Hussain being ripped down on TV you cheered.  All those statues and symbols represented history as well, why is it OK to take those down but leave Confederate statues up?  Why can’t these symbols of evil history be removed like the others?

White Supremacy

White Supremacy shows itself in many forms, not just the obvious white-hooded portrayals of the KKK we see in movies, TV shows, and history books. White Supremacy is not only historical. It is happening here and now.  The chart below can give you some context for what I’m trying to describe.

Reading the Covert portion will be painful and should cause self-reflection, but that’s a good thing. This is what we are charged to do as Christians.  Just read Acts 10:34-35 and John 13:34, where we’re told to “love one another: just as I have loved you.”

Even the image of Jesus we know has roots in racism. Yes, the tall, long-haired white Jesus is nothing like what Jesus looked like. This image was created in the 13th – 16th centuries by artists like Leonardo da Vinci (the famous “Last Supper”) and Michelangelo (the “Last Judgment” in the Sistine Chapel), then brought throughout the world as Europeans colonized the rest of the world.  Scripture tells us that Jesus “had no form or majesty that we should look at him, and no beauty that we should desire him” (Isaiah 53:2). Based on scripture telling us that Jesus was nothing special to look at, how odd do you think a tall, white, long straight-haired Jesus would have been in Israel during the time of Jesus?  Our Savior’s image has been changed to fit our white sensibilities so we would find him acceptable to us.

If you feel bad after a bit of self-reflection on these things, that’s OK because right now is the perfect time to begin your journey of change and understanding.  You’ve heard our church discuss these topics in sermons and offer classes to increase understanding. Now it’s time for you to take the next step in your journey. 

Even though it may seem hard, realize that racism/being a racist is a sin like any other sin and your faith provides forgiveness, the God-given, gospel-centered strength to move forward and change.  There is proof of this in the Bible, like 2 Corinthians 4:8-10 – “We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies.”

Divided in Christ: Confronting White Supremacy in the Church

2021 kicked off with the Confederate flag marching through the U.S. Capitol. Not far from it, in the same crowd, flew a giant flag reading: JESUS SAVES.

Many Christians who are not Black themselves have condemned the ties between our faith and White supremacy. But many have not.

And that has meant division.

We all cope with this conflict differently. Maybe you try to “win” with information, emailing articles or videos that may or may not ever get opened. Maybe you get into interruption-filled shouting matches. Maybe you try to change the subject to something safer—work, school, the kids. 

Maybe you have been through all of these phases.

And maybe, for some, you have ended up cut off or cutting off entirely. You just couldn’t see eye to eye. And then came the pandemic as a convenient excuse to stay away.

Christian Strangers

What happens now? Is there hope for reunification of God’s hands and feet when the cancer of White supremacy has invaded so many of her organs?

One of the hardest feelings through all this is often a sense of shock, of looking at familiar faces and seeing racist strangers. How can my sweet mother lecture me about George Floyd’s criminal record? How can my uncle, an elder at his church, insist that a post-Obama America is by definition post-racial? How can my neighbor, who taught me in Sunday School, claim to believe the Gospel and still stick to saying “All Lives Matter”?

In some ways, as a Chinese-American, discovering fellow Christians’ racism is less of a surprise. It’s not a secret to many Asian-Americans that anti-Blackness and colorism are rampant within our communities, and you can’t grow up as one of the few non-White kids in an Ohio suburb without discovering a lot of your White neighbors are racist.

Spirit-Led Change

I’ve read and seen a lot that makes me skeptical things will change. Even though it’s mostly about politics, Ezra Klein’s book Why We’re Polarized talks a lot about how for humans, survival usually depended on whether your community accepted you more than whether you were right about facts or morals. So our brains are wired to believe what most people around us believe.

And “people around us” is not just people physically around—zero of my friends or family who continue to hold on to racist views do so without being exposed to a lot of White supremacy through social media, the radio they listen to, and the TV they watch. For some, it’s literally hours upon hours a day.

So if we think logic or facts or a friendly conversation in which no one loses their cool is enough to change someone’s views, we’re being naive. No matter how antiracist you are, will you be able to disentangle your loved one from her entire support community, who might eject her for actually daring to change her mind? 

But sometimes it takes obstacles that feel insurmountable to realize that no obstacle is surmountable without God’s help.

We can remain hopeful because the same Holy Spirit who awakened us to repentance is alive in the most racist of his children. The church as a whole, including many White Christians, has shifted thanks to the Spirit’s work, and I have to believe He is not only after low-hanging fruit. 

I confess to often taking the change-the-subject route over the last year. But speaking with a friend recently convinced me that this is not the right way to go, that far from putting myself in a box it is putting God in a box. I believe that God’s desire is for his whole church to embrace the whole counsel of his Word, and that the same Word has power to change hearts where facts alone fall short.

Believing the Gospel

Some churches try to silence teaching about racism by saying “just stick to the Gospel.” One framework of the Gospel describes it as “Creation, Fall, Redemption, Consummation.” Often, with fellow Christians, we assume we understand and agree on what all of these words mean and how they apply to our lives and our world.

And maybe it’s exactly those assumptions that have allowed Satan to so deeply divide us.

For example, regarding creation: we agree God made humans in his image. But why did he create us different races? How do people of different races bear the image of God?

Or, fall: Is racism a manifestation of the fall? If so, is it limited to individuals or does it reach whole systems and societies?

Redemption: If racism is a part of the fall, how do believers repent of it and participate in God’s work of redeeming the world from it?

And finally and most sharply for me, consummation: John describes a vision of saints of every nation, tribe, tongue, and language before the throne. (Revelation 7:9) Clearly, God sees color and has no intention of un-seeing it or erasing it. The wedding feast of the Lamb is not going to just be steak and potatoes. But what does that mean for right now?

As I write these questions and consider many others like them, I think of Christian friends and family who have expressed racist views. I know these are questions we have never discussed. In our rush to argue about police reform or affirmative action or immigrant family separation, we assumed we agreed on the Gospel and now I’m questioning that assumption.

“The Gospel” is not just a cute stick figure drawing in a tract. The Bible gives us so much more to dig into, forces us to confront so many more questions when we really think about how Jesus’ good news impacts every complexity of human life. Ignoring all of these deeper layers of meaning is not sticking to the Gospel but neutering it, remaking it in our image rather than using the minds God gave us to understand all that it is.

Safety in Theology

If you’re like me, you are not really in the habit of talking about theology with fellow Christians outside of a Bible study context. In some ways it feels kind of awkward and scary.

But, in some ways it actually isn’t scary at all. At least, it’s not as scary as talking about White supremacy. It doesn’t put up people’s defenses. It’s not something most people tend to shout about. The stakes don’t feel as high, even though in reality they are eternally high.

And that’s why as a deeply divided church, we need to return to what we all claim to believe and start from there. We are standing on two opposite ends of a Venn diagram yelling at each other rather than prayerfully seeking to build the crumbling shared ground in between. 

Careful Consideration

In our recent Women’s Bible Studies on Hebrews, we have read how Scripture instructs us to “consider how to stir one another up to love and good works...encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.” (Hebrews 10:25)

The word “consider” has always struck me, because it implies that it’s not always straightforward how to stir your brother or sister up to love. It takes thought. It takes a lot of prayer. It takes wisdom and creativity, trying and failing and returning to the drawing board to try again.

As the Day draws near, the stakes keep getting higher. Racism in the church trickles down to violence against many people of color, whether individual or structural.

And because of racism in the church, many non-Christians reject Christ. When asked how they’d describe evangelicals in general, 17% of non-Christians in a recent Barna survey said “racist.” It may not seem like a high number, but if almost 1 in 5 nonbelievers views the church this way, the same number are unlikely to give serious consideration to the person of Jesus. 

Yes, the structures of systemic racism and the obstacles of misinformation seem insurmountable. But we do not face them by ourselves. Our God speaks light out of darkness, opens the eyes of the blind, breaks chains and topples empires. We may not see God end racism in the church on this side of heaven, but we know that he can. So let’s pray, let’s preach, let’s rest if we need to, but let’s not give up hope.

A White Mother’s Plea For Her Black Son

To the Women of color in my life who’ve led and guided me in this transracial adoptive walk. To the God of faithfulness and everlasting grace. 

Brown hands hold

Contrasting against the paleness of mine.

My grip holding 

So tight—

Closing my eyes to the ever unfolding 

Stories and wrongs that 

Transcend belief.

Lord, how long have you heard 

The cries of black mothers?

Lord, forgive my pride

Seeped in self-worth.

My strength—

Derived in privilege.

My rosy glasses

Glossing over 400 years of abuse.

Thinking that I know enough

That change will happen

While I sit with hands folded.

Lord, mend us.

Let them hear: 

I cannot BREATHE.

Enough is enough.

Let them see my son 

When he is grown

As beautiful.

As created in your image.

As worthy.

Lord, help me to let go.

Trust—that you love my black son

More than this heart pumping inside my breast

That bleeds with our lost sons

Tamir 

Michael

Ahmed

Names I cannot name—

Their mothers who also weep.

Hear our cries, O Lord.

Lord, guide my heart.

Break down my anger for those

Who Choose not to see the inequality. 

Who Say they don’t see color.

Don’t See the injustice.

The Layers of dark cruel history 

Defining the unconscious designs

That my son stands upon

And defines his future and lifespan.

Lord, help me to see my son grown. 

Preserve his beautiful joy

His sensitive spirit

His fulfilling promise as a son of the King. 

Let not his head be bowed to anyone but You. 

Protect his head, his heart 

From the impending weight 

That shackles his brothers. 

Mercy, rain down on all of us. 

‘Three-fifths’ and the Gospel

Let me begin by stating that I admit that I am not a historian or a scholar of constitutional law. Even so, I have always been astounded by the ‘three-fifths’ phrase in the Fourth Amendment. What about the theology of the Imago Dei? And, to add insult to injury, this term is so contradictory to the words we find in the Declaration of Independence: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” How could this have been thought acceptable by such educated men, many of whom were committed Christians? For example, John Witherspoon, one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence, was a Scottish American Presbyterian minister and a Founding Father of the United States.[1] He was the only active clergyman to sign the Declaration. In 1789, he was the convening moderator of the First General Assembly of Presbyterian Church in the United States.[2] Being that the Declaration is so closely tied to someone in our own family tree, as Presbyterians, makes it all the more unsettling in its assessment of the value of other human beings. Naturally, it cuts at the core of how many African-Americans understand their self-worth. In an effort to understand this psychological wound, I thought it would be beneficial to better understand the driving forces behind the three-fifths wording. My hope is that my brief investigation may uncover damaging societal lies, while also discovering how the gospel might apply to the hearts of living with this part of American history, myself included.

My look into the “three-fifths” phrase took me back to the very founding of our country. The Constitutional Rights Foundation states that “at the time these words were written, more than 500,000 black Americans were slaves. Slaves accounted for about one-fifth of the population in the American colonies, most of which lived in the South.”[3] Even so, there were many colonists, even slaveholders, who opposed slavery; Washington, Jefferson, Madison, and others made disparaging comments about the practice. Despite public statements of disapproval, the issue of slavery and personhood was not even addressed until 1787, when the Constitution was finally ratified. It was during the creation of the House & Senate, which was addressing the power dynamics related to population and representation, that led to the designation of black people as “three-fifths” of a person.[4] So, this insane position was driven by the pursuit of power in our national politics, a compromise between the colonies of the North and those of the South. In particular, the “three-fifths” compromise functioned as a way of keeping a representative balance between the North and the South. Think about that for a minute! The dehumanization of Black people was partially driven by not wanting to lose control in national politics. Black people were a bargaining chip in the early days of our country’s creation, a tool for regional and national power. Of course, there were many other reasons for maintaining this system. Free labor and the greed of economic gain were vital. As a result, the structuring of our society in terms of race became all the more legally evident, even following the Civil War and the end of slavery in 1865.

Following the death of Abraham Lincoln, the presidency of Andrew Johnson began the period of Reconstruction, which was meant to help provide a mental, psychological, political, and economic corrective to a society that had gotten used to seeing Black people as less than human. From 1865 to 1877, the federal government, with the help of Union troops and temporary governors, were able to create a space where Black folks could fully engage in the life of the republic. During this period the constitution was amended to give them full access to American citizenship and its privileges. Of course, slavery had already been permanently prohibited with the passing of the Thirteenth Amendment in 1865, and the wording “three-fifths” was removed from the Fourth Amendment in 1868. In addition, African-Americans began to be elected to state and national offices and were making economic gains in various fields. However, following the end of Reconstruction, a leadership vacuum opened the door for the disenfranchisement of Black citizens through Jim Crow policies and White supremacist terrorism from the KKK.

Such dehumanizing acts and horrific organizations are nothing new in the breadth of human history. Unfortunately, at the core of all this is the human tendency to consider oneself more valuable than “the Other.” The starting point for this was the Garden of Eden, where the Serpent, Adam, and Eve thought they knew reality better than Creator God. By their act of defiance, they demonstrated their willingness to stage a coup against God. As a result, their sin started a chain reaction that has perpetuated such attitudes throughout human existence. This rebellious strain has been passed on through the generations (see Romans 5). Consider, for example, Genesis 11 and the scattering of the people at the Tower of Babel, where God confused the peoples by giving them different languages. With such confusion, an even a deeper level of uncertainty, fear, and anxiety worked its way into human experience. Consequently, power struggles increased between people groups and empires, which were driven by a desire to dominate others and prove the supremacy of their god(s). In fact, the ancient Israelites and other peoples in the Ancient Near East tried to convey their supremacy over defeated foes through ancient covenants, the language of which could be quite dehumanizing. Even God’s people, Israel, dehumanized their own people and others, just read Isaiah, Jeremiah, Micah, and Nehemiah, which all deal with the treatment of the poor, or John 4, which deals with their view of the Samaritans, or Acts 10 on treatment of the Gentiles, to name only a few.

The objective of this post has been to show that degrading the image of God in “the Other” has deep roots that trace back to the beginning of creation. As such, I do not believe there has been a culture in human history that has not been involved in some form of de-valuing of the Lord’s image bearers. So yes, the “three-fifths” designation for African-Americans is a deep stain on the American conscience and the American “record,” but it’s a stain on the garment of every human culture. We thus make ourselves into a mockery in mocking the image of God in others. And yet, the story of redemption is about how the only “true image-bearer” seeks to restore us to our true selves. Stay tuned... more on that story is coming throughout the month of February. 

1. [1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Witherspoon

2. [2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Witherspoon

3. [3] https://www.crf-usa.org/black-history-month/the-constitution-and-slavery

4. [4] https://www.crf-usa.org/black-history-month/the-constitution-and-slavery

Thoughts on Minority Representation, Our Society, and the Church

I never really grasped the importance of minority representation until recently.

Let me explain.

For Christmas last year my kids, who are Black, received a children’s book about the Obamas. It’s a nice little book about how the Obamas have worked hard for equality, stewardship of the earth, and a healthier America. One day, my son, a curious boy, pulled the book off the shelf and started asking questions about it. “Who’s that on the cover? What did he do? What’s a ‘President’?” At first, I didn’t think much of these questions, but as I began talking about how Barack Obama was African American (“chocolate,” as our son says) and held one of, if not the most, powerful positions on the planet I saw my son’s eyes grow larger and larger. I came to realize just how energized he was by the fact that someone who looked like him was so important. He didn’t even know what “President” meant (he still doesn’t), but he knew it was something special, and what made it more special was that Obama has the same color skin as him.

The more I thought about it, the more I was also like, “Yeah, it is super cool that Obama, a Black man, became President!” I started probing deeper into President Obama’s life and legacy. Eventually, I stumbled on John McCain’s 2008 presidential election concession speech (and here). I’m not sure I had ever heard the speech before, but it was interesting in light of recent events. In case you need reminding, there was a time when certain conspiracists, Donald Trump foremost among them, spread the lie that Obama was not born in the US, and was not, therefore, eligible for the Office of the President. There were also people saying that Obama was a Muslim who wanted to destroy the US. Terrible, terrible racist things were said. Unlike some politicians these days, McCain stood up for Obama throughout his campaign, opposing some of his own supporters to their faces when they tried to spread false information about his opponent. McCain now looks like a man standing among playground children for having done so (also see this). In his concession speech, McCain—again, he had just lost—emphasized, “This is an historic election, and I recognize the special significance it has for African Americans and for the special pride that must be theirs tonight.” I don’t see McCain as a flawless man mind you (nor his concession speech), but to this day I’m struck by how he highlighted the significance of the 2008 election for millions of Black people across the US (even as his audience booed every time they heard the name “Obama”), all still feeling the sting of this country’s racist legacy. I’m struck by how McCain, a decade before my son was born, affirmed my son’s pride in the accomplishment of another Black man.

Whether its Barack Obama, Kamala Harris, Raphael Warnock, Cory Booker, or Tim Scott, you don’t have to agree with someone’s politics to celebrate what they might represent—in this country, a light flickering in the dark history of violence and discrimination. In no sense do I want to turn the figures I just mentioned into “tokens,” signs of “how far we have come” or something like that. We have work to do that feels insurmountable at times. The murder of Ahmaud Arbery (among many others), delight at the purposeful butchering of Kamala Harris’s name (also here), and the Capitol insurrection, even “Jewish Space Lasers” (look it up; also this) show us how hate rears its head from top to bottom in our society.

In America, there has been a trend among White people to paint over differences in color and gender, to pretend we don’t see them. We want to say, myself included, “it doesn’t matter what your skin color is or whether you’re a man or a woman; Americans judge fellow Americans on the basis of merit, not skin color, background, religion, sexual orientation, etc. The past is the past. We don’t deal with those issues anymore.” As the long, arduous year of 2020 has shown, that’s simply not true.

I fear we make a similar move in the church. Hear me out. In the church, we like to cite Galatians 3:28—“There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus”—as proof that since we are all united in Christ we shouldn’t care about “trivialities” like minority representation in the church. “That’s a fleshly concern,” I’ve basically heard people say. Or, we like to say, “Black or White, it doesn’t matter. As long as they love Jesus, it’s all good!” It’s a kind of “I don’t see color or other differences” Christianese response. We can then slide further into something entirely unbiblical—a reflexive opposition to difference, outright or subtle.

In Revelation 21, the Holy City, New Jerusalem, descends from the heavens prepared as a bride. There isn’t a temple in this Holy City and there isn’t a sun or moon. God’s glory provides the light. On whom does the light shine? Revelation says, “the nations.” In fact, Revelation 21:26 states, “The glory and honor of the nations will be brought into [the city].” In the Ancient Near East, “the nations” could denote all sorts of human “groupings”—ethnic, political, social, etc. Most importantly, what Revelation 21 shows us is not the total dissolution of differences, but God’s celebration of difference. As theologian William Storrar writes,

The one new humanity in Christ is a community of unity in diversity, a holy nation made up of people of all nations who, in embracing their new identity in Christ, retain their social and cultural identities as Gentiles and lose only the oppression and distorting effect of sin and their separation from God’s covenant people… The Bible affirms both equality and difference.

Honestly, I don’t know what that looks like most of the time. Sometimes I see glimpses. I live in a broken world that struggles to recognize difference in a way that isn’t pandering, self-satisfying, or goes beyond a meaningless gesture. The good news of Revelation 21 is that whatever this recognition of difference is supposed to be, it will be perfected and pleasing to God. How great is that! Think about it. There are right now brothers and sisters in Christ who were racists praising God in the heavens because they were set free from that racism, an ironic twist on their earthly lives.

We, still earth-bound beings, are all united by Christ, but, once again, we also live in a broken world where we have to fight hard against our biases and fight hard for racial and ethnic equality. Part of what it means to fight hard (biblically) for racial and ethnic equality in our present is to recognize and celebrate that unity in diversity.

Do we even try to live with the knowledge that God has set us free to embrace unity in diversity? I fear we, the church, as individuals or entire churches, often repackage unity in Christ into a type of Christian “tokenism.” That is, we can easily use unity, forgetting in diversity, as evidence of our “profound” spirituality, a sign of how “non-racial,” “post-racial,” or whatever you want to call it, we are. So, we use unity in Christ to push away wrestling with minority representation in the here and now because that wrestling makes us uncomfortable. Maybe, just maybe this happens in our own church.

Take heart! Christ will come again and set right all things! But we would be fools to forget how our future hope of perfected unity in diversity is impacted by our sinful minds, our family histories, and the way our society oppresses and demeans the marginal. More than fools, we may be in sin to deny sin’s presence. May we remember that unity in diversity matters: it matters to God.

Lift EVERY Voice and Sing

So, this particular blog is coming from a direction of music. Big surprise coming from the “Music Guy,” huh?  I want to talk a bit about statements we often hear, like “music is universal,” “people can be unified through music,” or “people are introduced to other cultures through music.” All these are true. Still, I think we often miss an opportunity to truly embrace other cultures in our Christian faith because we never really stop to consider how God, through the power of the Holy spirit, is working in and through the music of a diverse array of people groups. And so, we never truly, as Christ followers, see the value in another group/culture/ethnicity as expressed in their music. So, let’s take a moment to do so.

In the Black or African American community (whichever descriptive title you choose to employ), there’s a song dubbed to be the BLACK NATIONAL ANTHEM, entitled “LIFT EVERY VOICE AND SING.” The song was written as a poem in the late 1800s by James Weldon Johnson and then put to music by his brother Rosamond Johnson. The initial purpose of writing the poem (I’ll refer to it as a song from hereon out) was to celebrate the anniversary of Abraham Lincoln’s birthday. For the anniversary on that particular year, Johnson’s song was taught to hundred of young people in a children’s choir. Despite having all the elements of a perfectly written hymn, it unfortunately wasn’t valued as anything significant in the wider body of Christ, namely among White American Christians. After the performance, the brothers forgot about the song and went on with their lives. But, the song was adopted by the NAACP as the National Black Anthem, some twenty years later. It has remained circling around the Black community for all these decades. 

But here, things get really interesting. To actually know the song is to know the story of James Weldon Johnson and to recognize how the song lays out God’s actions in history, including how these actions relate to every community, culture, and people group.

I’m going to say a little bit more about James Weldon Johnson in just a moment, but we must first talk about our openness to receiving the experiences of the afflicted through music. We are taught in the Bible that one of the ways to give praises to our God is through the singing of Spiritual Songs, Hymns, and Psalms, as Psalms 96: 1-2 says:

Sing to the LORD a new song;

    sing to the LORD, all the earth.

2 Sing to the LORD, praise his name;

    proclaim his salvation day after day.

3 Declare his glory among the nations,

    his marvelous deeds among all peoples.

The deeds of the Lord are seen through His Grace, His Mercies, and His Miracles. They are also expressed when He avenges the blood of those whom he is mindful of—the afflicted, whose cries He does not forget (see Psalm 9:11-12).

Naturally, most songs are written in light of a personal experience or struggle, and thus they reveal God’s faithfulness, including His redemptive plan, His unconditional love, and His comfort.

For the Christ follower, whether we experience the same struggle of a song writer or not, when we hear of, recognize, and understand God’s deeds—even His responses to a particular (afflicted) group of people, our hearts should be should compelled to be both empathetic and sympathetic. More importantly, we should be joyful in seeing how God has orchestrated a given situation so His Glory would be revealed.

“Lift Every Voice and Sing” reveals the Holy and Righteous Deeds of our God as laid out in the Gospel of Jesus Christ. It speaks of a Faith forged in the fires of a dark past, a Faith that can only exist in knowing how Jesus Christ encourages and helps us endure. For example, as the song says, “the Hope that the present has brought us” is revealed when God’s people (the Church) look back and see how God has brought them through and kept them. The lyrics of the song are as follows

Lift Every Voice and Sing, till earth and Heaven ring,
Ring with the harmonies of liberty;
Let our rejoicing rise, high as the listening skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;
Facing the rising sun of our new day begun,
Let us march on till victory is won.

Stony the road we trod, bitter the chastening rod,
Felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
Yet with a steady beat, have not our weary feet,
Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?
We have come over a way that with tears has been watered,
We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered;
Out from the gloomy past, till now we stand at last
Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.

God of our weary years, God of our silent tears,
Thou Who hast brought us thus far on the way;
Thou Who hast by Thy might, led us into the light,
Keep us forever in the path, we pray.
Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee.
Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee.
Shadowed beneath Thy hand, may we forever stand,
True to our God, true to our native land.

When we sing “God of Our Weary Years, God of our Silent Tears,” we are acknowledging God’s sovereignty when things seem at their worst. And, when we sing “Thou who has by Thy might led us into the light keep us forever in our path we pray,” we recognize that our path is according to His Plan, a Plan for our good, not evil, offering a future and a hope. This resonates with Jeremiah 29: 11-13, which says, “Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will hear you. You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart.”

The song reminds us how our feet are easy to stray from the place of freedom when we first came to know Jesus. Also, We can become so drunk with the lust of worldly things that our actions are no longer guided through the power of the Holy Spirit but through the flesh. 2 Peter tells us that without being intentional in this manner we become blind, narrow-minded, and even forget we were saved. But, through the power of the Holy Spirit we can stay the course. Psalm 36:7 speaks of God’s steadfast love and being shadowed in the refuge of His wings. The song also reminds us that as Christians we must first and foremost be true to our God, our Lord, and Savior Jesus Christ through faith. Likewise, we can say that the song encourages us to simply remember the truth of the past—the truth that regardless of the struggles and trials, there will be restoration and glory given to God.

Interestingly enough, although James Weldon Johnson was raised as a Christian with two parents who were believers (his mother directed a choir for years and his father was a preacher), James states in his autobiography that when he wrote the song he considered himself to be more of an agnostic. He loved reading the Bible and thought it was the greatest book ever written. He also enjoyed going to church hearing different preachers, even doing some teaching and preaching as a young man. But, as an agnostic, he just thought, as he described it, “The teachings of Jesus Christ to be the loftiest, ethical, and spiritual concepts the human mind has yet to borne.”  Yet, it’s interesting when James Weldon Johnson recounts writing this particular song, he said that the first line came rather easily. He then had to grind out the next couple. Then, when he came to “sing a song” (lines 5-6), the “spirit” of the song took hold.  He goes on to state that the words flowed through both agony and ecstasy until he reached the third verse. He was so overwhelmed; tears would not stop flowing. He describes it as a “transporting” experience.

Again, after completing “Lift Every Voice and Sing” and seeing it performed, Mr. Johnson and his brother Rosamond completely forgot about the song, moved to another state, and continued on with their lives. But, God had a plan. All the while the song was continuing to grow in reputation and usefulness until 20 years later it was being sung across the United States and had been adopted by the NAACP. Now it’s cataloged in many African American hymnals as a song to be sung any time of the year. It was a song Johnson wrote somewhat casually, even if through agony and joy. He forgot about it, and yet the song continues to be sung to this day. I would suggest to you that the reason is due to the message of Gospel presented in the song. The same hope communicated in the song still remains today: that God will come and take us home one day. This is exactly why we “Lift Every Voice and Sing ‘til earth and heaven rings” (the song’s first line). Through the struggle of a particular group, every person who comes to know Christ will see God’s faithfulness and His redemptive love.

So, “Lift Every Voice and Sing” is a song that should be sung not just during Black History Month, but at every point during the year because it’s a story about the deeds of the Lord. It’s a song representative of many groups, from biblical times to this present age and beyond.