I’m angry. I am so angry. I’m angry at our legal system.
I’m angry at these grand juries. But
mostly, I’m angry at the church. I’m furious
at my brothers and sisters. We’re
supposed to be one body. We’re supposed
to be working together. The strong are
supposed to help the weak with their burdens.
And yet I sit here heavy and burdened, and I feel like the church has
abandoned me. There’s a deafening
silence in the Christian community after the acquittals of officers in Ferguson
and New York City. I’m boiling over and
seething with anger and pain and I want you to stop denying it. I want you to stop telling me not to be angry.
In the past week I’ve tried to
reflect on my own habit of placing my identity as a black man in front of my
identity as a Christian. I know that
ideally, I shouldn’t do this. I know
that this body is just temporary and temporal.
When we leave these bodies and get to glory, ethnicities, colors, phenology,
race, etc., surely won’t matter. This is
only flesh and I’ve been taught that the flesh is what separates and distances
us from God. In respect to things that
are eternal and really matter, I know that this flesh ranks pretty low. You know as well as I do, though, that this
flesh can be a powerful thing. While I
know that God looks beyond my color and race, people don’t. Everyday I’m confronted with stereotypes,
inequalities, and injustices because I’m a black man. Before people get the chance to see that I’m
a Christian, my race has broadcasted who they think that I am. So while it’s temporary and earthly, my race
has very real implications for how I live my life.
At the same time, I also know that
historically, the church has been silent or on the wrong side of many issues of
inequality. From slavery, to
segregation, to Jim Crow, many from the church in America have been strangely
silent. This especially confuses me because
when I read about Christ, I don’t see him as someone who supported the status
quo. He was an activist and a righter of
wrongs. Even when it was unpopular, he
spoke truth in the face of lies and transformed those filled with hatred through
the power of his love. In the past several days I’ve used that old middle
school mantra of WWJD. That’s been the
most helpful exercise for me. I know
that He wouldn’t be in the streets looting, setting cities ablaze, and letting
his uncontrolled rage damage a community.
At the same time, I don’t think that He would sit idly by and ignore the
posts, comments, blogs, feelings, etc. of those who felt genuinely affected by
racism that they encountered. Surely he would be somewhere in the middle, able
to balance correcting inequalities and loving people. He would be about connections and love.
There’s a way to fight equality
and do it in a productive, Christ-like manner.
I aspire to be like Christ, like many of us probably do. So yes, I should love my neighbors, even when
they think I’m aggressive and a threat because I’m a big black guy. At the same time, I have to stand up and
protect those who are being crushed and oppressed. See, Christ didn’t sit idly by and watch
people suffer. He took those that the
world didn’t care about. He took the
widows, the diseased, the prostitutes, everyone who was broken and discarded and
He embraced and love them. Brothers and
sisters, there is oppression in this land.
There are structural inequalities.
There are people whose rights are being stripped away and I challenge
you to search your heart and see how silence and ignorance allows us to
progress. We’re supposed to be the light
of this world and flavor it with our righteousness. We’re supposed to make a
difference!
It boggles my mind that so many
can stay silent in the face of discrimination and inequality. I know that many have a hard time believing
that the Mike Brown murder was about anything more than a thug who tried to
attack a police officer. They claim that
race isn’t central to this incident, not respecting authority is. Let’s take a
step back from this example and see that it’s just one example in the list of
many. Even if you can’t bring yourself
to believe that Mike Brown’s death is about race, understand that there are
many people in this country who feel that Ferguson and Eric Garner are proof
that America values the lives of black men as less than others. This isn’t an indictment against white people.
Nor is it an excuse to hate, ignore, or blame them. I try my hardest to approach friends of all
colors and ethnicities to explain my disappointment and anger at the legal
system in America. Yet, my life is proof
that black men are viewed as a problem. I feel like my life is expendable. It’s as if the system doesn’t care if I die
or not. This pain is palpable! It chokes me up to think that the system
designed to protect and serve could see me as a threat for no reason. I could
be one of those black men wrongfully executed and my character assassinated so that
people could feel better about what happened. I’m angry and my anger isn’t a
sin. Even Christ got angry. I choose to use that anger. I’m going to use that anger to stir myself to
make some tangible action of change.
Hopefully, I can stir you enough to do the same.
I haven’t forgotten that the
actual church of God is bigger than race or ethnicity. But as it is with a lot of things in
scripture, it’s easier to recite God’s words than live it out. On one hand, I know that I should “Bless
those that despitefully use you” and that “Blessed are ye when men shall revile
you and persecute you and say all manner of evil against you falsely.” At the
same time, it hurts so much. I’ve been
stopped plenty of times in Philadelphia while not committing any crimes. It’s terrifying to know that being a law-abiding
citizen may not be enough to keep me alive. The situation in Ferguson is simply
one example of a fractured system founded in a racist America. We built this country on the backs of black
people. When slavery was abolished there
was still another hundred years of Jim Crow and government assisted and
supported racism. In the last two
generations, we’ve made amazing progress, but to assume that the past 60 years
was enough to equalize the entrenched power imbalance and racism in America is
absurd. It bothers me so much that so many Christians are willing to ignore a legacy
of systematic and government supported racism that existed in our country for
years.
I’ve engaged in peaceful demonstrations
the past week. While I haven’t been
moved to anger or destruction, I can emphasize with those who are, especially
those who aren’t bound by a religious or moral code that says violence is
wrong. People are angry and rightfully
so. They believe that the system of
justice is skewed against them. What do we expect them to do? When going
through formal systems can’t work, because the system is slanted and biased,
then one has to go outside the system. I
understand their rage and discontent. It
burns slowly and intensely inside of myself.
I don’t judge them though. While
I may not think destruction is the most productive use of anger, judging is the
last thing I feel like doing. Because below
that anger is a pain, desperation, and hopelessness. That’s what we should be concerned with as
Christians. What about the pain and hurt
that an entire group of people feel? Isn’t that what our Savior would have been
concerned with? I’m discouraged by the
silence of the church. One can show compassion
and the love of Christ without picking a side.
While I can’t understand how anyone in America still thinks that racism
on an individual and systematic level isn’t a problem, I’m not asking anyone to
believe exactly like I do about race and justice. What I’m suggesting is that regardless of
your beliefs about race, the suffering and perceived injustice that black
Americans are going through should stir something inside of us. It should cause us to me empathic and
sympathetic.
I’m not calling on revolution or war, but I do not think
that there is a problem with demonstrations against a system that doesn’t seem
fair. The recent protests in NYC are an
example of how people of different stations in life are coming together in solidarity
for the oppressed. I was at the Millions
March and was almost brought to tears by the diversity of ages, races, and
ethnicities. On the way up, I sat behind a group of priests from The Princeton
Theological Seminary. We got into a conversation and I was so inspired by their
activism. They were all different ages, races, and genders. They all felt a
need to change the world and help move America towards a more equal system. There
was a sense of empathy and support for a generation of frustrated young
men. Sounds pretty Christ like to me.
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