Racism as the Church's Problem Pt. 2
This blog is a two-part post, adapted from a sermon given at The Wesley’s annual Race Talks series, by Alana Wagner. This is part 2.
A few Sundays ago, I unfriended some “church friends.” I know that doesn’t sound like the most faithful thing, but hear me out. This was prompted by one particular sister in Christ who had been posting gross images and statements about Mexican immigrants. It was blatantly and unabashedly offensive and hateful, complete with “America First” account names and Jim Crow-style caricatures that left nothing to the imagination and no room to think that this was anything other than driven by hate. I couldn’t help but wonder, and felt I could make a decent guess, what kind of posts this person would be sharing were this 60 years ago as my kind began invading the schools, claiming spaces to which we had no right and entering spaces where we were clearly not welcome.
A glutton for punishment, I looked at who had liked this post. Then, I thought of the posts shared by women in Bible study groups I’ve attended. I thought of the hateful posts I saw on “church friend” timelines after Nike chose Colin Kaepernick as the face for their 30th anniversary “Just Do It” campaign. I thought of posts celebrating that finally, finally, there’s a woman of beauty, class, and elegance in the White House again, making me wonder if they looked at me and saw the same animals they shared in side-by-side comparisons with Michelle Obama. I thought about 8 years’ worth of hateful, offensive, and Jim Crow-inspired posts about Barack Obama during his presidency (and still today). I thought about the comments made by members of a previous church that Nick and I should consider what our kids will have to go through as the unnatural products of our unnatural union--comments boldly spoken from one Christian to another under the assumption of like-mindedness.
I realized that the number of Christians in my life who I wished weren’t in my life--at least the worshipping part of it--was growing. I sat in my pew wrestling, angry that Christians caused my wrestling, angry that they had no idea that I was wrestling, no idea what it costs me to see and speak to them and sit next to them and worship with them. And then, because I am a Christian, I was ashamed of my anger. And then, I was angry that I was ashamed, and I was angry that I, of all people, had to wrestle with being ashamed in this situation. They’re not wrestling, and they’re not ashamed.
My reason for unfriending these people was not because I had gotten nothing out of church or because I was being petty. I had become too deeply invested in, and had begun to give too much power to, what these people were posting; and I realized, sadly, that if I don’t stop following on Facebook the people with whom I’ve attend church, I might end up hating them. And I might die hating them, which means I might die as they are at risk of dying: harboring hatred against their brothers and sisters in their hearts. As murderers. Lacking the selfless, undiscriminating love of Christ, a Love that loves those who hate Him, loves those who persecute Him, loves those who see Him hungry, thirsty, naked, a stranger and pass by and look away--or, worse, mock Him and cry for His destruction. This is not how I want to die, and it’s not how I want to live.
I share all of this because I want you to know what it’s like for me to be a part of the Body of Christ, to go to church and to be in relationship with the Christians around me at any given moment. There are entire generations of Christians who have grown up and died and before they died raised up other generations not clothed in Christ or the new self but in racist systems and mindsets, in the low thoughts and earthly passions of the old self. When you go to church on Sunday (and you should; if I can, there’s no good reason why you can’t), I want you to take note of your experience compared to mine. I want you to remember what I suffer; I think this is a faithful request, for before Paul called us to remember his chains, Christ Himself called us to remember the suffering He endured first and endured for us. Remember what I endure every Sunday morning simply for the sake of having a worshipping Body, for the sake of being able to worship next to my husband, who so recognizes the pain this gives me that he offered to go with me to a predominantly black church on and off so that I can feel comfortable at church every now and then.
I want you to know what it’s like because I want you to feel responsible for the success or failure of our witness as the Church. Listen to what I did not say: I did not say that I want you to feel like you’re a racist and my experience is all your fault and you’re a terrible person and Christian. If any those things are true, I hope you come to see and recognize and repent of them, but that’s not what I said. Listen to what I did say: I said, I want you to feel responsible. I want you to feel like you have something at stake in what I’ve shared. I want you to also feel vulnerable and at risk and hurt by the failures of these and many other Christians. I want you to have to wrestle with the ignorance and fear-driven hatred and the ignorance of that hatred in the people in your churches, as well. I want you to feel responsible for things that maybe you didn’t do, just as I’ve felt responsible and ashamed for things I didn’t do. I don’t want you to feel responsible because you’re white or because I’m black. I want you to feel responsible because we’re Christians. Because we are all members of one Body, and we name the same Christ as Head of our one Body, and because we are no longer Jews or Greeks, slaves or free but one in Spirit and given one Spirit, and because you can’t tell me you don’t need me, nor can I say to you or these people that I don’t need you or them, and because my weeping means you must weep with me. To fail in these ways is to fail to witness to the binding together that happens when we take Christian vows to one another in the Body of Christ. To extract from Paul in Galatians 6:2, to fail to bear my burdens is to fail to fulfill the law of Christ. Only when you recognize and admit of my burdens can you possibly feel responsible for them, and only after you feel responsible can you, will you, share them with me.
Alana Wagner
Alana is a Wesley saint; She is humble and bold; She is kind and faithful; She is graceful and Spirit-filled. Alana is an alumni of The Wesley and LA Tech, with a MA in English. She served two years as a Missionary Intern, and now serves with other local non-profits. She intends to pursue seminary and continue to work in ministry.