'I am a Racist'
"I am a racist." These were the words I heard from one of my church board members staring at a Nativity scene in the foyer of our church.
As a fifty-three year old, and having lived in Georgia, Mississippi and Alabama early in life, I've lived long enough to remember things from my childhood that sowed racism into my life. Thank goodness that since those years in the 1960's, much has changed all over the country.
My first year of grade school was in Alabama, the last state to have segregated schools, therefore I attended the "white" school on the good side of town. My Dad was in the Coast Guard and we were poor. We lived on the other side of town in part of town near the railroad tracks and the district bussed us to the white school. I remember my mother's valiant attempt to teach us the wrongs of racism. I remember the day that Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated and I found my mom crying over it.
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Another time, she refused to allow my Dad to gas our car at a gas station that had three restrooms – one for men, one for women, and one labeled with the "N" word. She had my brother and I look out the car window as she pointed to the three doors and shared with us the horrors of slavery. When I asked why our black neighborhood kids weren't at our school, she explained to a 7 year old why it was wrong and that it would change.
I could tell you more, but would rather tell you that even though my mother did her best to correct the ills of that time, I discovered in later years that strands of racism had found their way into my thoughts.
Initially, we moved from Alabama to California and were thrown in an incredible culture change. Where we had lived in the south, people simply didn't mix. In California the attitude was so very different. Starting with a dear friend in the 3rd grade, I began to have close friends of all races.
As I grew up I was involved in sports in Arizona. Whether I was playing football, baseball, or wrestling there were individuals of all races. Every one of them became team members and friends. I began to see us as just the human race.
Fast-forward a couple of decades…I am pastoring a multi-cultural church. My children are young, and we are decorating the church foyer and sanctuary for Christmas. We had set a manger scene in both the foyer and on the stage, and all was set in place but we didn't have a baby Jesus for either scene. I sent my son Austin, who was about 5 years old, to go get a couple of baby dolls from the nursery. He came back with the only two dolls he could find—one black and one white. I looked at my wife and truthfully without really deciding to make a "statement" we simply put one in each manger. The African American baby doll we placed in the manger located in our foyer.
The next morning I arrived early for service and as was my custom was spending time in prayer in my office. About 20 minutes before service I walked out into the church courtyard, and my goodness - debate was raging. Some of the older Caucasian members of my congregation were disturbed and angry, muttering about that manger scene. After bringing much of the debate to a close, one of my board members pulled me aside to speak with him. He was my most influential leader. He shared with me that when he had arrived he had walked in and had taken in the nativity scene.
His words were something like this, "Pastor when I looked and saw the black baby, I began to get angry." His voice began to tremble but not with anger. "I felt my ears turning red and then God spoke to me and said, 'Son, you are a racist.' Pastor, I repent of my sin and want to love the way Jesus loved."
Just about that time a little Filipino girl began to pull on my arm. You see, word had spread even into the Filipino congregation what Pastor Ken had done with the nativity scene. She was pulling on my arm and I was trying to pay complete attention to my friend and church leader. But I looked down to see what she needed. She said motioning to the baby Jesus in the manger, "Pastor, Pastor do you have a Jesus that looks like me?"
I knelt down to her and said, "Sweetheart, I think Jesus looked just like you when he was your age." She smiled this huge grin at me, hugged me around the neck and ran back into the Fellowship Hall. As I stood and turned to my friend, he reached out and shook my hand and said, "It's already been a great church service."
This was a monumental moment for our church. The next Sunday various African American members of our church brought some things to offer as decorations at the church. What did they bring? Some African American Angels and an African American Santa. They shared with me that for the first time they really felt that this was not just the church they attended but that it was in fact their church.
I wish I could tell you that I had planned all this. I wish I could tell you that I had strategized on how I was going to address racism in my church, but I can't. God did.
Over the last few months we have had numerous situations where racial tension has once again raised its' ugly head. My goal is not to push one view or another on any of these news stories but instead ask that each of us examine our own hearts. Jesus came for all humanity and this is why I celebrate Martin Luther King Jr. Day.
Personally, I don't celebrate Martin Luther King Jr. Day because he was African American. I don't celebrate it because I think the man was perfect and that every choice he ever made was the right one. My own life isn't perfect and my own choices haven't always been best. I celebrate his life because he was a great human being fighting non-violently to change racial practices that were unfair, ungodly, and uncivilized.
His life motivates me. I see the people who need the ministry work my son and I do (RetroFit) as ministering to a group of people who also need to experience freedom. His life motivates me to help bring freedom to all every person who suffers from oppression even when that oppression is something brought on by obsessive behavior, emotional distress, and physiological reasons.
