by Bishop Bill Gohl
To say the least, the conversations have been wide-reaching, thoughtful and provoking. Each conference had real, shared concerns and, though the dialog was polite, I became aware that I was being vetted again so that our colleagues could know my heart, my ministry and my priorities better. It was simultaneously exhilarating and intimidating! I really am grateful for the time our rostered leaders generously shared with me and John, and there will be more about those conversations shared as John and I amalgamate a report for the Synod Council.
With social media ablaze with outrage in the face of Terence Crutcher being shot by a police officer in Tulsa and Keith Scott being shot by police in Charlotte, one of the conferences had a fairly deep and hard conversation about race; summed up by the simple, but powerful question, "What can we do?"
What can we do?
We gather in Christ in one of the whitest denominations in America. Our services in many places give witness to Dr. King’s iconic declaration that 11 a.m. on Sunday is the most segregated hour in America. Though we enjoy a "better-than-average" diversity in our pews here in Delaware-Maryland than perhaps many of our ELCA sisters and brothers across this country, “better-than-average” is not much to brag about in a church that cannot claim even 5% of its membership as being other than white.
Though, that question wasn’t addressed to me. "What can we do?" was addressed to one of the two obviously non-white rostered leaders at the table. To be honest, that pastor looked tired upon hearing the question that so many of us ask our African descent, Asian, Native, and Hispanic sisters and brothers as if it is their question, not ours. Colleagues who serve on our synod’s Racial Justice Ministry Team capably reminded us of the resources that are available, including training, literature, accompaniment, and a resource network, though one rostered leader admitted after the meeting, "That wouldn’t help at my church, we don’t have any people of color."
Another colleague jumped in and said, "We can pray." And something inside me began to scream.
Prayer is surely a right foundation, but when we confront racism in our own contexts, action is necessary, too. We can’t simply lament. We need to open our hearts to be changed, and then we must become that change beginning right at home in the church, and from the church into the world.
Another colleague suggested that we might switch pulpits and preach about race for each other to help have the "hard conversations," to spare our pastoral relationships. The screaming in my head only got louder.
Why are we afraid to name racism as sin? We are so mired in our inability to name this violation of our inheritance as children of God that we cannot make real progress in becoming all that God calls us to be as a community in Christ.
In this age of prognostication about the death of the church, we are hastening our own demise by blithely avoiding our responsibility to name this pervasive sin that infects the vast majority of our churches and leaders; our silence is not neutrality, it’s complicity. Sin proves itself imperial, sin proves omnipresent, and its ultimate manifestation is death (cf - from Naming Sin: Reframing Racism and Atonement by Robert L. Foster).
There comes a point when excuses of not knowing or not caring become just that — excuses. We need to recognize that when one part of the Body of Christ hurts, the whole Body of Christ hurts. This is why the Church must be a safe place for difficult discussions about race. We must not only be unafraid to discuss it, but acknowledge that it still exists in many places in our country, our church, our communities — and can often be hidden away in our own hearts.
Racism is a painful word. Nobody wants to be labeled a racist and some actually believe that because we are more than 50 years past the Civil Rights era, we are somehow magically past racism. Tragedies like what we’re witnessing around this country are a reminder of the presence of injustice in the world. It’s a call to speak, listen and pray. Because we are the Body of Christ, we must learn to mourn with those who mourn.
Half a dozen years ago, my two sons (Andrew, now 13, is African-American; David, now 15, is biracial) were helping me change the sign that sits in front of our home and beside our church. I was off to the side, pulling out the new letters for the message board, and they were fairly gleefully sliding the old letters off. I heard a screech of tires and flew over to make sure they were okay. A middle-aged white man, whom I had never seen before, nor since, was yelling at my precious children: "You niggers, you get away from that sign. You don’t belong here."
I was incensed and got physically between them and their aggressor. I confronted him, wearing a clerical collar – there was no question that I belonged there – and in no uncertain terms called him out and told him that those were my children, they were helping me.
He hesitated, but only for a moment, and said, "That was the downfall of this once-great-church, when we got nigger-loving ministers." And he drove off. I knew then that I needed to use my own privilege and power in this church and the community to tell that story and name that sin, repenting and rising up to our high call to be the Body of Christ, in all of its diversity, alive in this world.
Friends, enough with the hand-wringing, or worse, our impotence in answering the question, What can we do? Tell the truth. Name the sin. Name the victims, by name! Study scripture. Study the ELCA Statement on Race, Ethnicity and Culture – there’s even a study guide! Read a book about race and privilege together.
If you need help, contact the Racial Justice Ministry Team, the African Descent Strategy Team, or the African Descent Lutheran Association (ADLA).
If you need “cover,” call me.
And then, only then – after we have a vocabulary with which to speak and some foundational understanding of the root issues – forge cross-cultural relationships in your community that enrich our worship, learning, service and partnership in sharing the good news of Jesus Christ. Please, don’t reach out to people of color first expecting “they” will teach “us” about race and privilege.
Now is not the time to hope this will go away; now is the time to be the church - engaging in conversation about race and how we view others; now is the time to ask each other the hard questions. To those means, I’ve asked our Racial Justice Ministry Team to prepare and promote training for rostered leaders to be leaders in this critical conversation...more on that at the Bishop’s Leadership Retreat.
As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus. And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to the promise. - Galatians 3:27-29
John Auger is fond of having asked each group we visited, “What are we afraid of? The Creator of the Universe is walking beside us every step of the way!”
On the Way together,