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Confessing My Racism
How forgiveness could transform us all
Friday, August 29, 2014
Jeff Lampl
Confessing My Racism
How forgiveness could transform us all
Friday, August 29, 2014
Jeff Lampl
The following post is written by Anna Broadway (pictured above). I offer to you because she writes what I’ve recognized in myself and have never found a way to express it as clearly and profoundly as she has. I hope you take the time to read this and allow it to help you see your own heart at little bit more clearly. Jeff
How
can Christians seek racial reconciliation, justice and healing? Attempting to
answer that question means reckoning with racism. But as a member of the ethnic
group that has enjoyed disproportionate power and privilege because of systemic
and other forms of racism, attempting an answer means trying to address a blind
spot that afflicts my own vision.
Far
easier to point out the comparatively more obvious blind spot of another
person's racism — be it Donald
Sterling,
Paula
Deen
or commentators
on Jeremy Lin.
But insofar as we can call racism a blind spot (by which I don't in any
way mean to absolve people of responsibility), Jesus taught a very
different process for correction:
start with your own sin.
Confession
raises all sorts of fears, but racism has become one of the most shameful sins I
can think of. I didn't realize I saw it that way until one day about 10 years
ago, when various slurs started coming to mind as I walked down a street in my
neighborhood and saw people of different ethnic backgrounds.
As
someone with relatives and close friends of various ethnicities, I was horrified
by my own thoughts. Each time it happened, I begged God for forgiveness and a
change in heart. At first, I hoped God and I could work it out privately. But
you can't address something as long as you pretend it isn't there. And racism
causes inherently communal destruction. So I confessed my thoughts to others at
church and asked for their prayers. The thoughts continued.
Then,
shortly after I moved to California, my then-roommate invited an African
American pastor over to pray with her. After they finished, something prompted
me to confess my struggle with racist thoughts.
When
the pastor asked for more background, I reluctantly shared a hurtful experience
that happened around the time the thoughts began. I'm not sure what I expected
her to say, but to my astonishment, she said, "Oh, no one ever apologized
to you" — and then proceeded to do so herself.
Nothing
had prepared me for a response like that. Everything in me resisted the
admission, fearing that exposure of my sin at its worst would lead to relational
disaster and rejection. Even seemingly lesser sins — ignorant, careless or
inadvertently hurtful remarks — had previously damaged relationships and
caused others to pull back in hurt and anger. So I was ready for what I thought
I deserved.
But
instead she was apologizing to me?
That
woman's response was one of the most humbling and powerful experiences I've ever
had with someone of another race. Though she apologized on behalf of others, her
response also offered a measure of the forgiveness I desperately needed. In that
moment, she embodied the hope of the coming racial unity Paul describes in
Ephesians:
"[Jesus]
himself is our peace, who has made the two one and has destroyed the barrier,
the dividing wall of hostility, by abolishing in his flesh the law with its
commandments and regulations. His purpose was to create in himself one new man
out of the two, thus making peace, and in this one body to reconcile both of
them to God through the cross, by which he put to death their hostility."
(Eph. 2:14-16, NIV)
I
wish my racist thoughts ended with that conversation, but it hasn't been so
easy. So, recently, I decided to spend some time in listening
prayer
about racism. With the listening process my church follows, you ask God to take
you back to where a particular issue began, showing you both the lies you
believed and the truth about the situation. Later, you renounce your belief in
those lies and, if necessary, walk through a similar process for unforgiveness,
verbally releasing the other person from his or her debt.
To
my chagrin, several old wounds came up again. I may never fully know the
connection between those events and my thoughts, but I realized during my prayer
time how many small hurts — especially with strangers — I'd left to fester
quietly. And small as they might seem, each of those unforgiven wounds both
damages my relationships and keeps me from God.
To
say that all people bear God's image means we not only share a common dignity,
we serve a God who has dispersed His image, uniquely entrusting Himself
to each person. The more homogenous our relationships, the more distorted our
resulting picture of God. If we truly desire to know God, we should seek to know
as much of His creation as deeply as we can, no matter what sin we must deal
with in the process.
So,
in closing, I want to apologize for my part in whatever hurt, discrimination or
injustice those reading this have experienced because of your ethnicity. I am
sorry for the ways I have believed lies about you; dismissed your perspective;
conflated your choices or actions with your race; expected you to speak for
other people; not forgiven you when I felt hurt in our relationship; and
otherwise denied your status as fellow image bearers of the divine King. I am
sorry for the ways I have sinned against you because of how God made you,
rather than rejoicing in His design. For whatever role I have had in this cruel
and often seemingly hopeless family conflict, I apologize. And I ask you to
forgive me.
To
those reading this who see racism as a mostly "out there" or
"back then" sin problem, I humbly suggest that you ask God to show you
any blind spots you have. If the Bible does not leave room for human sinlessness,
generally — Jesus aside — why should we be so confident of our
innocence in racism? As God convicts you, ask Him how and to whom He might have
you repent.
I
didn't want to admit my sin of racism publicly, much less on the Internet. But I
deeply long to see God restore relationships so that Africans and Europeans,
Jews and Palestinians -- all members of His family -- enjoy and delight in each
other as He intended. That healing comes on God's terms, not ours.
Earlier
this year, I discovered Marilyn Nelson's award-winning biography
of George Washington Carver.
Artful and intimate (Nelson's own father briefly overlapped Carver at Tuskegee),
the book introduced me to the botanist's late-in-life friendship with a young
descendant of white slave owners named Jim Hardwick.
Nelson depicts one of Carver's letters from their ongoing correspondence:
My
Beloved Friend
"Your letter touched me deeply. How I wish
I was more worthy of the things you say
about me. I love you more dearly because
you are of another race. God is using you
to teach the world the brotherhood of man,
the fatherhood of God. How sweet it is
to let God purge our souls of ego and
bitterness, and to have a little taste
of heaven here on earth. I trust you will pray
for me, that I get rid of my littleness.
I did not have to learn to love you: You
were chosen for me. I knew that the first
time I saw you. It was the Christ in you, of course."
From
Carver: A Life in Poems by Marilyn Nelson. Copyright © 2001 by Marilyn
Nelson. Published by Boyds Mills Press. Used by permission.
May
God give — and use us all to produce — more such tastes of heaven on earth
until His kingdom comes in full.
Note:
Several friends who gave input on earlier drafts of this piece deserve
tremendous credit for helping shape what you've just read; any hurtful or
insensitive words are entirely my own responsibility.
Anna
Broadway is a writer and editor living near San Francisco. The author of Sexless
in the City: A Memoir of Reluctant Chastity, she also contributed to the
anthologies Talking Taboo and Disquiet Time (forthcoming). She
has written for TheAtlantic.com, Books and Culture, on Faith and Paste,
among others. She also contributes regularly to the Hermeneutics blog.
For
more:
follow on Twitter @jefflampl