Humanity washed asore
My heart bled out,
eyes awash in its blood
But my tears
don't help them
didnt help him
What will it take
for the whole world to hear?
Little kids are dying
Onto shores their bodies washing
Humanity washed ashore
My eyes bleeding
aren't doing much anymore
How long
until the whole world heals?
Showing posts with label justice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label justice. Show all posts
Friday, September 4, 2015
Saturday, January 10, 2015
Invisible Sound, Selma, and Ferguson Flashbacks
Silence. That invisible sound filling a space so thick you can barely take a breath.
Sometimes, there are no words.
The film ended, screen went black. Our ears strained to hear every word sung as closing credits and images flowed across the screen. Through the final words we sat, and as the screen went black and the theater silent for the last time, we were silent.
Silence. That invisible sound filling a space so thick you can barely breathe.
Flashback to the return journey from our first Denver Freedom Ride. Light had broken the heavy darkness of our night with tendrils of sunrise spread across the sky. We barely spoke. The night before had left us without words. BC broke the silence, “How do we go back to normal life after this?” And our response was that unbreakable, unanswerable silence thickly surrounding us.
Sometimes, there are no answers.
And that was what watching Selma was like.
No answers. Just my heartbreak flowing out my eyes in tears streaming down my face.
It was like watching a documentary of Ferguson. Some of the very same things being said from King’s pulpit as I heard from the pulpits in Ferguson (the ones on the streets and coffee shops, and ones in churches).
It was like being there all over again. Tear gas and smoky streets, police in gas-masks and riot gear. The loudspeaker shouting, “This is an unlawful assembly. If you do not disperse you will be subject to arrest and other actions.”
Don’t ask what other actions are.
In the Selma-to-Montgomery March, “other actions” meant Bloody Sunday on Edmund Pettus Bridge. “Other actions” meant beating protestors with billy clubs wrapped in barbed wire - men, women and children alike.
“Other actions” meant a militant attack against unarmed, non-violent civilians.
And I could hear my voice on St. Louis streets crying along with a hundred more, “Who do you protect? Who do you serve?”
I was back to Monday, November 24, the night the non-indictment of Darren Wilson for the killing of Mike Brown was announced. The rows of cops in riot-gear, prepared for a fight before there was even an announcement made. The sound of shots going off, people running in all directions, smoke filling the air from smoke bombs, tear gas and pepper spray. Hiding in a church for hours, watching a live stream, listening to the sounds outside, reading text messages from those outside and those watching the news warning us of rubber-bullets, snipers on roofs, and the potential of police raiding the church we were taking refuge in. People coming in, tears streaming down raw faces from tear gassing. Waiting for teammates to get inside, worried sick they wouldn’t make it.
Words cannot explain watching Selma after being on the ground in Ferguson and Denver.
But what I can tell you is how utterly overwhelmed I am by how little has changed. Police brutality perhaps is not as overt. There aren’t rows of white people cheering on the police force literally beating black protestors and white allies to death.
But police brutality still exists. The product of a deeply flawed, broken, and systemically racist system.
In a speech, Martin Luther King Jr. reminded his congregation they were not fighting racist police, but a racist system.
Nearly the same thing Rev. Sekou told us again and again. This is not about bad apples (cops), this is about a rotten system.
The parallels, uncanny.
A cry from the pulpit for black lives to matter. A cry for no more death. The funeral of yet another killed black boy.
The fair voting act, which the Selma marches and movement was fighting for, may have passed. But we still have so far to go. We still exist in a system that is intrinsically racist and broken. We still live in a society that says, “We have a black president...what more do you want?” “I’m color blind.” Or, “The Civil Rights movement was fifty years ago, we’re past that. When can we stop talking about race and just move on?”
But then Mike Brown and Ferguson, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice...and we have so far to go.
It may seem as though our world has changed drastically in the past fifty years, but watching Selma, I realized in many ways it has not. Half of me feels weighed down by the overwhelming hopelessness of that. But part of me is lit on fire with a passion for justice and a desire to see reconciliation and restoration in this world. That part of me jumps at the challenge of fighting for a better world, a world marked by justice, mercy and compassion.
This is the burden and the joy of walking this journey, especially as one who places their hope in Jesus Christ. Carrying the tension of the pain and hopelessness of our current situation but also living in the light of the reality of hope for a future of restoration and perfect peace.
Rev. Dawn watched Selma with us. After the film we sat and talked for hours. She said, “I need it to not look so similar as it did fifty years ago. Because if it looks this similar as it did fifty years ago, it means my kids will be fighting for the same thing my grandparents were fighting for.”
All the pain we feel at tonight’s realization of how parallel Selma is to Ferguson does not, will not, leave us with unbearable hopelessness or a sense that this task is impossible or this battle unable to be won. No, we will fight. The pain points us to our vision and hope for the future. A future where our children will not fear for their lives because of the color of their skin, but, as King said, “will be judged by the content of their character.”
And so we still march, boycott, protest. Because as King cried from the pulpit, and we are still shouting from the streets, “No more!"
Sometimes, there are no words.
The film ended, screen went black. Our ears strained to hear every word sung as closing credits and images flowed across the screen. Through the final words we sat, and as the screen went black and the theater silent for the last time, we were silent.
Silence. That invisible sound filling a space so thick you can barely breathe.
Flashback to the return journey from our first Denver Freedom Ride. Light had broken the heavy darkness of our night with tendrils of sunrise spread across the sky. We barely spoke. The night before had left us without words. BC broke the silence, “How do we go back to normal life after this?” And our response was that unbreakable, unanswerable silence thickly surrounding us.
Sometimes, there are no answers.
And that was what watching Selma was like.
No answers. Just my heartbreak flowing out my eyes in tears streaming down my face.
Heartbreak so
Great I don’t
Know what to do with
Shattered pieces of heart
Cross my arms tight to
Hold it all together
Until
My chest explodes
Broken bits
Couldn’t
Keep it all together
So much
Heartbreak
The break almost
Feels real
Eyes bright with pain
Heartbreak looks like
Tears falling
Streams, rivers flowing
Down face into
Clenched fists
Arms holding
Broken heart together
Heartbreak
So real the pain
You can feel
It was like watching a documentary of Ferguson. Some of the very same things being said from King’s pulpit as I heard from the pulpits in Ferguson (the ones on the streets and coffee shops, and ones in churches).
It was like being there all over again. Tear gas and smoky streets, police in gas-masks and riot gear. The loudspeaker shouting, “This is an unlawful assembly. If you do not disperse you will be subject to arrest and other actions.”
Don’t ask what other actions are.
In the Selma-to-Montgomery March, “other actions” meant Bloody Sunday on Edmund Pettus Bridge. “Other actions” meant beating protestors with billy clubs wrapped in barbed wire - men, women and children alike.
“Other actions” meant a militant attack against unarmed, non-violent civilians.
And I could hear my voice on St. Louis streets crying along with a hundred more, “Who do you protect? Who do you serve?”
I was back to Monday, November 24, the night the non-indictment of Darren Wilson for the killing of Mike Brown was announced. The rows of cops in riot-gear, prepared for a fight before there was even an announcement made. The sound of shots going off, people running in all directions, smoke filling the air from smoke bombs, tear gas and pepper spray. Hiding in a church for hours, watching a live stream, listening to the sounds outside, reading text messages from those outside and those watching the news warning us of rubber-bullets, snipers on roofs, and the potential of police raiding the church we were taking refuge in. People coming in, tears streaming down raw faces from tear gassing. Waiting for teammates to get inside, worried sick they wouldn’t make it.
Words cannot explain watching Selma after being on the ground in Ferguson and Denver.
But what I can tell you is how utterly overwhelmed I am by how little has changed. Police brutality perhaps is not as overt. There aren’t rows of white people cheering on the police force literally beating black protestors and white allies to death.
But police brutality still exists. The product of a deeply flawed, broken, and systemically racist system.
In a speech, Martin Luther King Jr. reminded his congregation they were not fighting racist police, but a racist system.
Nearly the same thing Rev. Sekou told us again and again. This is not about bad apples (cops), this is about a rotten system.
The parallels, uncanny.
A cry from the pulpit for black lives to matter. A cry for no more death. The funeral of yet another killed black boy.
The fair voting act, which the Selma marches and movement was fighting for, may have passed. But we still have so far to go. We still exist in a system that is intrinsically racist and broken. We still live in a society that says, “We have a black president...what more do you want?” “I’m color blind.” Or, “The Civil Rights movement was fifty years ago, we’re past that. When can we stop talking about race and just move on?”
But then Mike Brown and Ferguson, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice...and we have so far to go.
It may seem as though our world has changed drastically in the past fifty years, but watching Selma, I realized in many ways it has not. Half of me feels weighed down by the overwhelming hopelessness of that. But part of me is lit on fire with a passion for justice and a desire to see reconciliation and restoration in this world. That part of me jumps at the challenge of fighting for a better world, a world marked by justice, mercy and compassion.
This is the burden and the joy of walking this journey, especially as one who places their hope in Jesus Christ. Carrying the tension of the pain and hopelessness of our current situation but also living in the light of the reality of hope for a future of restoration and perfect peace.
Rev. Dawn watched Selma with us. After the film we sat and talked for hours. She said, “I need it to not look so similar as it did fifty years ago. Because if it looks this similar as it did fifty years ago, it means my kids will be fighting for the same thing my grandparents were fighting for.”
All the pain we feel at tonight’s realization of how parallel Selma is to Ferguson does not, will not, leave us with unbearable hopelessness or a sense that this task is impossible or this battle unable to be won. No, we will fight. The pain points us to our vision and hope for the future. A future where our children will not fear for their lives because of the color of their skin, but, as King said, “will be judged by the content of their character.”
And so we still march, boycott, protest. Because as King cried from the pulpit, and we are still shouting from the streets, “No more!"
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
Christmas Heartbreak
Tonight, my heart breaks.
It's Christmas Eve. We celebrate a birth, a child come from Heaven to Earth. But too often in the midst of our celebration and beautiful lights, we forget the true circumstances of that birth.
We forget He was born in a stable. We forget He was born into a poor, poor family to an unwed, teenage mother. We forget He was born to an unknown people, in an unknown place. We forget Nazareth was the ghetto. We forget He was despised and rejected, we forget He did not have an appearance that attracted people, that infact He was despised and held in low esteem.
My heart breaks because Christmas is supposed to be a time of joy, peace, love. A time to remember, a time to celebrate, a time with family. And tonight countless families must go through this season without loved ones, because for many families this is the first Christmas without their babies. My heart breaks for the mothers, families and friends of #MikeBrown,#EricGarner, #TamirRice, #AntonioMartin, #AiyanaStanleyJones, #TrayvonMartin and so many others.
And my heart breaks because so many hearts are NOT breaking for these families. Because so many people are diverging the conversation from LIFE to excuses and reasons. He did this, she did that, the police were justified, it's because they didn't have a father-figure, if only they didn't grow up there, if this, if that. My heart breaks because people try to change#BlackLivesMatter to all lives matter, unable to understand that of course all lives matter and no one is denying that, yet our world says black lives don't matter, and we are saying yes, yes they do.
My heart breaks because the what happened, the "facts," the who, why, and how, are not, and cannot be, the prevailing conversation. My heart breaks because the Jesus whose birth we celebrate tomorrow came to earth and died to have victory over sin and death and fight for justice and mercy because love wins. And when we change the conversation to facts and justifications, we forget the true conversation must start at the reality that we are all human beings, we are equal in our humanity, we deserve love, justice, and equality, we deserve freedom. We should get to a point where we don't need #BlackLivesMatter because our world is finally acknowledging that all lives, colors and cultures are beautiful, equal, and loved.
My heart breaks because this season is about love, and yet tonight so many can do nothing but weep for the brothers, sisters, daughters, friends, fathers, uncles, mothers lost. And my heart breaks because instead of having compassion, feeling love, we try to say we're in a post-racism age, white privilege doesn't exist, and the cops were justified in shooting yet another black kid.
So maybe we can take a step back. Before fighting, debating, and shouting in hopes our opinion come out loudest, let's think before we speak. And before we speak let's try love. Let's try compassion. Let's try mercy. And let's try justice. And let's remember that the Jesus whose birth we celebrate came to break down an unjust system and fight for justice and mercy. Whether you believe He was the Son of God or not, you cannot deny His teachings are centered on love and justice. So let us love one another, because of the deep abiding love we ourselves rest in.
Saturday, December 13, 2014
Prophecy of Protests
But Love
hung on a tree
hung on a tree
Bruised body, blood flowed
Love died so
we could be free
we could be free
Love didn't look at skin or color
Love didn't look at nationality,
legality
Love look at souls
and said we're brothers
Blood flowed
for every nation,
tribe and
tongue
But we've forgotten.
And now
the prophets of the streets
crying like Pentecostal priests
Beating chests and
stomping feet
Begging
those choosing blindness
to see
See our pain
Feel our fury
Our righteous anger
rages
against injustices you pretend
can remain unseen
can remain unseen
You were born with this freedom
to close your eyes
We were born into a world
stabbing us from behind
So don't bring your Bibles,
shove your tracts
drag us down aisles
You weren't here from the beginning
Fighting to break chain,
set captives free
"We have nothing to lose but our chains"
Our battle cry is freedom
justice,
equality for all
Jew and Gentile
Slave and free
Now the verses can read
Black and white
Upper class and lower
College educated, GED
You know, He's crying with us
shouting, marching
Beating chest and
stomping feet
Don't think you're bringing Jesus to us
He's already here,
on the streets
Prophecy of protests
Righteous rage against
iniquity
Jesus, the revolutionary
God with us
On the ground with us
Love doesn't look at
skin or color
And Love hung from
a tree
It is our duty to fight for our freedom
Love has already won the day
And we have nothing to lose but our chains
We will fight to lose our chains
- - - - -
Ferguson has changed me. Broken me. Built me. My heart breaks again everyday, and the pieces are held together by the community around me. I do not yet know fully what Ferguson has done in my life, and we have yet to see the full extent of what it will do in our world. But I sense the world changing around me, paradigms are shifting, in my own life and all around me. I am beyond grateful to be part of this movement, and to those who have given themselves to fight for justice.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Justice and Jesus
Someone asked me what "got me into social justice work."
I didn't really know how to respond.
I told him nothing really "got me into social justice work," that I honestly couldn't pinpoint a time when suddenly justice work began to matter to me. I can't imagine not caring.
I told him that I've always seen brokenness and longed for restoration. From a young age I found myself wanting to help people, the earliest I remember is being eight and wanting to adopt kids when I grew up. It was never a question, for me, of if I would help people, but rather who I would help. Because the reality is my heart is constantly in a state of brokenness. My heart was breaking.
My heart is break
ing.
For me, Jesus and justice have never been separate. Loving Jesus and living out that love in acts of justice, compassion, kindness and mercy are utterly inseparable concepts.
I got lucky. I was raised in the church and had the unique joy of being raised by a family and in a community that practiced what it preached, looked around and reaching out to those in need.
For example. I remember when I was little, maybe 7 or 8, I had a friend named Dimesha. I honestly don't know how we knew her, or where she lived, but I know she was at our house a lot. She was like a sister to me. I think she lived with her grandma, and somehow we kinda adopted her. My mom homeschooled her along with the rest of us kids for a bit. She was always over to play, for holidays, birthdays. She belonged. As a kid, that was completely normal. I never questioned why she was there, why my parents would add yet another child to the many they already had, why they would care for a kid not their own, why she would become one of their own. Looking back, I can see how unique that was. Parents so willing to lay down comfort and normalcy to care for someone who just needed someone.
Justice and Jesus were never separate concepts. I was raised hearing about Jesus' love and seeing it lived out in the way my parents and my community cared for those around them.
So when my friend explained to me that most people involved in activism or social justice work have experienced some great injustice or oppression to propel them into justice-work, I had to respond that I didn't have a trigger point or a defining moment. I've simply always cared.
I honestly hesitate to say that because I feel like it's just me tooting my horn. But here's the thing. It's not. Because the reality is that Jesus and justice absolutely cannot be separated, and I've just been incredibly lucky that those never got separated for me.
The tragedy is that so many people do separate Jesus from justice-work, as if social movements and "sharing the Gospel" are separate actions.
See I think we've done a terribly thing in the world of Christianity by acting as if there is a difference between a "social Gospel" and one that you share with people on street corners and on airplanes that tells people they're a sinner in need of a savior.
The Gospel was never about praying a prayer that would save your soul from hell.
The Gospel is the good news of a God who cares so deeply for the oppressed that He died, conquered death, and rose victorious. The Gospel is about the Kingdom of God and restoring a broken world. And at some point we forgot that the Kingdom of God is here and now and that restoration isn't to be saved for some time far away with golden streets and angels floating on clouds. Restoration is for today.
And restoration is justice, mercy, compassion and grace.
The reality is, I shouldn't have to tell someone I'm a follower of Christ. My life should look so much like Jesus people don't even have to ask. Our lives should look so much like Jesus that people want to know Him.
And what does it look like to live like Jesus?
Justice, mercy, love, compassion and grace.
We are missing so much when Jesus gets boiled down to a few points and a pretty painted picture hung on a wall. We forget that actions speak louder than words, and that Jesus modeled that by caring for the poor. He came to heal the brokenhearted, set the oppressed free. We, as people who say we follow Christ, cannot continue separating justice from Jesus. Justice is not something some are called to. If you believe in Christ, then you believe in a God who is heartbroken over injustice, who cares deeply for the poor and oppressed, who tells His people that true religion is caring for the poor and needy, for the widow and orphan in their need. If you believe in Jesus, you believe in a God who is restoring this broken world and that means binding up the brokenhearted, setting the oppressed free, releasing the captive.
We must stop asking if we will engage in a life of justice, but rather where God is leading us to live and give and who He is leading us to serve.
Justice and Jesus are inseparable, and that is why I have no moment of choosing to care about justice, other than the moment I chose to surrender my life to Christ.
- - - - - - - -
I spent the past few weeks in Ferguson, MO, participating in non-violent protests about Mike Brown's death, the non-indictment of Darren Wilson, the mass incarceration of black and brown men in the US, and other systemic injustices. This experience has truly changed my life. As I just said, I've always cared about justice, my passion runs even deeper now. I'm processing the many things I have seen, the ways I've been challenged, the places I've grown. My faith and relationship with the Lord have grown and my eyes have been opened to seeing God as so much bigger than ever before. Over the next few weeks and months, I will be writing about this experience. Some of these writings will be more about what I've seen and more in regards to the issues regarding Mike Brown and this movement that has sprung from his tragic death, my experience in Ferguson, giving more information than the mainstream media gives, and such. I will also be writing about how this has challenged me and grown me as a person and in my faith. I'll share photographs, potentially some poetry, and the random ramblings of my 2:00AM brain (aka this post). Please engage with me, with questions, comments, concerns. I have been changed, I hope you will be too.
Monday, September 22, 2014
Drawing Lines in the Sand
Buzzfeed has some great articles. Funny, informative, a good way to waste time, you know how it goes. The articles are pop-culture, they are a good read on what culture is saying, opinions and perspectives, what is important to us and what messages are being passed around.
A most recent message, and trending hashtag/topic, is "things white girls do." I know it seems funny, and is meant to be lighthearted. It's satire and sarcasm...usually. Sometimes. But the reality of this hashtag is it simply puts up more walls, builds barriers meant to be broken. Barriers we say were broken years ago when slavery was "abolished" and segregation apparently just evaporated. But a generalization like "things white girls do" is segregation. It puts me as different from you. It makes assumptions. It excludes.
Many of these things white girls do or like include Starbucks, iPhones, eating junk food, wearing leggings and boots, Pumpkin Spice Lattes and such. This assumes all white girls own or care about or enjoy these things, and that no other gender or race does, unless they are "channeling their inner white girl." I did read that on a blog somewhere. Well, I don't love Starbucks more than my mother and I'd rather drink tea than something with more calories than a meal. I must not be white...or a girl.
This "white girl status" and "things white girls do" has got to stop. We can't reconcile when we're constantly drawing lines in the sand.
Reconcile? Wait. What? That got deep...we were just having fun. Making jokes. Stereotypes aren't racism because they're just generalities, right? When we meet someone for real, we'll get to know them instead of making assumptions. It's all fun and games, why are you making a big deal about this?
It's all fun and games, until someone gets hurt. And a lot of people have been hurt, for thousands of years people have been hurt. If you had the chance to change that, or at least lessen the pain, would you?
There's no easy fix to systematic racism, to gender inequality, to an I'm-better-than-you-because mentality. But if you could do something, would you?
It has to stop being about color and race. Why can't I like Starbucks because I just like Starbucks? Rap, dancing, anime, math, cars, beer, rice, running, sports, weightlifting, yoga, whatever, just because I like them?
We laugh about being PC. Too politically correct is scoffed at, because why are we trying to hard to make everyone happy? Why can't we all just lighten up? Forget the past, move on, you're being too sensitive. Or we use the excuse, "no one will hear." "It's just us guys." Or, "I wouldn't say that if a ______ person were here."
What you say in private is what you believe. And if what you say in public is different from the conversations you have in the safety of your home or innermost circles, then you're simply wearing a mask and displaying a facade. Speak words that anyone could hear and feel loved, accepted, unjudged and welcome. If you are making those jokes in private, it speaks clearly to the prejudice (and potentially unknown/defined racism, sexism, etc) residing in your heart.
(And as a side note, if everyone in your innermost circle looks, sounds, speaks, dresses and smells just like you...well that's a problem too. I once heard someone say that you only have to go so far as looking at the people around your dinner table to know if you live a life that is diverse).
My mom always taught me, "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." I firmly believe being politically correct is one of the most loving things I can do, or say. We have politically correct terms because someone was hurt by the other ones. And if someone was so hurt by those words, shouldn't I do everything in my power not to say them? Why for my own validation or "freedom of speech" should I say something I recognize could throw salt in a long-festering wound?
I have the legal freedom to say just about anything I please. And with that freedom I will choose not to speak if it will offend my brothers and my sisters.
And I believe that being politically correct is the most Christ-like thing I can do. No, Jesus didn't conform to the world, to the political or social structure of His day, but He loved the world. He met people where they were at. He called them by name, and I think that would include using the politically correct term. Saying "Indian" versus "Native American" or "American Indian" may not seem like a big deal. But that's because I haven't experienced the injustice and discrimination those of that race and background have suffered.
The reality is if we want to be part of reconciling our world, restoring the peace God intended, and reconciling race, gender and the like, then we have to make some sacrifices. We all have to make some sacrifices, no matter what race, gender or socioeconomic status you fall under. But the reality is if you are of the majority culture (white), then you are especially tasked with being part of the change. How can you truly love your neighbor as yourself?
Sacrifice means taking the time to listen to someone's personal experience, validate their story and seek to understand their perspective. No excuses, no "you're being too sensitive," just listen. It means being politically correct. It means not making certain jokes, I don't care if it's "all fun and games." It means not watching some TV shows or movies because of the messages being preached. It means thinking before speaking or Tweeting, and I mean really thinking.
It means living in a way that demands an explanation. Live differently. Because Someone lived to die so you could live fully and living fully includes loving endlessly those around us.
A world restored and reconciled is no easy task. It's a world we will never fully experience because of the reality of sin and brokenness. But just because we can't have perfect peace until the end of the earth doesn't mean we shouldn't strive for it.
The entire Bible speaks of reconciliation. It's a deep desire of the Lord's heart. So deep He sacrificed His only Son to make a wretch His treasure. Jesus reconciled us to God. We could have no relationship with Him without Christ's blood making us clean. And we reflect that sacrifice by being reconciled to those around us. Being part of God's redemption of this world, the Kingdom here on earth. Loving your brother and your sister not because of who they are or what they've done, but because of who Jesus is and what He has done. Because we are all precious bits of clay, beautiful in the eyes of the Maker.
We all have infinite worth because we are children of the King.
Revelation 7:9 is one of the most beautiful passages in scripture. It brings tears to my eyes in hopeful anticipation of the promised perfect restoration of our world.
So let us all be part of that vision, every nation, tribe and tongue. Seek to listen, learn and love, just like a certain Savior does for us.
A most recent message, and trending hashtag/topic, is "things white girls do." I know it seems funny, and is meant to be lighthearted. It's satire and sarcasm...usually. Sometimes. But the reality of this hashtag is it simply puts up more walls, builds barriers meant to be broken. Barriers we say were broken years ago when slavery was "abolished" and segregation apparently just evaporated. But a generalization like "things white girls do" is segregation. It puts me as different from you. It makes assumptions. It excludes.
Many of these things white girls do or like include Starbucks, iPhones, eating junk food, wearing leggings and boots, Pumpkin Spice Lattes and such. This assumes all white girls own or care about or enjoy these things, and that no other gender or race does, unless they are "channeling their inner white girl." I did read that on a blog somewhere. Well, I don't love Starbucks more than my mother and I'd rather drink tea than something with more calories than a meal. I must not be white...or a girl.
This "white girl status" and "things white girls do" has got to stop. We can't reconcile when we're constantly drawing lines in the sand.
Reconcile? Wait. What? That got deep...we were just having fun. Making jokes. Stereotypes aren't racism because they're just generalities, right? When we meet someone for real, we'll get to know them instead of making assumptions. It's all fun and games, why are you making a big deal about this?It's all fun and games, until someone gets hurt. And a lot of people have been hurt, for thousands of years people have been hurt. If you had the chance to change that, or at least lessen the pain, would you?
There's no easy fix to systematic racism, to gender inequality, to an I'm-better-than-you-because mentality. But if you could do something, would you?
It has to stop being about color and race. Why can't I like Starbucks because I just like Starbucks? Rap, dancing, anime, math, cars, beer, rice, running, sports, weightlifting, yoga, whatever, just because I like them?
We laugh about being PC. Too politically correct is scoffed at, because why are we trying to hard to make everyone happy? Why can't we all just lighten up? Forget the past, move on, you're being too sensitive. Or we use the excuse, "no one will hear." "It's just us guys." Or, "I wouldn't say that if a ______ person were here."
What you say in private is what you believe. And if what you say in public is different from the conversations you have in the safety of your home or innermost circles, then you're simply wearing a mask and displaying a facade. Speak words that anyone could hear and feel loved, accepted, unjudged and welcome. If you are making those jokes in private, it speaks clearly to the prejudice (and potentially unknown/defined racism, sexism, etc) residing in your heart.
(And as a side note, if everyone in your innermost circle looks, sounds, speaks, dresses and smells just like you...well that's a problem too. I once heard someone say that you only have to go so far as looking at the people around your dinner table to know if you live a life that is diverse).
My mom always taught me, "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." I firmly believe being politically correct is one of the most loving things I can do, or say. We have politically correct terms because someone was hurt by the other ones. And if someone was so hurt by those words, shouldn't I do everything in my power not to say them? Why for my own validation or "freedom of speech" should I say something I recognize could throw salt in a long-festering wound?
I have the legal freedom to say just about anything I please. And with that freedom I will choose not to speak if it will offend my brothers and my sisters.
And I believe that being politically correct is the most Christ-like thing I can do. No, Jesus didn't conform to the world, to the political or social structure of His day, but He loved the world. He met people where they were at. He called them by name, and I think that would include using the politically correct term. Saying "Indian" versus "Native American" or "American Indian" may not seem like a big deal. But that's because I haven't experienced the injustice and discrimination those of that race and background have suffered.
The reality is if we want to be part of reconciling our world, restoring the peace God intended, and reconciling race, gender and the like, then we have to make some sacrifices. We all have to make some sacrifices, no matter what race, gender or socioeconomic status you fall under. But the reality is if you are of the majority culture (white), then you are especially tasked with being part of the change. How can you truly love your neighbor as yourself?
Sacrifice means taking the time to listen to someone's personal experience, validate their story and seek to understand their perspective. No excuses, no "you're being too sensitive," just listen. It means being politically correct. It means not making certain jokes, I don't care if it's "all fun and games." It means not watching some TV shows or movies because of the messages being preached. It means thinking before speaking or Tweeting, and I mean really thinking.
It means living in a way that demands an explanation. Live differently. Because Someone lived to die so you could live fully and living fully includes loving endlessly those around us.
A world restored and reconciled is no easy task. It's a world we will never fully experience because of the reality of sin and brokenness. But just because we can't have perfect peace until the end of the earth doesn't mean we shouldn't strive for it.
The entire Bible speaks of reconciliation. It's a deep desire of the Lord's heart. So deep He sacrificed His only Son to make a wretch His treasure. Jesus reconciled us to God. We could have no relationship with Him without Christ's blood making us clean. And we reflect that sacrifice by being reconciled to those around us. Being part of God's redemption of this world, the Kingdom here on earth. Loving your brother and your sister not because of who they are or what they've done, but because of who Jesus is and what He has done. Because we are all precious bits of clay, beautiful in the eyes of the Maker.We all have infinite worth because we are children of the King.
Revelation 7:9 is one of the most beautiful passages in scripture. It brings tears to my eyes in hopeful anticipation of the promised perfect restoration of our world.
"After this I looked,
and there before me was a
great multitude that no one could count,
from every nation, tribe,
people and language,
standing before the throne and before the Lamb.
They were wearing white robes
and were holding palm branches in their hands."
Every nation. Every tribe. Every people. Every language. Standing before the throne. Oh, the beauty of this vision. All together as one, worshiping the King. Because it isn't about the color of your skin, what scars and stories you bear, the talents you posses, the gifts that you bring. It's about His skin being torn and pieced, bruised and bloodied for our sins. The sins we all bring. His love makes us one. A great multitude from every nation, tribe, people and language before the throne of grace. And that is a beautiful picture of a day far off, but it can also be a vision for today.
So let us all be part of that vision, every nation, tribe and tongue. Seek to listen, learn and love, just like a certain Savior does for us.
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