I’m working on an essay about racism and I keep recalling this incident. I shared it in 2016 and think it might be worth sharing again.
Years ago, a black woman began attending our services. Betty, a retired schoolteacher, knew some of our members from an interdenominational Bible study she taught. Invited by those members, she visited the church. She kept coming. Each Sunday she offered an insightful comment on my sermon as she left; she especially seemed to appreciate their Biblical content. Then one morning she asked if she could talk with me in private at some time. We set up an appointment for early that week.
At the office, Betty seemed tense but got quickly to the point. “I’d like to join the church,” she said, “but I won’t do if it would cause you any problems.” I was happy to tell her it would cause no problem at all, that the people would be thrilled she wanted to become a member.
She relaxed and began talking freely. “I’ve attended black churches my entire life,” she said, “but lately things have changed. I don’t think I can go anymore.”
“How so,” I asked. I assumed she was about to tell me that black churches, like so many white churches, had begun to deny certain aspects of Biblical truth—the authority of the Scripture, the deity of Christ, the need for salvation, etc. Her answer surprised me.
“The pastor of the church I attended for so long started preaching hate against white people. I know too many good white people and I can’t stand it.”
Not a little shocked, I recall saying something like, “Betty, we would love to have you as part of our church but maybe that’s just one pastor at one church.”
“No,” she said, “I’ve visited every black church in town and all of them are preaching hate against whites.”
Do I believe Betty visited every black church in Columbus? No, I suspect she only visited churches she believed taught biblical truth; she wouldn’t have visited churches built around a “personality.” But, knowing Betty, I’m sure she visited enough churches to make her statement worth pondering.
Betty and I had our conversation a quarter-century ago. She passed away in the early 2000s. I wonder what she would say about what is happening in our nation.
The kind of teacher who loved and was loved by her students, she doubtless would mourn every black man (or woman) killed by the police—or by gang violence.
A genuine Christian and a policeman’s widow, she doubtless would mourn the death of any policeman killed in the past few years, praying for their widows and children—regardless of their race.
Betty was not naïve. She knew racism was an ever-present reality. Her visit to my office proved that. If she was bitter about racism, she never showed it; nor did she deny racism's impact on her life. An art student at Ohio State, she had dreamed of being a fashion illustrator. She once showed my wife and me sketches she had drawn in the mid-forties. They were beautiful and could have graced any magazine in the days before computer-enhanced images. But, placing the drawings back in their tattered folder, she said her professor had told her no magazine would hire a black woman as an illustrator. So, she became an art teacher. No, it wasn’t fair. But Betty trusted God and made a life by inspiring students rather than selling couture.
Again, I wish I could ask Betty her thoughts on what is happening. I can’t. But I can almost hear her say, “Pastor Jim, we must begin by praying. Then we have to show people Jesus’s love.”
