White Thoughts On Juneteenth

I don’t recall her name, but I know she deserved better.

In the late 1970s, Pat and I were living in New Orleans where I was doing doctoral studies. Both Pat and I had jobs: she as a teacher, I as the assistant manager of small store in one of the city’s upscale malls. One fall, needing to hire a new clerk, the manager and I conducted preliminary interviews of applicants. I interviewed a young woman who was bright, smartly dressed, and well-spoken; in her first year at a local college, she needed a part-time job to stay in school. I arranged an appointment for her at the main store on Canal Street where she could be interviewed by the owner (whose family had opened the store in the early days of the Civil War). A little over an hour after she left, I received a call from the owner. He was irate. After admitting I had sent the young woman downtown, he said, “Don’t you ever send a black person down here. We aren’t going to hire a black to work in our store!” With that, he hung up. I spent the rest of the afternoon wondering if I was about to be fired.

Racism. Four decades after that experience, racism is still with us. I’d like to think things are better, but are they? Some things have changed. A few years before my experience in New Orleans, I worked in a restaurant supply warehouse, supervised by a man who left to become Springfield, Missouri’s first black police officer. When we moved to Ohio, twenty years later, Columbus had a black chief of police. Local stores are managed by men and women of all races. The nation has had a black president. And Marvel has black superheroes.

During those years, I have performed mixed-race weddings, seen black doctors, and worked with an African American deacon. Still, racism remains part of our culture. And, so I must occasionally ask myself, “Am I a racist?”

It’s a complicated question. I have a friend—a white, thirty-something female—who offers an argument something like this: If you say you aren’t a racist, you probably are; if you say you are a racist, you probably aren’t. Huh! And don’t even attempt to say, “I try to be color-blind when I deal with people.” Apparently that attitude belittles the distinctive and proud African American heritage. I (white male, remember) face charges of white privilege. I think I understand what that means but I’m not sure what I can do about it—assuming it exists. Now, I discover I am susceptible to something called “white fragility.” (Were such notions thought up by sociologists, of whom C. S. Lewis was especially wary?) Folks who talk of such things believe they see racism everywhere.

And they’re always watching. If I choose the longer line at the grocery store where the checker is white, unlike the checker with the shorter line; if I question the opinion of the doctor at the “urgent care” who happens to be black; if I avoid eye-contact with the black man boarding the plane, hoping he won’t sit by me—I am likely a racist. Pretty obvious. Maybe.

If skin pigmentation were the only criterion shaping my behavior and attitudes in those situations, racism is almost certainly involved. But, what if previous experience has taught me that clerk with the shorter line is the slowest clerk in the store; what if the doctor didn’t listen when I told her (note the subtle avoidance of sexism) about my previous experience with this rash; what if I don’t want to talk with anyone about football and my potential seatmate is wearing an “I-bleed-scarlet-and-grey” sweatshirt? For each instance, I’ve offered a potential paradigm shift that may alter any assessment of my behavior.

Am I a racist because I would hesitate to walk down Columbus’s Hague Avenue at 1:00 am? Some might say yes, but I suspect many blacks in Columbus would hesitate to walk that same street in the middle of the night, festooned as it is with shot detection equipment. America’s problem is that those same blacks suspect they would face curbside interrogation by the police if they took a midnight stroll around Worthington’s green; while the police might be content with my explaining I was getting some air after a long evening of writing. We whites, who live here, might like to think better of our little town but we might be ignorant of what blacks endure.

Shortly before moving to New Orleans, I was working at a large store in Houston, one of three full-time employees in the luggage department. Then, the store hired a young black man named Wayne to work part-time with us during the Christmas season. The department manager, a retired Army Sergeant-Major, told him, “Well, we’ve never had a colored person work in the department but I’m sure you’ll do fine.” As soon as Wayne and I were alone, I apologized for what the manager had said. “That’s alright,” Wayne said, “I never try to correct anyone over fifty.” I wondered if I would have had that much patience. Now that I’m well over fifty, I wonder if there are black, Latinos, or Asians who patiently ignore my faux pas.

But Wayne said something else. “I don’t even try to correct my grandmother,” he explained, “when she makes a stereotypical remark about white people.” While anti-white racism (or at least racial stereotyping) is unquestionably found amongst blacks, I can’t allow myself to be distracted by it or, worse, allow it to excuse my own racism—or the racism of my fellow-whites.

I can think of only one incident where I was a victim of racism. Again, the setting is New Orleans, at the seafood counter of a large grocery store. Pat and I were next in line, a black woman behind us. When the clerk—black—finished with the customer before us, she asked the woman behind us what she wanted. Pat and I were surprised but didn’t say anything. The next week Pat used the experience to explain to her students why line-cutting is unfair. Pat hadn’t mentioned the clerk or the other customer’s race but a black co-worker who heard the story asked. When Pat said both were black, her co-worker explained, “She could have gotten a lot of flak from other blacks in the store if she had been seen taking a white person ahead of a black person.” Now, the racism I experienced cost me about five-minutes, the racism some blacks face might cost them their livelihood or even their lives.

Of course, that took place decades ago. And things are different now, yet somehow the same. Racism somehow seems to be passed on from one generation to the next.

I’ve studied history most of my life. If I could change anything about American history, I would have the early experiments with slavery fail, fail so spectacularly that Americans never again attempted to use slaves. The Civil War would have never occurred. There might have been sectional issues in American politics, but they wouldn’t have focused on slavery. There would have been no Christian leaders scrambling to justify “the peculiar institution” by distorting the Bible. Segregation and the quest for white supremacy would not be seminar topics. Juneteenth would just be June 19^th.  But you can’t change history. Some of America's great Christian leaders were slave owners or proponents of slavery. Racist interpretations of the Bible were taught in pulpits; I heard them. Our parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents endorsed “Jim Crow” laws and believed schools should be segregated. I attended a high school with more than 3,000 students, all of them white. I never met a black person until I was in college.  But don’t assume racism belongs to the Builder/Buster generations; the list of celebrities who’ve lost jobs for racist tweets includes many who are in their twenties or thirties.

Racism is complicated. I don’t need a PBS special, a journal article, or a book to tell me it’s complicated.

Truth is, the more we talk about systemic racism, white privilege, or white fragility the worse we (white people) feel about ourselves. And, the worse we feel about ourselves, the better we feel about ourselves. We are enamored with guilt. But guilt accomplishes little. Never has.

But, surely, the decision to treat people fairly is the first step on the road to ending racism or, at least, my racism. But apparently that’s too simple. We want a more complex answer. Still, if Christian love prompts me to love everyone—to seek the best for others, regardless of their skin color—I will want every man and woman to have the opportunity to achieve their highest potential, I will insist access to good housing and employment be available to all, I will challenge local government to police the police, perhaps through citizens’ review boards, I will vote for candidates who do not judge others by their color or their accent, I will plot to undermine the unjust structures holding people back, I will seek to be a welcoming neighbor. All of that will come from the decision to love.

A Black Life That Mattered

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.”

Words About the Police

It’s been many years since I took high-school Spanish, I don’t remember much of it. Sure, living in the Panhandle gave me an opportunity to speak Spanish, but I didn’t—most of the Hispanics I met spoke English far better than I spoke Spanish. Consequently, when I’m in a Mexican restaurant, I hope the server speaks English.

So, while I am really fuzzy about verb conjugations, I do remember a few lessons, like this about two nouns: “el policía” and “la policía.” Simply, the former refers to the police officer; the latter, to the police department. I wonder if these distinctions might be useful in the discussions going on in the nation right now.

No one can watch Officer Chauvin pressing his knee into Floyd George’s neck until George could no longer gasp, “I can’t breathe” and approve.  Nor can anyone be proud of Chauvin’s fellow-officers standing-by and doing nothing. But does this mean the Minneapolis police department, indeed all police departments across the nation, should be disbanded? Should we assume, as some apparently do, that every police officer is either a bully or a racist? Should we conveniently forget the many officers—men and women, of all races—who have given their lives serving and protecting their communities?

If the images of George’s murder (I think the term appropriate) don’t stir our emotions, we’ve become callous. Those emotions may send us to the streets to protest. But it is dangerous to allow emotion to rule in these matters. Officer Chauvin and his colleagues deserve to be prosecuted; the thousands of other police officers across the nation who play by the rules don’t deserve to be slandered.  

Most of us, having grown up with the sight of police cars and the sound of sirens, not to mention hundreds of “cop shows” on television, easily forget the modern police force is relatively new. British Home Secretary Robert Peel revolutionized policing in Britain and is counted as the founder of London’s Metropolitan Police (Scotland Yard). The nine principles of policing, attributed to Peel—though not without controversy—are worth reviewing in toto; but I’ll cite only four:

--“The ability of the police to perform their duties is dependent upon public approval of police actions.”
            --“The degree of cooperation of the public that can be secured diminished proportionately to the necessity of the use of force.”

--“Police use physical force to the extent necessary to secure observance of the law or to restore order only when the exercise of persuasion, advice and warning is found to be insufficient.”

--“Police, at all times, should maintain a relationship with the public that gives reality to the historic tradition that the police are the public and the public are the police; the police being only members of the public who are paid to give full-time attention to duties which are incumbent on every citizen in the interests of community welfare and existence.” (“Sir Robert Peel’s Nine Principles of Policing, https://www.nytimes.com/2014/04/16/nyregion/sir-robert-peels-nine-principles-of-policing.html. Accessed 11 June 2020.)

Of course, Peel’s principles were suffused with optimism. Reality sometimes took a different shape. By the mid-1850s, London police were sometimes called “The Truncheonists,” a reference to their tendency to use their cudgels or nightsticks. Some of the police were violent in response to violence. And, doubtless, some of the police were violent because they were violent men (“WPCs,” women police constables, didn’t appear until later). Police department have always been forced to weed out the bullies and sadists.

Yet, in time, the attitude toward police began to mellow. True, the Brits are always ready to jibe about “Constable Plod,” but the value of the police was recognized. One British police icon has been the blue lamp outside police stations since about 1861. The lamp became a symbol of British policing, and simple reminder to the community that someone was there to protect them.

This brings us back to the distinction between “el policiá” and “la policiá.” Individual officers may be good or bad. Departments may be poorly run, indifferent to the safety of the community; or efficient, trying to be faithful to their mandate to protect and serve.  There may be good officers in bad departments and bad officers in good departments. There are good white officers, good black officers, good Asian officers, good Hispanic officers. And bad ones in each group. 

The weeding process, going on since the days of Sir Robert Peel, must continue. Old-boys’ networks must be broken up. The stranglehold of police unions must be challenged. Indeed, the unions may have to revisit their agenda, their ultimate values.

What happened in Minneapolis is a turning point in the quest for equality. Floyd George’s death will be remembered. Our response will be remembered too. We need change, the right change.

 I've no vested interest in defending the police. Some officers bring dishonor on their badges. But not all--far from all, I suspect. We need to remember that.

I Wish It Had Been Different

I wish states and local authorities had not ordered churches to stop meeting during the pandemic. That might surprise you. I’ve had a lot to say about those pastors who have foolishly (in my opinion) called their congregations together to meet in defiance of such orders. Actually, I wish all church leaders had used common sense to cancel services until it was safer to assemble again. Of course, that didn’t happen.

Some leaders—publicity-seekers, perhaps—called their congregations together, sometimes with tragic results.

For some days now, some pastors have been garnering headlines by claiming stay-home orders violate our Constitutional freedom and defy common sense. Now, hundreds of pastors in California have banded together to defy state and local orders and meet this Sunday; on the other side of the country, a Baptist pastor in Maryland was pictured tearing up a cease and desist order, declaring it “unfair…unjust…[and] unconstitutional.” Of course, all along pastors in so-called “fly over country” have been holding meetings—see stories from Ohio, Kentucky, and Louisiana, for example. Most have claimed any ban on church services is unconstitutional and inconsistent. Are they right?

I’m no constitutional scholar but I’ve read a lot about our First Amendment guarantee that “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.”  Although there have been myriad debates about those sixteen words, they basically mean the United States would have no official religion and citizens are free to believe in “twenty gods, or no god,” to paraphrase one Founder. The state prohibitions of church services during the pandemic seem to violate the “free-exercise” clause, and I’m sure some judges will find that true should church leaders sue their states. But other judges won’t.

First Amendment freedoms have never been absolute. The right to assemble has, at times, been limited by curfews; when these are universal (not targeted by age or race) and temporary (of limited duration) the courts have generally permitted them. Even our religious freedoms have parameters. Your religion may believe in human sacrifice, but you may not practice that belief (there are less extreme examples). Thus, temporary sanctions against meeting together during a pandemic do not necessarily violate the free-exercise clause, at least in the opinion of one who has never had a law course.

Another argument I’ve seen lately runs something like this: How is going to Wal-Mart or Home Depot any safer than going to church? Yet, people are allowed to go to these stores. One pastor suggested the rulings made a church service “the deadliest hour” of the week. Let’s think about it.

--I have seldom, if ever, spent an hour or more in Wal-Mart. If I see the parking lot is full, I’m likely to postpone the visit, buying broccoli another day. Then, too, I’ve never hung around after purchasing my widget at Home Depot to visit with other customers—socializing after the benediction seems to be part of the liturgy of most churches.

--I have never—ever—been hugged in Wal-Mart. As a pastor, I was widely known for not being a “hugger,” yet some members would always hug me. I once had a severe shoulder injury, so severe I saw a specialist. The next Sunday morning I informed the congregation wouldn’t be shaking hands (following my orthopedist’s orders) after the service. Almost everyone understood—almost everyone. Some insisted I shake their hands. I did to avoid offending them.

--I have never been in a Home Depot where all the people around me were singing loudly, expelling viruses and whatever well over six feet. Some churches plan to avoid singing, many won’t.

Comparing a visit to Wal-Mart and attending a church service just isn’t valid.

Some churches will resume meeting despite warnings from health officials. I hope they will do so only after leaders and members have carefully considered the risks. I hope they will not be persuaded to reopen based on false analogies, such as that comparing attending worship and a visit to Home Depot. I hope they will not be persuaded to do reopen based on bad theology, theology that says God will judge you if you skip church even during a pandemic (a Roman Catholic priest recently reminded our president, who had encouraged churches to reopen, that going to church doesn’t make one a good Christian). I hope they will not be coerced into reopening because a pastor knows it’s hard to drop a check into the offering plate if you’re not in church (I’m afraid my spiritual gift of cynicism may have prompted that statement).

If your church should reopen, I hope you will remember you have the privilege of weighing the benefits and risks of attending.

Again, I regret some governments felt compelled to close churches. I wish churches had led the way by saying, “We are going to temporarily deny ourselves the blessing of physical fellowship, for the good of one another.” That some churches have chosen to flout common sense, seems to have given all churches a bad name. But maybe I’m wrong. I hope so. Pastors can be wrong. Not all of them remember that. But I digress.

Ripped from the Headlines (We might wish)

Have you been reading more news lately? I have. And I’ve noticed something: Tucked amongst the stories about the coronavirus, the election, and the economy are accounts of celebrities (usually female) posing in ways to show off their famed physiques.  Though celebrities pictured don’t always possess A-List fame, the tag usually follows this pattern: “Britney Shows Off Toned Abs in Her Bedroom.” Now, “Bedroom” is revealing. These are not pictures snapped by some persistent paparazzo as the celeb dashes to Target for more kitty litter; these pictures have been posted by the celebrities, posted to gain attention or to keep their names on the minds of isolated fans who might—understandably—be thinking about something else during the Great Isolation.

Could headlines about pastors defying stay-at-home orders to have church services offer the ecclesiastical equivalent of “Wearing a Purple Leotard J-Lo [Jennifer Lopez to you in Toledo] Rocks Her Shoe Designs”? I suspect some pastors clamoring for their First Amendment rights to have services during the pandemic—thereby ignoring the health of their members—are hoping for a little headline space. Most pastors spend their careers without attracting the media. True, pastors who embezzle funds or abuse the vulnerable get attention, earning career-ending headlines. But a story that, in the minds of some, portrays a pastor as a valiant opponent of an oppressive government can turn an otherwise undistinguished parson into a hero. A hero of sorts.

Some pastors, so I’ve learned over the years, yearn to have church members who will embrace their opinions about everything from obscure Bible passages to the morality of a new fashion trend, from medical issues to world events. Hardly a surprise. They foster dependence, wanting “What would the pastor say?” to be first question any parishioner asks.

In contrast, New Testament preachers and teachers encouraged their listeners and readers to think for themselves, to evaluate what they heard any preacher or teacher say. Paul refused to exempt himself from the scrutiny of his audience (Gal. 1:8). John challenged Christians to put those claiming to be prophets “to the test” (I Jn. 4:1). And, of course, Luke famously praised the congregation at insignificant Berea because they tempered enthusiasm with prudence when they listened to Paul, having  “. . . studied [examined] the Scriptures every day to find out if these things were true [to confirm Paul’s teaching was in line with Scripture]” (Acts 17:11 EXB).

Give your pastor the respect the office deserves—but no more. Study your Bible, confer with other believers, and think.

Reading While Sheltering

Attempting to count the “blessings” of the Great Isolation, I enumerated an opportunity to read more. One book I’ve read is Thomas S. Kidd’s God of Liberty: A Religious History of the American Revolution. It’s a study of the unlikely cooperation of “Deist” intelligentsia and evangelical zealots in crafting the new republic (not to mention fostering the revolution in the first place).  I’m sure Kidd’s treatment of the Founders’ vision for the relationship of church and state will not satisfy every reader; I can envision both the religious left’s Barry Lynn and conservative radio’s go-to historian David Barton being unhappy with Kidd’s measured answer to the question: Did the Founders intend to create a Christian nation?

Overall the book gives new insights into the lives and thoughts of familiar heroes and introduces us to lesser known, but nonetheless important, individuals from a crucial period of our nation’s history. In helping his readers understand how that nation would one day be imagined to have “the soul of a church,” Kidd reminds us that both the skeptics and the devout were united in their belief that religion (of some kind) was needed to shape the moral climate of the new country.  Related to this was the Founders’ conviction that the nation’s future depended on its having leaders who were men (this was the 18^th century, after all) of character and integrity.

I’d encourage you to read the book while you’re waiting for permission to get on with normalcy (whatever that may mean in the near future). It would be an especially good read for an election year.

Imagined Letter

Beloved Brothers and Sisters,

 I am writing to you as your shepherd, your pastor, your minister, your guide in these difficult times of confusion.

Very soon you will be getting a check from our great president. What will you do with the unexpected money, tainted though it may be by the hands of a government that has turned its back on the Bible-way?

Will you pay your mortgage with that money? Instead of thinking about your own house maybe you should think of the Lord’s House. Imagine standing at the Judgment Seat and hearing the Lord say, “Weren’t you just a little selfish thinking about your needs while your good pastor went without a Keurig for his office?”

Are you thinking about saving that check for your child’s college education? Well I guess that’s ok if you want your sweet girl or your innocent boy learning about evolution or reading those worldly books by Shakespeare or Jane Austen. Or even that Jakay Rolling and her teenage witches. What a waste when our church is ready to tell your children what to think about everything important—always ready, as long as we can keep the lights on, of course.

Could you be thinking about giving it to some charity? Sure, that sounds like a good idea, until you remember our dear Lord said, “Man does not live by bread alone.” Yes, you could feed the bodies of those folks who can’t be bothered to find a job.  But what about their souls? Remember, that same money could put your pastor’s latest book into their hands. That book will last a lot longer than a carton of baby formula.

Do I need to tell you we pastors are sometimes tempted to struggle and worry, too? But just as I am about to listen to Satan’s whisperings, I hear the Lord say, “Remember how generous my people are.” And I do remember. I am remembering now as I think about those checks. I’m sure you will do the right thing. You won’t disappoint me—or the Lord, naturally.

Praying you got the message, I remain…

Your Pastor

PS: I am truly blessed when I see how many of you defy the governor’s devilish order and come here on Sundays instead of staying at home. As long as you come, I promise I won’t fail to give you an opportunity to hear me and an opportunity to put a generous gift in the offering. Now I’m sure you’ve heard some folks who have been at these services have come down with the virus. Don’t go feeling guilty. No doubt they just don’t have the humble faith we do.