After ten years of being committed to reconciliation work, I have found that occasionally it is necessary for others to point out the fact that I am young, black and a woman.

Sometimes the words are said with disdain, dripping from the mouths of men who cannot fathom that such a being could possess something so precious, so risky as authority. But usually it is spoken quietly, in hushed tones, as if my brownness might flee in fright if spoken too loudly. It seems that major portions of my identity are tethered to confusion... assumption... and often require deep reflection for others to comprehend, to accept, to enjoy.

I realize that for many white churches, I am the first black woman they have encountered in a ministry director role- the first to lead the class or host the meeting, the first to guide down the streets of Chicago, the first to preach to their kids and the first who was in control of the plan.

This is sometimes hard for me to remember since I grew up around strong, capable, confident, educated, preachin' black women. There are so many of us out there. So, I do not write this to suggest that history books will remember my name because I have been "the first" so many times... I write this in lamentation of all the young, brown-toned women who face confused looks when even small amounts of authority are expressed. I suspect there are many of us who are "the first" as we continue to expand our reach beyond our homogenous church roots.

The confused looks can and will catch us off guard. It does not happen often, but when it does, it is a very jolting experience. After all, only one of the three components will change over time; I shall always be both black and woman. 

In those moments when I wonder if the skin I'm in can penetrate minds, when I question how far I can go, when I wonder if my impact on the world will be limited after all, when I wonder if anyone can hear me- or if they can only see me- I go back to my roots. 

And today, it is Langston Hughes who reminds me of who I am, brown skin and all, in one of the first poems I learned as a child. 

I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.

They send me to eat in the kitchen

When company comes,

But I laugh,

And eat well,

And grow strong. 

Tomorrow,

I'll be at the table

When company comes.

Nobody'll dare

Say to me,

"Eat in the kitchen,"

Then.

Besides,

They'll see how beautiful I am

And be ashamed—

I, too, am America.

                                   --Langston Hughes

This is an edited version of my sermon on Acts 2. Hope you enjoy! 

The Book of Acts opens with Jesus’ ascension into heaven and in verse 8, as He rises into the clouds, He declares “But you shall receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you shall be witnesses to Me in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.” And when the Spirit does descend, just the sound causes a raucous! As a crowd forms, trying to figure out what happened, they become witnesses of the power of the Holy Spirit, but misinterpret the Spirit for drunkenness as the apostles speak in different languages. Peter rises, giving a sermon about Jesus that rocks the crowd to their core. They are so moved by Peter’s declaration that 3,000 people accept Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior and join this fellowship of believers.    

Acts 2:42 records this process of being joined into fellowship: There is the learning of the apostles’ doctrine. There is fellowship with others. There is the breaking of bread with one another. And there is public prayer. The new believers entered a process of knowing, understanding and practicing this new faith in the risen Christ.  

But then the Word records something that seemed strange to me. Acts 2:43 states that after joining this fellowship, “fear came upon every soul…” But why would these new members become fearful after joining this community? They’ve just become a part of this amazingly multiethnic, multilingual, multiracial group… shouldn’t that provide security, courage, protection? Well, it seems there was quite a bit for this body to fear- condemnation by Jewish leaders not willing to declare this Jesus the fulfillment of the Messianic prophesy, and they would be even more closely watched by the Romans who were not interested in hearing about anyone’s kingdom besides their own. Perhaps “fear came upon every soul” because truly understood that they had joined a group absolutely committed to a very dangerous idea.  

The dangerous idea is that salvation lay not in military power or royal ascension. That salvation could not be found in the rich lifestyle, the sinful lifestyle or even the religious lifestyle. That salvation had little to do with class, profession, race, or geographic location. The dangerous idea is that this covenant God has been forming since Abraham, this kingdom everyone has been waiting for is bigger and deeper than most imagined. The dangerous idea is that salvation lay in the throes of death not the comforts of life. An unwavering commitment to the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ rather than to the systems and structures of this world made these believers a prime target of persecution- torments and sufferings to be feared.

This group of believers cling to another idea… an idea none of us have been fond of since kindergarten- the idea of sharing. You see, in kindergarten we all learned that sharing is giving what is mine to you to barrow for a moment, but then you are required to give it back to me. Why? Because it is mine. But this is not the kind of sharing that this first body of believers was practicing. They chose a deeper form of sharing, a perpetual kind; they chose to hold all things in common with one another.

I believe this choice to hold all things in common grew out of their lifestyle of fellowship as described in Acts 2:42. In Greek the word for fellowship is Koinonia. Though koinonia is easily translated into words like communion, association or participation, the true essence of this word is weightier. It means not just holding your possessions in common but holding your life in common with others. It is a relationship of great depth, great intimacy, great union. It is a joining together that does not hinge on class, race, language, or station, but seeks to be inclusive, loving, all-encompassing. This isn’t just sharing space, but purposefully seeking to close any and all gaps that separate. It’s no wonder that out of this fellowship springs a desire to care for one another, a desire that supersedes the individual inclination to acquire wealth, status and fame.  This group wields a two edge sword- with one edge they cut off their individual greed, their need to be above, to have the most; by separating from this desire, they move toward one another in care and love. But the other edge of the sword sits under the neck of the Roman Empire and as it quivers declares, "We don’t need you- not your wealth, not your power, not your military… we have chosen to practice love."   

I am convinced that the only way this level of fellowship can be achieved is to be in one accord. That phrase “with one accord” is a compound of two Greek words meaning to "rush along" and "in unison".  I pray that the church would once again feel the urgency necessary to inhabit the phrase ‘rushing along’. I pray the church would be sparked, inspired, ignited to move towards koinonia once again. That we would be in unison- playing our unique roles, offering our specific gifts, working together for the sake of being a soul nurturing body.  That we would tear apart the seams of unjust systems just by the way we live and move together! Amen.

There are many beautiful passages in the Bible that speak to my heart as a reconciler. The lives of Moses, Hadassah and Peter move me. I continue to marvel at the concept of the Imago Dei in Genesis and wonder about the sound of worship from all nations in heaven as spoken of in Revelations. But there is one passage of Scripture that truly guides my approach to reconciliation.  

In 2 Samuel 11, we find King David, the imperfect man "after God's own heart". This passage tells the story about David's unjust use of power. Having been captivated by the beauty of a married woman, David sets in motion a series of deceptions which ultimately lead to adultery, rape, murder and a host of other sins. It is a plan that we imagine David thought he could get away with, but God sends the prophet Nathan to confront David about what he has done (2 Samuel 12).  

When Nathan arrives, he begins by telling David a story, “...There were two men in a certain town, one rich and the other poor. The rich man had a very large number of sheep and cattle, but the poor man had nothing except one little ewe lamb he had bought. He raised it, and it grew up with him and his children. It shared his food, drank from his cup and even slept in his arms. It was like a daughter to him. Now a traveler came to the rich man, but the rich man refrained from taking one of his own sheep or cattle to prepare a meal for the traveler who had come to him. Instead, he took the ewe lamb that belonged to the poor man and prepared it for the one who had come to him (2 Samuel 12:4-6).”

The Bible records that David is so angered by the injustices in this story, that he orders that the perpetrator receive the death penalty immediately and that he pay four times the cost of the taken lamb. What David doesn't realize is that he is the perpetrator. "You are the man!" declares Nathan. (2 Samuel 12:7) 

Nathan could have walked before the King, shaken his finger, and scolded David for what he had done. He could have repeated David's offenses slowly, voice dripping with loathing and judgment. Nathan makes a different choice. Instead, he goes before the king, and tells a story. He tells a story. The King is so moved, that he "burned with anger"(2 Samuel 12:5). David's own sense of injustice is awakened by Nathan's prophetic retelling of the misuse of power, and his response is simple, "I have sinned against the Lord." (2 Samuel 12:13) 

I seek to be a reconciler like Nathan- a man who uses his prophetic voice to awaken from within a sense of injustice, anger and repentance.  I am much less interested in judgement, shame and humiliation as paths toward moving my fellow man to racial reconciliation and the recognition of racial injustice. 

For this reason I choose to focus on story when leading a training, class or workshop.  I teach others how to listen to story, how to enter into another's story, how to feel emotion about a story without shutting down. I believe in the Gospel, a story about the good news. I believe all of our stories find redemption in this greater Story.   

But I have been reminded that even this does not save me from being accused of causing division, picking at wounds and making people feel guilty. I seek only to awaken what is already within, to bring it to the forefront so that we can wrestle through it together. But for those who desire to skip healing and start "doing", for those who would rather become saviors than need one, for those who prefer celebration without suffering, I am still the enemy. For them, I am the source of the "bad" feelings, the creator of all racial divisions, the least qualified to lead on this issue- and the only way to stop me is to yell, interrupt, offend- and thats okay because I must be stopped. During these exchanges, as oozing privilege puddles around the floor, I must come to grips that its time to turn and shake it from my feet. The power of Story is just to overwhelming for some. 

So, I continue to speak truth with power and grace, finding Nathan a trustworthy guide. May you, too, find within Scripture a prophetic voice that speaks to you, that guides you, that reminds you of who you are in Christ.   

Occasionally, before leading a training about race, I welcome everyone by declaring, "This is not your father's diversity training." Most people are not sure what I mean by that so early in the training. I have received many comments after trainings that go something like this, "That was a really great experience; it didn't feel like a training at all." For some that is a compliment. For others there is a hint of disappointment.  

So, fellow reconcilers, here are my personal rules for developing a great diversity training: 

1. Teach how, not what. Often diversity trainings focus on being politically correct. Trainers want participants to know what to say and what not to say. The method is to give participants the right language to avoid starting inflaming arguments or offensive conversations. Rather than telling participants what to say, we teach them how. How to dialogue, how to listen, how to value story, how to handle disagreement, how to be vulnerable. When we teach how, we believe the "what" will follow as participants engage in effective race conversations long after our training is done. 

2. Guide to the next step, not the "aha moment". It can very tempting to solicit "aha moments" in a training. Once you have experienced a great awakening, it is natural to want others to experience the same. But you have to remember that just as your learning was slow, incremental, the result of a journey- this training is one step on someone else's journey, too. Rather than trying to force an "aha moment" by giving too much information, jumping ahead in the learning process, or trying to impress with the newest thing you've learned, guide people to the next step of their learning process. One day the aha moment will come because of the building blocks you created. 

3.  Illustrate through movement, not lecture.  I'm over exaggerating a little bit here. It is quite normal and necessary to include a lecture, powerpoint, dialogue, etc in a training. After all people do come to learn. But as often as we can, we make people get out of their seats. They stand to do activities, walk around the room, move their chairs- anything that gets them moving, which often leads to simple but genuine interaction as well. We are mindful of planning activities that introverts would be comfortable doing (not just extroverts). We have found that getting participants on their feet fosters the learning process and renews the energy in the room. (example: The Privilege Walk)

4. Reward vulnerability, not right answers. When leading a training, it is quite natural to reward people with whom you most agree- a shared insight, the mention of a liked author or movie, a correctly defined word or concept, etc. In an effort to move the room into shared knowledge, we revert to the models of our teachers and reward "right" answers. Our training team tries instead to reward vulnerability. Its great when someone shares the same viewpoint as we do, but we try to acknowledge that after the training is over. During the training we try instead to reward honest, vulnerable sharing: like when a black man admits that he struggles with racism because it makes him so angry and anger doesn't seem very Christian-like, or when a white woman shares that she tries hard to prove to black people that she isn't racist, and knows she therefore looks crazy, not welcoming. When people reach deep down to share something real, honest, and vulnerable, we do our best to praise those moments, to thank immediately, to acknowledge anyone else who shares the same experience. It is amazing what happens in a room when vulnerability is treasured over "right" answers. 

Clearly, I love these rules; after all, I follow them. But if you choose to employ them, know that some participants will be disappointed. Some people really want a list of right and wrong answers- What do black people want to be called? Why is it bad to call people illegal? What's the deal with referring to Asians as oriental?- and so on. People who come to trainings have real questions that they want answered, and some can be disappointed to discover there won't be 3-steps-for-not-sounding-racist in the training. To acknowledge this reality, we are considering adding a Q&A time to our trainings, but all in all- we would still rather teach "how" by giving participants the tools to find answers to their own questions (without deeply angering someone in the process!)