I DON'T GET IT.  

For the last 7 months I have been eating, sleeping and breathing the story of Peter's life-changing encounter with Cornelius in Acts 10. I think this passage is filled with crucial insights for church bodies who are interested in multicultural ministry. So this is the first post in my series on Peter!   

In Acts 10 we find Peter on the roof praying, when he suddenly becomes hungry. A meal is in the works, but before its ready Peter falls into a trance. He has three visions, all the same, where a voice tells him to kill and eat unclean animals. But Peter isn't having it! Each time Peter says no, the reply is, "Do not call anything impure that God has made clean." (Acts 10:15)

I love what happens next. Peter doesn't walk away feeling invigorated by a new vision for a multi-ethnic church. He doesn't call all his friends together to discuss how they might change the status quo of separation to bring eternal life to the Gentiles. Nor does he start packing bags so that he can move to the nearest Gentile community and start evangelizing. On the contrary, Peter left the roof wondering what the vision was supposed to mean! (Acts 10:17) Peter doesn't get it! 

This has potential to be vey instructive for us. How many pastors, lay leaders, seminary graduates, entire congregations even, have indeed been given a vision for multi-ethnic ministry, but have no idea what exactly that means? We have a sense, a feeling, perhaps like Peter even a picture- albeit a rather fuzzy one. But we should not assume that because we feel called to multi-ethnic ministry, that we fully understand what God intends. Should we pick up our families and move? Should we start a new church or transform the one we have? Should we change our leadership structures, recruit new members or start a partner church? Is God calling us to this work through our church, or our personal lives? Could He be asking us to get involved in new organizations, new neighborhoods, new countries? Perhaps, we, too, can give ourselves permission to admit that we aren't quite sure what God is calling us to do. I love that Peter must go through a series of experiences before his vision transforms to revelation. In so doing, he allows us to explore through experience, too. Its okay that we don't get it... yet. 

So, if you have been called to multi-ethnic ministry, have been given a vision that doesn't quite make sense, and you're not quite sure where to begin- keep wondering. Multi-ethnic ministry is a journey, and together we will explore how Peter's journey might lend us some insight for our own. 

I have purposely waited to write my thoughts on the verdict of the George Zimmerman trial. It was tempting to jump into the fray of emotions I felt, and proclaim from social media everything I was feeling moment to moment. Instead I made a decision to sit in the emotion for a few hours. Just sit, and allow myself to really contemplate how I feel and what I think.  

As much as I want to write a post that is theologically deep or gives a great spin on the case that no one else has thought of, or analyzes the legal implications of the verdict, I am afraid I only have simple thoughts. These are thoughts that I own as an individual.  This is not an attempt to speak on behalf of anyone other than myself. If you find something here that resonates, I will be grateful for our shared connection, but today I write mostly for me. 

As hard as I tried, I just couldn't get myself to see Trayvon Martin's death in isolation. In my mind I can see slave ships unloading black bodies like cattle. I see families torn from one another on the auction block. I see the terrified faces of black men desperately trying to out run a lynch mob. I see burned bodies floating above dying campfires. I see the hatred of students screaming at Ruby Bridges, and I hear the shot that killed Medgar Evers in his driveway. The image of Emmett Till and Trayvon Martin bleed into one face, one story. And as if these pictures of history aren't overwhelming enough, the faces of the men I love loom before me. If I could quantify the history of injustice in my own family, I wonder if the scales of justice would fall over. How many beatings? How many lynchings? How much police brutality? How many false accusations? How often has the fear of America overtaken justice in my own lineage? How many times did injustice crush the hearts and minds of the men who produced me? I probably don't want to know. But I wonder. 

Though my heart is heavy, I am not oblivious to the fact that Trayvon is far from being the only little black boy to die at the hands of another over the last 18 months. I live in the city of Chicago, and here the murders of brown boys and girls are told on the news like baseball scores or box office numbers-- how high will it be this weekend? This acknowledgement offers me no comfort. I keep coming back to the question, "where am I supposed to raise a black boy?" If I cannot raise him in a community that looks like him, and if he cannot walk to the corner store in the "safe" neighborhood... where am I supposed to go? Where is the place in America where the dirt doesn't cry out for the blood of my future son? Perhaps this is one reason why I have not yet started to have children; my hope of a "safe neighborhood" continues to fade. 

I tried really hard to use "Christianese" to relieve myself of these thoughts, "Surely God will protect MY son." "Well, I cant put my trust in the justice system; I can only put my trust in God." Or how about, "God will judge in the end." But none of these thoughts bring much in the way of peace. And why should it? After all, Trayvon's family is far from the first to lose a child. So where do I place my hope? It is only in believing that God doesn't just touch, but that He has felt and intimately understands the hurt of Trayvon's family and their deep sense of injustice. This sense of finding God, hearing God, reaching out to God and God reaching back happens in my lament, not in a hope for eternal retribution- I personally can't wait that long for healing. 

So, to all those who are lamenting, you are not alone. I pray that God will indeed make Himself known to you and your family as you lament. May your sons purchase skittles and iced tea in the rain, and still come home. Amen.

There is no shortage of confusing and misunderstood topics when it comes to race. The preferred terminology for describing black people (or should I say African American), the perpetual assumption that Asians are immigrants, that forgotten chapter in American history where arbitrary borders changed the citizen status of people groups, and so on. When these topics come up, most people readily admit that there is much more learning that needs to be done. But there is one topic that seems to constantly and consistently elude us- colorblindness.  

It seems many still believe colorblindness is the key to solving racism. Believing in the notion of colorblindness sounds like this, "I don't even see color," or this, "But we are all the same," or this, "I've never looked at you as a (fill in the blank)". These statements are usually followed by a sugary example of our sameness and ends with a quote by Martin Luther King Jr about character not color being what really counts. And it all sounds pretty good, until you run into someone who refuses to let you forget their race, "If you cant see color, you can't see me." Simple. Hard-hitting. This statement typically stops the syrupy language that was flowing just a few seconds before. While I completely agree with wanting to be seen (and that being seen includes my race), we have not really given people the opportunity to unpack the complexity of colorblindness as a concept.  So, I am going to try to address it on an interpersonal level today, without writing a whole book on the topic!  

Ctrl- The first thing we have to do is get the myths surrounding colorblindness under control. Myth 1: Colorblindness is the only option for recognizing my humanness. Believe it or not, it is possible to notice my race and still see me as human. Too many people have bought into the myth that to see color is to erase my humanity, my character, my individuality. When actually my race can give you clues into who I am, if I am given the chance to explain why my race matters. Myth 2: To not be colorblind is to be racist.  Consider this, when I walk into a room and a man notices that I am female, I do not call him sexist. When a friend says my grandmother's silver hair is beautiful, she is not being ageist . When I ask my Uncle if he is having trouble getting his wheelchair through the door, he doesn't shout "Ableist!" Similarly, noticing my race does not make you racist. Myth 3: Seeing color is seeing stereotypes. There is no question that stereotypes about POCs are rampant- news segments, movies, magazines, family members, politicians- stereotypes are everywhere. However, just because we are spoon-fed stereotypes like toddlers, doesn't mean we have to behave like toddlers. We can, in fact, reject stereotypes. Have you ever seen a child refuse to eat mushy green peas? Toddlers reject food with a-t-t-i-t-u-d-e. We can do the same with stereotypes- recognize them for the mushy green peas that they are and refuse to consume them. We can allow people to define racial significance for themselves.  
 

ALT- But how do we do that exactly? Well, first need an alternative to colorblindness. I would like to suggest we become color conscious instead. To be colorblind is to ignore or disregard race. Color consciousness is to be aware of race, to no longer disregard it as meaningless or minute. People who are color conscious are comfortable noticing difference without ascribing superiorty and inferiority to those differences. They can appreciate cultural differences and the diversity of thought, perspective and experience that race brings to the world. Color conscious people refuse to ignore race because they are too busy exploring it for all its beauty, quirkiness, and yes, messiness. 

DEL- So we must delete this positive notion of colorblindness from our psyche. I don't want to ignore that God gave me chocolate brown skin, thick hair, and a rich culture- you shouldn't ignore it either. And lets be honest- colorblindness doesn't really exist. No matter how often I try, every time I stand in front of a group, have them close their eyes, and ask if anyone has forgotten what color I am- the answer is always the same- nope! So rather than desperately trying to disregard what you can clearly see, open your eyes wide and delve into the significance of my race with me. 

In my experience of working with white churches who are interested in attracting (or retaining) black congregation members, one common solution is to play more gospel music. It is sort of an if-you-build-it-they-will-come approach. And the logic makes sense. Gospel music is an incredibly important element of most black churches- whether its old school, contemporary, or a mix of both. So, its possible that playing more gospel music will have a significant chance of encouraging black visitors to become black members. 

I am absolutely supportive of churches making changes to worship services in order to make the service feel like home for those who traditionally have had to adapt and assimilate into the structure of white church. But I think there is a slight misunderstanding about the depth and meaning of these changes. If your church has committed to a formula for playing a certain number of Kirk Franklin, Yolanda Adams and William McDowell songs by repeating them as best you can from sheet music, you've taken a great first step, but its time to take the second. 

The second step is to recognize the cultural nuances that make gospel music what it is.  Gospel has a lot less to do with mimicking an artist; in fact, that might be a clear giveaway that you're not really playing gospel music. Gospel music is about freedom. It's about allowing the music to move you, to course through you, to feel it from your head to your toes. It's about allowing the lyrics to wash over you, to repeat them as often as necessary, to highlight different verses or even specific lines spontaneously. It's about movement- waving arms, clapping hands, stomping feet. It is freedom of expression, expression without judgment. It is remixing in the moment. It is never playing a song the same way twice but possibly singing it three times. It is an imperfect but elating partnership between worship leader, musicians and choir. Gospel music is not a "what" it is a "how". 

Figure out the "how" and you might find that there is less of a need to meet a quota of gospel songs per month. The real question is, "Are people free here?"   Do people feel free to explore and express the cultural nuances of their own worship style, or is it suggested they should just be happy that their music is being played at all?  

I use gospel music as my primary example, because of my personal background, but if your church is interested in altering worship to represent the culture of Puerto Ricans, Koreans or First Nations, I believe the questions above still have merit.

1. Do you understand the nuances of cultural worship styles?

2. Do people feel free to worship without judgement?  

Answer, "yes" to both of those questions, and you will have created a clear path for your church to enter into multicultural worship!

Just one more piece of advice for churches who are trying to diversify worship: it helps to genuinely fall in love with the culture! I imagine it can be overwhelming for churches to take on new worship styles, songs, potentially new instruments and vocalists. One way to make the transition a little less intimidating is to sincerely enjoy engaging, learning, and exploring the culture. Love gospel music and it will show, even if you don't sing one "traditional" gospel song- the nuances of singing gospel will begin to leak and your congregation will notice. Fall in love and you might find it impossible not to insert another culture into your standard worship!    

Blessings on your music ministry!