A romanticized picture of diversity makes it difficult, if not impossible, to have a real commitment to progressing an organization toward diversity goals. A romanticized picture of diversity does not prepare one well for the "first fight" in the relationship. Your excitement, your passion, your confidence will get rocked, and you may not recover. Romanticizing diversity will not prepare you for the first time a Black aquaintance informs you of your privilege and calls you, yes you, racist. It will not comfort you when a Hispanic colleague puts you face to face with the history of the southwest and challenges you to explain your citizenship credentials. It will not help you when a First Nation's friend dares you to defend Manifest Destiny. It will not sustain you when your friends get tired of listening to you and the people you are trying to 'help' don't trust you.  This is when you will fully realize that reconciliation comes with a cost. The cost of commitment.

Holding the vision before us is critical. Imagining that our schools, churches, or workplaces could hold the same level of synergy and fellowship as the first church is important. Envisioning a space where multilingual, multiethnic people gather together to worship the Creator is life-giving. Being inspired by what is possible with the Spirit of God is sometimes all that keeps us going. The vision itself should be romantic, for sure... the work, however, is often not.

The work is dirty and messy. The sacrifice is real. Never have I seen the work of racial reconciliation achieved, true fellowship found, and all people celebrated with sincerity without those involved first being transformed. That is why commitment is so important. Too many people give up on this work because it requires personal transformation.

What is transformed? This work could involve the transformation of everything you have been taught to believe about America... about the world. It could transform your social network- loss of old friends, good friends. It could transform your relationships with your family members, could impact your relationships with your co-workers, and just might cause you to leave a church you love. This isn't dating diversity. This is being married to it-

committed

all in

no matter what.

Is this is the journey God has called you too?  

Too many Christian ministries are just dating diversity. They make promises and pamphlets. They form relationships and build trust with people of color who believe the vision only to find that you were just dating. People of color and those who are committed to the work of racial reconciliation are brokenhearted, because you are not prepared to give the love you desire. You want people of color to sing your praises. You want validation. You want to be known for what you have done. You want to be perceived as a place that 'gets it'. You want the pretty pictures with a rainbow of colors, the powerpoints in multiple languages and the ability to counsel others on how you did it. But you don't want to transform yourself- to give up your process, to reframe your mentality, to challenge the status quo,  to lose your friends (or donors, or members), to undergo a cultural shift, to share power. You're not really interested in walking through the fire it takes to refine a commitment to diversity. You just want to date- hold hands, watch a movie, be seen in public, have a good time.

Its time to make a choice. Commit, one way or the other. But no more breaking the hearts of those who are committed and the POC relying on your promises. Too many families, students, coworkers and friends are counting on you to be a safe place. Commit and you could be. You could be the place where all people experience God.

Recently I went to the movies to watch a horror flick that apparently had great appeal for high school students. They easily filled the first 15 rows of the theater. Since I was in the burbs I was not surprised to see mostly white kids fill the seats.  Just a couple rows in front us sat 8 girls, all white, until a black girl plopped into the last seat in the row. I noticed her because she had the cutest little cut I've seen on a girl her age. And though there was little else that made her stand out, I could not help but think of all the times I was her- the only black girl in the row. So, this is for all the "onlies" at the end of the row. 

 To the only black girl in her school batting away swinging ponytails while combating a limited retelling your her-story choosing to begin with slavery rather than your Motherland. To the only Latina on campus who thinks in another language, constantly making translations in your head. To the only Asian girl always assumed to be from somewhere else, somewhere far. To the only Indian girl whose name reflects her parent's fears of a future of discrimination. To the only Native American girl whose image of self is hidden behind stereotypical mascots of male faces. To the only biracial girl in the neighborhood who is always bracing to hear the question, "What are you?"  May you know that your history is vast, your language beautiful, your home here. May your full name embody your full self. May you know stories of significance, of wonder, of greatness that look just like you. May you know that you are a who.  

To the only Latino boy who must be present at the parent/teacher conference- the constant mediator, translator, teacher and learner. To the only Asian boy who must explain his "funny" eyes. To the only black boy already considered the mean one, the violent one. To the only First Nation boy who is laughed at for his long hair, who is asked to cut it off because it's distracting for others. To the only Middle Eastern boy whose place of worship was threatened last week, last month, last year.To the only multiracial boy in the class who has to explain his parents, his siblings, his family- even to adults.  May you know that your ability is a skill not a tragedy. May you reject the notion that different equals strange. May you create titles that you are comfortable wearing and throw away the rest. May you never apologize for being distracting, for perhaps that's exactly what's needed to break up the monotony. May you worship in peace. May your answers be simple and sarcastic and knowing. 

To the only Indian child whose culture is ignored until the moment it is misunderstood and back again. To the only Hispanic child who must split the world in half- home and everywhere else- whose two worlds reside within you, but often nowhere else. To the only black kid at the mall with your white friends who must resist the urge to explain to passersby that you have black friends, too, that you are not losing yourself, that you do not need to be found.  To the only First Nation kid who carries the weight of the ancestor's pain, the ancestor's tears. To the only two Asian students in the school who are constantly confused with one another, despite the sea of other same race faces.  To the only Asian child whose neighborhood is considered a tourist attraction for the masses. To the only ethnically ambiguous children who will never fit neatly and nicely into the racial boxes America has created, who must dig deep to find reconciliation within themselves.  May you choose when to give voice.  May you find the intersection that works for you. May you lose yourself in the moment feeling no need to explain. May you embody the strength the ancestors displayed, embrace the uniqueness of your face, enjoy the richness of your culture. May you lead the way. 

To all the Onlies of all races, all colors all combinations who are quirky, colorful and constantly changing: may you find that you are not monolithic- that your version of 'us' is nothing short of brilliant. May you know that you are lovable, incredible, fearfully and wonderfully made. May you find special ways, among special people to let your culture breathe.  

Look up the word ally in the Merriam Webster dictionary online, and you will find this definition, "to unite or form a connection between". That's not a terrible definition for this post, but I want to clarify what I mean a little more. Every reconciler attempting to move an institution towards a change in policies, systems, and structures will need some allies. It is quite natural for the institution to buck against change. There is always too much room to be known as the "the-one-who-is-never-satisfied" or "the-one-who-is-not-a-team-player" or "the-one-who-always-points-out-what-we're-doing-wrong". When that happens, you will need some allies!

Allies are the people who will stand with you when the excitement is gone, when MLK Day is over, when its time to speak truth to power. Your allies are the people who will ask the hard questions, will advocate when you're not in the room, will carry on this work even if you leave. Your allies are the people who stand with you because they, too, are committed to racial reconciliation within the Church- that is your connection, that is where you find unity. 

In my work, I have discovered that it's best to have allies in three key areas. 

#1. You need an Ally of Influence.  In small churches this might be the pastor, the pastor's spouse, or the worship director, whoever has a great amount of influence in the church. But it doesn't have to be those traditional visionaries. I worked with a Christian university in the Midwest where the best ally of their Multicultural Director was the Chief Finance Officer; you can imagine how that position of influence was a powerful ally! Someone responsible for directing the mission and vision of your church must be united in this work with you. 

#2. You need Allies of Peers. This work is not meant to be done alone. Whether formal or informal, you need a team of people who walk this journey with you. They can be fellow staff members, congregation members, church volunteers, or community leaders. It is imperative that you share the work of reconciliation with others. It is essential to your mental, emotional and spiritual well-being. It is also vital for strategizing and implementing a plan to move the church forward; that is not work you should be doing alone. 

#3. You need an Ally of Guidance. Important note... this should be someone who knows the organization but is outside the organization. When you truly start to challenge the culture of your church, it will be necessary for you to have an outside voice that provides mentorship, coaching, and prayer when things get sticky. You will sometimes be too close to the issues to clearly identify them or think of creative ways to tackle them. Your guide, your mentor will be able to offer you perspective that can be increasingly difficult to grasp the longer you are in the trenches. Your mentor can also remind you of who you are when you get weary, and you will get weary. 

The hard thing about identifying your allies, is that it can take a long time for them to appear. After all, we live in an age where it is not very popular to be against diversity! So, there will at first appear to be a number of allies, proponents and supporters of your work. Be prayerful and discerning. If possible, bring friends with you on the journey- people who have proven themselves committed to racial reconciliation and have a shared vision for your church.

Having allies in these key positions will help ensure that you have the sustainability necessary to be an effective agent of change. 

Often when I hear preachers mention the name Elijah, it's often in connection to words like suicidal, depressed, or arrogant. After reading Elijah's mountaintop experience, we seem to be incapable of understanding how it is possible for him to experience such lows.  But I have always been drawn to Elijah's story. In fact, I find myself often leaning into it. Here are my top 5 reasons why I love Elijah! 

#5. Elijah who? Elijah doesn't receive a long introduction, no generations of credibility, no story of his upbringing. And yet, the first time he pops on our Biblical radar, he is challenging the king! Doesn't it seem odd that this titan of prophetic victory has no history to explain how he became so great, so faithful, so brave? This is why I love him. He doesn't have an incredible backstory for me to live up to. Maybe... just maybe my own life story could produce someone as brave as Elijah, someone willing to speak truth to power- no matter the cost. (1 Kings 17:1)

#4.  Elijah has a-t-t-i-t-u-d-e. This is the one part of Elijah's story that I have only recently come to appreciate, especially since I really have no desire to ridicule others nor to encourage self-mutilation. Truth be told, Elijah always seemed... mean! The way he challenged power, gloating over his enemy, his dramatics to make his own victory harder- these things always made me question Elijah's humility. Particularly as a Christian woman- I'm supposed to me meek and mild, humble and soft-spoken, right? Elijah reminds me- not so! The more I read his story, the more I appreciate his confidence, his certainty, his attitude. I am grateful for Elijah's example of being all in, his fearlessness, his hard spoken truth. I want to look a little different than Elijah, but sometimes I need his extreme tactics to encourage me to go farther, say more, do more than I otherwise would. (1 Kings 18:27)

#3.  Elijah only needs a small amount of evidence- Just in case the victory on Mount Carmel wasn't dramatic enough, God also decides to end the drought that He initiated three years prior.  Elijah makes the announcement that rain is coming long before there is a drop of water in the sky. In fact, there isn't anything in the sky, until Elijah's servant reports a cloud the size of a man's hand rising from the sea. Thats all the evidence Elijah needs to believe that the drought is over- one cloud, the size of a hand. Here is my confession: it takes a lot more evidence to convince me that God is about to do something great. How I wish that I could open myself up to the excitement, wonder, and faith that is possible before the outpouring comes. I often wait for the rain- the clouds seem like too much to hope for too soon.  (1 Kings 18:41-44)

#2. He can run. I really admire people who run. (1 Kings 18:46) 

#1. I understand his despair. Elijah suffers from what I call ministry depression. We often tag Elijah as arrogant, and perhaps he is, but Elijah doesn't just sit in the dirt shouting "woe is me" when he asks God to end his life. He actually tells us exactly why he has sunk so low. In Acts 19:4 Elijah tells God that he is no better than his ancestors. Now do you understand? Have you ever been on a Sankofa trip, hosted a workshop on racial reconciliation, or preached a sermon on community- and been met with anger? I don't mean confusion; I mean pure, unadulterated anger. Have you ever done your best to set up the perfect space to create safety, played the right music, set the right atmosphere so that you could be the one to make a difference and had it all fall apart? Have you ever claimed to be standing on the shoulders of your mentors, your professors, your ancestors only to discover that you, too, couldn't create the lasting structure, couldn't inspire the powers that be, couldn't make a difference?  Call me crazy, but I love Elijah's honesty. I love that he admits to the hope we all have within us- that we can and will make a difference. And when Elijah comes to believe that he hasn't- despite the fire and the rain, there is not much more left for him to give. This was no failed workshop- this should've changed everything- changed the hearts of the king and queen, changed the course of a nation. I'm so glad that God cares for Elijah, providing food, drink, rest. I'm so glad that God reminds us that He is not only in the big, giant, miraculous activities, but in a still small voice, too. 

I know this post isn't exclusively about multiculturalism or justice or community. No matter what ministry we each have been called to, I think we can find something special in Elijah's story. I think we can be inspired by his courage, but we can also find our own humanity and perhaps give ourselves permission to experience God's still, small voice.