2013 was filled with apologies. Home Depot apologized to every Twitter user talking about this picture. Justine Sacco issued an apology after posting an offensive tweet about South Africans and AIDS. Questlove issued an apology on Christmas day for making fun of Japanese people on his instagram account. Padma Lakshmi followed suit for her participation in the mocking.  No one was sure Paula Deen would ever stop apologizing as she released video after video for her use of the N-word and her desire to have a plantation style wedding party (with an all black wait staff).  Ani DiFranco issued this apology for agreeing to host an retreat on a plantation site. Now we are in a new year, but the apologies for 2014 have already begun.  Melissa Harris Perry recently apologized for a segment on her show which utilized a picture of a transracial adoption in the Romney family.  And when Ani's apology didn't go over well, an apology for the apology appeared on her Facebook page.  

Truthfully, the number of apologies that get made in a year seem endless. Stars, politicians, companies all hover over the delete button should an offensive post discover too much negative attention. While it would be nice to think that only high profile people/companies need to learn the art of apologizing, the truth is we all need a little practice.  Learning to apologize is a key tool for racial reconcilers. If we can't offer a sincere apology, we will not last long in cross-cultural relationships. So I would like to offer you an anatomy of an apology. 

Let's start with the mind. When called out for making an insensitive remark, our first inclination may be to prove that we know our stuff about race relations. Instead of focusing on what we "know," let's spend more time seeking to understand the particular offense we caused. Owning the mistake is the first step in making sure we don't repeat it.    

Now, onto the throat. I know it seems elementary, but we have to learn to say, "I'm sorry." Especially in written apologies, you might be surprised to find how often this little phrase is missing. It can also be helpful to add why we are sorry- "I would never want to hurt you." or "I hate that I have risked the trust we share." 

A weight on our shoulders is how reconciliation starts to feel, when we have landed in hot water with someone- a weight that would be all too easy to cast off. Yes, we could walk away, remain in a homogenous community and never risk offending anyone ever again. But remember who called us to this work. Don't cast off what feels like a burden in this moment. When we offer one another apologies and forgiveness, we shoulder the load together.  

Apologies are best when they come from the heart. It goes a long way to actually be sorry. Have you ever heard a kid give a grudging apology? Not cute in adults. Don't lose your vulnerability by putting up a wall of defensiveness. Let your heart break over what occurred.  

Write down the list of all the good things you've done in your personal journal. An apology is not the time to recite all the things you did right in recent memory. When you begin reciting all the good things you've done, it sounds like your asking for a pass rather than forgiveness.  

Sit on your derrière! Calm down. Listen. This is where a lot of apologies fall apart. It is so easily to get offended when someone calls you out. Try not to lash out, explain "what you were trying to say", or walk away. Try not to talk over, interrupt, or shut down. Grab a coffee. Sit down. Talk it through. We must make sure we really understand why our words or actions were offensive. 

Walk it out. Commit to doing better. We are all on a journey, learning more about our own histories, translating our own experiences while also learning about others. We can't let our pride stop us from continuing to walk forward. If there is a way to make the offense right, do that. But if nothing else, learn more on your own. If you used an offensive word, research it. If you misunderstood some historical implications, pick up a book. If there is a movie available to help you dig deeper, watch it. When we own our growth, we keep moving forward.

I'm sure there are more components of a good apology when it comes to race relations. What would you add to the list? 

As we begin the New Year I have been considering what it means for me to be a reconciler. The work of reconciliation is not to be under-estimated. Far more than inspiring people to reach across aisles and hold hands for an hour, the work of leading reconciliation is taxing- mentally, emotionally and often physically. Reflecting on this work has led me to the conclusion that racial reconciliation cannot be achieved without first establishing racial justice. It is this establishment of justice that proves so costly to anyone leading the charge towards reconciliation. 

There are many in the church who want to form superficial friendships, learn how to avoid being offensive, invoke racial colorblindness and call it reconciliation.  Far fewer people want to establish justice because justice requires the sacrifice of power, truthfully confessing sin, altering leadership roles, moving marginalized voices to the center, giving and extending grace, mercy, love. The work of justice must run deeper than emotion to be sustainable, but there are so many emotions to wade through to get to the heart of justice. 

Given this reality, racial justice is difficult to establish, difficult to paint as desirable! It is so much work to show that our system of racial privilege is not just taxing on people of color, but that it destroys the humanity of all participants. History is so clear on the lengths to which the seduction of systemic power and privilege will erode the fabric of our humanity. And yet we cling so tightly to the seduction. The work of reconciliation is in letting go. Because of this I used to begin the work of reconciliation by prying hands open, one finger at a time. Used to begin with any glimmer of superficial interest. Used to answer every question. Take any offense.

Over time I have come to learn that this way is simply too much for me. I have come to a place where I will not condemn. Will not force. Will not sacrifice my emotional health in the hopes of igniting a passion for reconciliation. I now invite. I invite into a new way, a way of justice, a way toward reconciliation. This year I am owning this position. I will invite. You will decide.   

I am finding great inspiration in a poem by Kate Rushin called The Bridge Poem. You can (and should) read the poem in its entirety HERE, but following are a few of my favorite lines: 

"… I’m sick of mediating with your worst self 
On behalf of your better selves 
  
I am sick 
Of having to remind you 
To breathe 
Before you suffocate 
Your own fool self 
  
Forget it 
Stretch or drown 
Evolve or die 
  
The bridge I must be 
Is the bridge to my own power…"  

Lifegiving. Lifegiving because I am still owning these words.  

I am learning that I need to interact with more than the "worst self" of those who need absolution from the guilt and shame of a racist past (or present). I am learning that everyone must own their journey, their education, their growth. "Evolve or die" The choice belongs to each person, but I am not responsible for that choice. I am learning that it is only when I become "the bridge to my own power" that I am truly of use in this work of reconciliation. 

We can walk together.

We can walk together.

But this year I am refusing to be your bridge. 

It has been so much fun sharing my heart for racial reconciliation and socioeconomic understanding over this year. In a few days, I will publish my first post for 2014, but today I just want to look back through the posts that were most popular this year. I also want to thank you for all the public comments, personal emails, Facebook friends and twitter shout outs over the year. I am grateful. 

#5. Skittles & Iced Tea

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.  Read the entire post here. 

#4. For The Onlies

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 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.  Read the entire post here. 

#3. Subtleties

[Patriarchy] thinks my ideas are truly brilliant, but only after being repeated by a man.  

It doesn't tell me I won't be successful, but it needs to protect me from myself because I am, of course, incapable of success without it. I am too emotional, trusting, and inexperienced to make it on my own. 

Here's the kicker, my complexion only complicates things further. I must also work around its whiteness, affluence, assumptions. I must hold my culture in tension. I'll bring that "black mysticism" to the table- the eternal prophetess of the Matrix, handing you all the foresight you need to succeed, but I won't go overboard. I  wouldn't want to make our largely white audience uncomfortable with my blackness.

So best not be too sing-songy, too loud, too outgoing. I won't talk directly about race or anything that might be code for race- you know words like "hip-hop" and "urban" and "collard greens"… really black things. I mean, who can relate to any of that?  Read the entire post here.

#2. Dwelt Among Us 

But the Word didn't turn away. Didn't turn away from that ragtag group of disciples, passionate but often completely misunderstanding the mission. Didn't turn away from men or women. Didn't turn away from Jews or Gentiles, even those most unholy Samaritans or those oppressive Romans. Didn't turn away from the sick or the afflicted. Even the dead received an audience with the Divine. The Word crashed through social barriers, religious convention, and everyone's expectations.  Read the entire post here. 

#1.  Song to My Sisters 

[Mary] spends three months in the safety of her female cousin and friend. As soon as the two meet there is rejoicing. Elizabeth does not condemn her, does not berate her, does not look at her sideways, does not ask her to outline her future plans…

Elizabeth exclaims to her, "Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear!" That alone makes me tear up, but Elizabeth continues, "But why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? As soon as the sound of your greeting reached my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy. Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her!" 

And when Elizabeth finishes, Mary launches into her own song!

Isn't that the beauty of what women can do for one another? In the midst of confusion and heartache, uncertainty and pain, women sing songs of affirmation, of presence, of joy, of hope and suddenly the way we see ourselves and our God changes. Suddenly we are favored. We can make it. God's promises can be true. I wonder how often Mary repeated the words of Elizabeth during her journey to Bethlehem and in the midst of her labor. The words of women carry us so far.  Read the entire post here. 

BONUS! There was one guest post I did in 2013 that was an honor to write, and received more comments and interaction than I've ever had! "Ask A Racial Reconciler" featured on the site of Rachel Held Evens:

Question from Suzannah:  What are some of the blind spots harbored by progressive sorts that hinder the work of racial reconciliation? 

There are two that drive me crazy. One is the assumption that there is nothing left to learn from those who are just beginning. Nothing will kill a conversation faster than someone who speaks like they have nothing to learn from others in the room. And it doesn’t really matter what color they are! Whoever comes into the room closed to learning risks ruining the safety in the room. They make vulnerability impossible for everyone else. 

The second are progressives who become so enamored with their progress in the conversation that they forget I can speak for myself. The danger contained in the word “ally” is the ever-present possibility that he/she will start speaking for me rather than creating space for me to speak for myself. Having an ally that doesn’t see a need for my voice to be present is in many ways of no greater help to me than a declared racist who doesn’t think my voice matters at all.  Read the entire post here. 

HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE! 

"But Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart." Luke 2:19

In just two chapters, much as happened in the life of Mary. When the book of Luke opens the focus is on Mary's cousin Elizabeth and her husband. God is doing a lot of speaking but Elizabeth's husband Zechariah is having a hard time believing. Nonetheless Elizabeth does conceive, but for 5 months she keeps her pregnancy hidden. Then the story shifts to Mary. She is visited by an angel and agrees to participate in this great conspiracy to birth a King. She visits Elizabeth, only to discover that she is now 6 months pregnant! Filled with the Holy Spirit, Elizabeth prophesies over Mary. The pair stay together for 3 months. When Mary returns home, she and Joseph hear the decree that they must travel to Bethlehem, and set out on their journey. During the journey, Mary goes into labor and delivers her little boy, wrapping him in swaddling clothes and laying him in a manger. While she watches him, a group of shepherds descend on the little family, declaring that a host of angels told them a Savior was born on this night. Then the shepherds left to spread the word about the newborn Savior. "But Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart."

2013 has been a tough and beautiful year for me, and I wonder if Mary would have used the same description for herself in this moment. There is little question that Mary had a tough year. As she faced pregnancy, an unwed woman, she must have been the talk of the town, an easy target, ostracized, and feeling very unloved. We can hardly blame Joseph for trying to determine what to do with this new development in their relationship, but that, too, must have weighed on Mary's heart. In the early days of conceiving, where does she go?

To Elizabeth.

She spends three months in the safety of her female cousin and friend. As soon as the two meet there is rejoicing. Elizabeth does not condemn her, does not berate her, does not look at her sideways, does not ask her to outline her future plans…

Elizabeth exclaims to her, "Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear!" That alone makes me tear up, but Elizabeth continues, "But why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? As soon as the sound of your greeting reached my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy. Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her!" 

And when Elizabeth finishes, Mary launches into her own song!

Isn't that the beauty of what women can do for one another? In the midst of confusion and heartache, uncertainty and pain, women sing songs of affirmation, of presence, of joy, of hope and suddenly the way we see ourselves and our God changes. Suddenly we are favored. We can make it. God's promises can be true. I wonder how often Mary repeated the words of Elizabeth during her journey to Bethlehem and in the midst of her labor. The words of women carry us so far. 

This Christmas I decided to ponder in my heart all that has transpired over the year. As I thought about the many women who carried me through the year I resolved to finally, for the first time in my life, send Christmas cards. These cards went to 20 women who sang songs of hope to me this year. 

Before the year ends, will you join me on Twitter in singing songs to the women in our lives? Use #SongtomySisters and lets sing all that we mean to each other.