Each week we sat in a circle, huddled in a dorm room preparing our hearts for worship. For an entire semester our small group of diverse women gathered together to pray. One day a new face joined our little group. When it was time for her to pray, she started off shyly, carefully choosing each word. A voice within the group gently interrupted, “You know you can pray in any language you want.” We all felt her body shift as she exclaimed, “Really?” We opened our eyes and nodded in unison. As she switched from English to Spanish, the words burst from her small body, rushing together like a song. She sounded like an entirely different person. We only knew some phrases and key words, but that young woman lifted all of our hearts that night. By affirming her, we saw her true identity, and our view of God was expanded as we all imagined God whispering in Spanish back to her, back to us all.

Whether homogenous or multiracial, what do we lose by not actively engaging our racial and ethnic identites?

Though she was praying in a language I didn’t know, there was something familiar about her worship. Attending a black church as a child, I remember being enthralled by hand-waving praise, melodious sermons, and gospel music that rose and fell with the emotions of the church. For two hours, we really were one body. Once our new group member was given the freedom to be herself, those memories and my own cultural background suddenly felt affirmed. An intense wave of belonging and connection took over. After that moment, we were never more committed to our group’s rule for cultural authenticity and cooperative participation. We all felt like we were home.

The Challenge Facing Multiracial Churches

When the Reverend Mihee Kim-Kort, minister and author of Yoked (with her husband Andy), considers her faith formation, she effortlessly recalls her childhood Korean-American church: “Every Sunday was full. We would get up early in the morning, usually hauling containers of food to donate to the church. The 20-minute drive was a little sleepy, but as soon as we stepped foot through the church doors and saw other families, we stirred and started to run and play with the other children. Adults would yell at us to slow down, or tell us to insa—respectfully greet—the elders and deacons of the church, pinch our cheeks, and say how fast we were growing up.”

Connecting treasured memories to the present, she continues: “When I think back to it, now I remember how clear it was that something different happened to my parents on Sundays. I saw the tension melt from their faces as they settled into the pews and chairs. I saw the comfort and familiarity in which they carried conversations like a burden being lifted from their shoulders. I saw the way they laughed easily, and happily talked and shared with other church members. My parents and I immigrated to the U.S. from South Korea when I was just a baby, so this church was a slice of home for them.”

It seems the “slice of home” Kim-Kort describes is in danger of being severely restricted when we move out of mono-cultural spaces. If you follow reports on popular church trends, you’ve probably noticed an increase in conversations about multiracial churches. Most regularly defined as a congregation in which the majority racial group is no more than 80 percent of the population, the number of multiracial congregations (and those seeking to be multiracial) is on the rise.

As the number of studies, books, and articles proliferate on the subject, we’ve been able to take a peek into how multiracial churches operate. Sociologists have found that often, multiracial churches choose to avoid conversations regarding race. By seeking to transcend race, multiracial churches attempt to avoid cultural conflicts that might not otherwise arise in homogenous churches. But whether homogenous or multiracial, what do we lose by not actively engaging our racial and ethnic identities?

Read the remainder of the article at Todays Christian Woman by clicking  HERE.

Okay. So I know we've already talked a little about Selma, but you all know me. It takes a while for the deep emotions I feel to wrap themselves in words. I wanted to give voice to how impacted I was by the Selma movie, but knew it would take time for me to share the extant to wish I was moved. It has taken a few days, but I want to share with you one of the gems I will carry with me for a long, long time. 

When the credits rolled, and the song Glory transitioned into This Little Light Of Mine I realized I was viewing this movie as a black woman. I know that sounds silly because I watch everything in this body of mine, but I was so utterly aware of my embodied experience in America. Ava's opening scene, listening to the little girls discuss hair, immediately drew me in. For the rest of the movie I was identifying with black women- young and old, overwhelmed and frustrated, persistent and strategic, fiery and intelligent, loving and defiant, crying and fighting on. I was all in, friends. 

And this would have been enough. It would have been enough to see myself so represented on the screen. Its not often that I go to a movie and identify with so many characters. Feeling seen, known, respected, understood is not typical of a movie-going experience for me. So this was a gift all by itself. But then something about the movie sunk deeper.

It happened as the movie grew increasingly dramatic. The focus shifting to MLK and the desire of various government officials to convince him to end the crusade, to drop the demonstration. I was not surprised to witness the various tactics used to stop MLK: insertion of fear, promises of compromise, weight of responsibility. There was a never ending onslaught of strategy to silence him. And each time he resisted. 

The President of the United States has never called me. The FBI is not recording me. No one has bombed my home. US government officials are unconcerned about my... blog. So I do not suggest here today that I am living MLKs life in any way. What I do want to validate, on a smaller but important scale, are the ways in which black women continue this work of strategy within the Church.

"If you would just slow down, I really think that pastor is closer to moving on that decision than you think. Don't ruin it." 

"I appreciate your passion, and I get it, but you have to know we are just not there yet. Perhaps if you tried something else- changed your tone perhaps- you would see more movement." 

"You are just so strong. Thank you for your strength as you push this conversation to the forefront. We hope you will continue to use your strength..." but there is no talk of change.

"This campaign of yours is starting to get a little toxic. Are you sure you this is the place God really wants you to be?" 

"You know how much I care about this issue. I just have a number of other values to juggle, too. We just cant move on this right now. But why don't you think about MLK Day and what might be done then?"  

"Our congregation has already moved so far on this issue. What else would you like us to do, exactly?" 

"Perhaps you should read more about MLK and really understand how he... [something incomprehensible]." 

I could go on and on, friends. While these certainly do not amount to the pressure, the fog of death, described in the movie, these experiences are no less real. At first they are disheartening. We bend trying to find the hopefulness buried in the words. And then we recognize them for what they are- political maneuverings, self-protection of the organization. This is the point where my disappointment, frustration, and yes anger become overwhelming. But then I watched Selma.

Ava let me watch MLK resist taking on responsibility for the deaths of civilians and hand it back to a government who refused to demand police protection over police brutality. Ava let me watch MLK remind the white power structure that the subject of the conversation was not the noise of the demonstrations but the lack of action on their part. Ava let me watch MLK strategically reframe every "legitimate" reason to stop. Ava let me watch MLK remain resistant not just in the big ways- huge demonstrations and soaring speeches. She let me see him on the phone, in meetings, in small rooms, in one-on-one conversations. She let me see him where I live my life, where I love the Church. 

As you participate in holy resistance, I hope you, too, will be invigorated by these small but signifcant scenes. I hope you will see your role as quite political. I hope you will see yourself as capable of strategizing and reframing. I hope that you will own your power to see clearly. I hope that you will speak truth to power, fully embodied in who you are and what you have been called to do. I hope you let your little light shine. 

Amen. 

PART TWO

Just yesterday we unpacked the last portion of this video. To read what led to this, please take a look at this post. Here we finish the responses in the video, dissecting how racist thinking plays out in interpersonal exchanges. 

7. Back in the old days...

I have to be honest, I am fascinated that the younger woman (not the older one) appeals to the 'old days'. While her statement is true on its face- there is no doubt that interracial relationships were not only considered undesirable but were outlawed in the "old days". However, rather than resisting these ideas, she reinforces them admitting she has warned her daughter against interracial relationships. It is clear earlier in the video that this mother is extraordinarily fearful of this idea. She is even crying when she believes she has found a sympathetic ear in the actor pretending to feel the same. Her appeal to the "old days" is a space of refuge, offering her permission to continue the behavior. 

8. Not in my family... 

Distance. Boundaries. Lines in the sand. This is not new. We sometimes think about segregation and even slavery as a complete distancing between black and white. But in reality, this was not the case; it was not distance that separated, it was policing. Black bodies were allowed to wash dishes for example, but not eat off of them. Black bodies were allowed to clean the shop floors, but never handle the money. Black bodies were allowed to come close... but never too close for comfort. This woman has clearly determined how close her daughter's black friend is allowed to come. 

9. But I love them...

What shallow love is this? Sometimes I really wonder what people mean when they talk about love cross-culturally. I suspect that most often, people who harbor racist resentments mean "I know there are some things to love about black culture and/or black entertainers". For example, the logic goes something like this: I love LeBron. LeBron is black. Therefore I love black people. Well, number one thats not quite how love works in the context of racial reconciliation. Appreciating how a black person entertains someone is not the definition of love that sustains reconciliation. Number two, if someone can name the black people they love... LeBron, Oprah and the woman who sings at church- and none are personal relationships- that is a big red flag. 

10. I think they are wonderful people... 

Sigh. I'm going to be gracious for just a moment. I wonder if in this moment, having been caught on camera sharing her overt racism, she is thinking about the young boy who befriended her daughter. I wonder if for a moment she looked beyond her fear and had to make a confession, 'This child I fear is actually a wonderful human being.' And guess what. Its not enough to stop the racist thinking, the fearfulness, the warnings to her daughter, the tears. What good is it believing [enter race here] people are wonderful if you're not willing to challenge how you treat them?  

11. Seeking validation from a black person... 

She asks the question, "Don't you agree?" as she stares into the face of a young, black man. Awful, but not uncommon. When someone is being challenged on racism, this is often a go to-- it's either what this woman did (asks a person of color to confirm the racist thinking) or to appeal to what X black person said, who happens to reinforce the racism.

12.  I wouldn't be mean to anyone...  

Racism is violence. It is violence to others and it is violence to self.  Politeness is not the antithesis of racism. There are really nice racists in the world. Politeness never conceals racist thinking. 

Thank you for participating in this exercise with me. It really is important for racial reconcilers to be able to see the underbelly of racist thinking. The way toward assisting in the dismantling of racist thinking is being able to stay clear as you watch it unfold (or back peddle as in the case of this video). 

Hope this is helpful to you!! And thanks to those who shared stories and insights on my FB page. I love engaging with you all! 

PART ONE

Last week, I posted this video on my Facebook page. It is a clip from the show "What Would You Do". This show offers various "candid camera" moments- some amusing and some serious. Though there are many videos on race to choose from, I found this one especially intriguing because host John Quiñones chooses to have a lengthy conversation with the two women involved. Its usually easy for us to point out obvious, interpersonal instances of racism, like this one. So I don't usually talk about overt instances like this. In addition to that, they often minimize (or erase) conversations about systemic and structural racism. Not good.

But I confess I was intrigued by this clip, because I think it offers a learning opportunity for us- not to identify overt, interpersonal racism- but to dissect the thinking that props it up. If you hear racist remarks and become so angered, caught off guard, or irate that you cannot engage- the racism is sure to live on.

So together we dissected some portions of this video on Facebook. I want to make sure I wrap up that conversation well. Here is part one. So much was said, I have to divide this in half! (If you haven't already, please watch the video to the end; otherwise you're going to think my following list is unnecessarily, off-the-charts offensive) 

1. That 

To refer to a person as "that" (Why did she choose "that"? Why would she want "that"?) is a clear form of dehumanization, the process of removing any sense of humanity and therefore dignity from a person. Usually this is done by reduction- minimizing someone's entire identity into one trait or situation. However, this woman has provided us with a complete erasure of the young man's humanity. Why? Because this is the beginning of denying the respect, civility, and rights that humanity demands. Be watchful for this language, for it is often used to imply and give permission to treat people unjustly-- sometimes through interpersonal relationship like this, but in its worst form, its used to deny human rights and perpetuate oppression. 

2. Keep it in your family... 

Hopefully you now see the element of dehumanization here (Keep "it" in your family). Also important to notice the implication of using the word "it" which suggests that blackness is vile, diseased, dirty, unwanted and undesired. Here she doesn't seem to be referencing people, as in 'keep it [black men] in your own family'. Instead she is suggesting that some hereditary disease must be kept between black people. She makes it sound like her family would have to be quarantined if "it" got out and infected her own family. To believe that there is something innately wrong, inferior, undesirable about black persons equals racism.   

3. I have a lot of black friends... 

No. You dont. I'm not sure why white people believe that racism can be covered up with a smile. Black people might be civil. We might work with you on a project and ask how your day has been. But if you think for one second that racism doesn't ooze out of your pores and puddle around your feet, you are mistaking. Racism left unchecked cannot be hidden. To better understand this dynamic (and just how good people of color are at doing this, you can read We Wear The Mask by Paul Laurence Dunbar; we've been doing this dance a long time. You can also see it in the hug. He disagreed. He felt uncomfortable. But I doubt she had any awareness of his discomfort. The mask at work.)  

4. Marry the same as you are, not spreading... 

I'm sorry, not spreading what exactly? Again, racism 101. The suggestion that we are not "the same" coupled with the idea that one is inherently inferior, spreading... something. If possible, calmly make people finish their sentences. For instance, "I think I missed what you were about to say, please finish. spreading what?" You need not think through the racism of others, if you can get them to do so. 

5. What about the children... 

This was the one most of you felt really strong about, particularly my multiracial friends and interracial couples, and understandably so. I appreciate you all sharing your experiences and the experiences of your children. All I want to underscore is the disassociation behavior of the woman in the video. She does not see herself as someone who is perpetuating the hatred and reproducing the abuse that she fears for children. The logical conclusion that the children are the result of "that" and carry within them an "it" and are "spreading" something is not understood as violence for her. In the words of my friend, Ashley Ray, "she can't see herself reflected in those supposed abusers. Where does she think they learn it?" 

6. Mexicans are white people... 

Danger, Will Robinson, danger. Do you see it? The continuation of racist thinking- Mexicans are okay, not because they are Mexican, innately worthy of dignity and acceptance, but because they are... white. Beware of anyone who is willing to accept a people group based on perceived closeness to whiteness. Also beware of anyone who is willing to erase culture. This happens in microagressions all the time, "you're not really [insert race here]." Whether micro or macro, eraser is violence. 

I hope this dissection is helpful to you as you have conversations about race with others. Here is PART TWO.