We've not completed two months of 2015 and already we've been inundated with news of terrible violence in the US and around the world. Its a daunting thing to think about love, justice and reconciliation when everything seems so big, so alarming, so terrifying. But I want to encourage you not to give up on the goals and resolutions you laid out for yourself at the New Year. To support you, I want to offer a few ways that we must put in the work to practice love and freedom.

Own your education. Please do not turn poc friends (or acquaintances) into fountains of information for your personal growth. You want a list of books you should be reading. You want an explanation for how the X community feels about Y. You want to know who you should be following on Twitter. But you have to do the work. Just like we did. There seems to be this misconception that [insert race here] are born with some super knowledge of all things related to our history, culture, present and future. But we had to find authors. We had to read history books. And then re-read corrections to those history books. We had to search the "ethnic" section in bookstores. Were there recommendations along the way? Definitely. But no one handed us a guide-to-understanding-racism-and-anti-blackness + a-3-step-plan-to-fight-against-both-in-the-bonus-pages. We've had to work for knowledge and understanding, for historical context and accuracy. And so do you. Eventually you will find yourself receiving recommendations. You will read a book and the author will basically scream at you who to read next. You will take a class and be forced to read and interact with new ideas. But you must take FULL responsibility for your own learning. Otherwise those around you are not friends; they are libraries. While I love a good library, I'm not interested in imitating one. In this age of google, electronic books, streaming video, overnight delivery, and the number of people who consult, teach, train and write on this topic- you really have no excuse. Seek and Find. 

Be Picky. Read books you want to throw across the room. Read books that make you feel uncomfortable, that challenge everything. Theological, social, cultural comfort has defined far too much of your existence to continue at this point. Use your anger and outrage to pick up books that will make you argue out loud, that must be read slowly because the words are painful. Be stretched by what you read. If your current habit of media consumption left a void so large that the events of Ferguson shocked you- perhaps its time to let those forms of media go. Pick up some new authors, some new theologians, some new documentaries, some new historians, some new directors, some new producers. You should be having an emotional reaction to what you put before your face. You should want to put it down because everything you thought you knew is being turned upside down. This should be an exhausting and uncomfortable experience. It should be working to tear apart all the walls that kept you safe and comfortable and silent. 

This Is Both/And. If you are serious about this journey, you are going to have to realize this is a both/and journey. You have to focus on both the systemic and the interpersonal. You dont get to chose one over the other, nor prioritize one over the other. If you are attending protests and marches, but ignoring or demeaning people of color on your job- something is wrong. If you are participating in die-ins but regularly offend the people of color in your church- something is wrong. If you are tweeting stats and stories about #blacklivesmatter but have trouble conversing with people of color- something is wrong. Similarly, as you do the work of uprooting and unlearning racism- you dont have the luxury of making this your personal journey of salvation through niceness. The internal work is hard. There is a lot of racist thinking that must be dismantled, even as you do the work to dismantle unjust systems. You should be changed and challenged on a deeply personal level by the work. So when you sign your name on the dotted line, know that your internal world and your wider world are about to get rocked. 

Be not afraid. So, I cant really tell you not to be afraid, but I hope I can encourage you to push through the fear. There are going to be many moments when you are afraid. I don't suggest joining the work of justice and reconciliation to win popularity contests. This work really could cost you friends, your church, maybe even relationships with certain family members. You could get kicked out of your social networks. You might be branded "the one who won't shut up about race". Do the work anyway, for you are not doing it alone. There's a community of justice seekers here and around the world. Some focus on education while others focus on health. Some focus on the justice system while others focus on employment. Our work bleeds into one another, as it should, reminding us of our shared humanity and the rights thereof. You're not alone. 

This is only a start. There is so much more to learn. So much more to do. But this is a start. We all must start somewhere. 

I have participated (and led) a number of conversations on white privilege. Honestly, the conversations have a tendency to all go the same direction. This is because we (facilitators) often use the negative experiences of people of color to establish a foundation for observing white privilege in action. Rather than outlining the history of race, the development of white supremacy, and the connections between history and today- we work backwards. We start with experiences today and hope to connect them to a larger historical context. This is not a critique. {Today} I am not trying to determine the best way to talk to about white privilege. I am only acknowledging my experience with these conversations because I was blown away the first time a young white person said in a workshop on white privilege said, "I'm kinda glad I'm white. I'm not sure I could handle being a person of color".

I.was.flabbergasted.

But as I backtracked through the class, trying to hear what he heard, it all made sense. The only stories he heard about people of color were sad and painful and ugly and hard and filled with injustice. Nothing he heard was an exaggeration or untruthful. The stories were real. The problem wasnt that we talked about pain. The problem was the only story he heard was one of pain. It made me wonder how many white people leave conversations on white privilege silently thanking God they aren't a person of color. When this young man gave voice to his thoughts, my mind was spinning, "Wait? What! Do you know how much I LOVE being a black woman?! Well, of course you don't because I only told you about folks touching my hair, and being followed in the store. I only told you about how I am drowning in loans and how there will be no trust fund in my future. I only told you that my parents gave me the name Austin to try to curb racial and gender discrimination. Its all true, but there is more. This is not the sum of my existence. I love being a black girl." I didn't say all of this in the workshop. People of color responded by sharing how much they love their culture, and do not wear any of the stories as a mark of shame. 

But in honor of black history month, I thought I'd return to this conversation and share why I love being a black girl.

You see white folks tried to take our language and give us theirs but we developed a new one and our language continues to evolve over time seeping into American life. Constantly creating new words that become so popular, we are always staring at some new list determining which words must die. Kill em off if you want. We'll keep developing new ones. 

And we have this rich tradition of gospel and jazz and rock and roll and hip-hop. We are forever creating new categories of music to capture both the imaginations and the lived experiences of our community. We sing songs that have lasted generations. We recreate them when the lyrics remain true but the sound has changed. Give us an award or dont, our musical genius often doesn't wait for affirmation. It just plays the song. 

I have felt the cast iron pots of our grandmothers and held the Bibles of my grandfathers. And I treasure these things because there was not much we owned when we were owned. But the ancestors held on to what they could. A few pictures. A recipe. A favorite doll. A handy tool. A special piece of jewelry. A home, perhaps the first home ever owned in the family.  

White folks tried to steal our histories but we have recovered so much of it, pieced together. I know so many young genealogists who refuse to let the thief win. I am filled with stories of triumph over slavery, over lynching, over jim crow because our dignity was too strong to let our humanity be crushed.

Our contribution to American culture knows no bounds. But what I love most is how cultural icons breathed in my own home. Dancing to Ashford and Simpson around the living room, begging to move the needle to the next song. Though there are many great soul food restaurants, none compare to the smell of my grandmothers dinner rolls wafting through the air, the sweet smell of history filling the small kitchen. We sat on the edge of our seats the night Michael moonwalked across the stage, then we hopped up and did it with him. We couldn't afford to see Whitney in concert, but you better believe we knew every note to every song... even if we couldn't reach it ourselves. The NBA possesses some great players, many of whom were good guys from around the way- taking girls to prom, participating in the school talent show, being cheered on by the brown faces around them. Yes, we do shape culture, but first we live it ourselves.  

And we have a tumultuous love affair with our hair. I can still feel my father's fingers against my scalp, braiding each perfectly parted row. The cold feeling of Blue Magic and the smell of hot curling irons. The experience of sitting in the beauty shop all day long. "Hiring" a girlfriend to braid our hair so that we could avoid being in the beauty shop all day long. Telling our girlfriends to quiet down because of the headache incurred from the tightly wound twists. Deciding which hair style speaks to us- natural or relaxer, braided or dreaded, twisted or knotted, cornrowed or waved, and oh the color options. Our hair believes in freedom, and she will make plain what she intends to do... and what she doesn't. 

I love blackness because its demanding. It demands the right to live as fully human. Demands the right to vote, to education, to access, to employment, to housing. It demands equal treatment under the law. It demands the right to life, and a life filled with dignity. Its still demanding today. It demands creatively- sit-ins and die-ins, signs and t-shirts, marching and writing. We demand because our ancestors did. We demand because we believe in our own dignity. We demand for our children.  

I could go on and on and on. I havent touched on the poetry of Langston, Maya and every southern grandmother urging her children to keep on keeping on. I havent told you about the literary writers who captured our experience and our wisdom. I havent told you about black churches with fiery preachers and soul-stirring choirs. I havent told you about the black cool of photographers and dancers, politicians and teachers, actors and the everyday folks we love. I havent told you about Barack and Michelle and Martin and Coretta or Ozzie and Ruby. There is so much beauty to share...   

But my point is this: I love being a black girl. 

We all know its going to happen. PBS is going to change its lineup a little bit. OWN is going to have a special. Black boys and girls around the country will stand before their congregations and repeat the speeches of Sojourner Truth and MLK. Colleges and universities will bring in special speakers. We will soak it up, the learning, the celebration, the centering of black history month. But inevitably, someone somewhere is going to ask the question, "Why isn't there a white history month?"

Some will ask sincerely feeling excluded and confused. Many will ask out of sarcasm, believing themselves to be making a novel point about double standards. Most will not expect a response. Usually this "question" is asked not to talk seriously about the history of whiteness, but to avoid celebrating blackness. In the past I have responded to this question by discussing the importance of black history. I've also explored the ways whiteness created the need to center blackness in the first place. But this year, I'd like to try something new. I'd like to respond to the request... Below is your white history calendar. 

Now I'm not sure if folks really want a white history month. Because that would require telling the truth. It would require giving an honest account of America's story. In order to have a white history month, we would have to talk about white superiority. Ya'll know I'm not usually down for centering whiteness, but in this case, I think it is important that we understand the history of white superiority- how it started, how it has morphed, how it impacts today. So for one month, please feel free to share with anyone who displays a desire to connect history to today. 

Don't forget to lay ground rules though! I suspect there may be a little resistance by the time you get to Day 10 (or sooner). Keep scrolling for my list of online articles, essays, and videos. All you need is an internet connection to partake!

Day 1: Christopher Columbus  

Day 2: Indian Removal Act  

Day 3: Doctrine of Discovery  

Day 4: Middle Passages  

Day 5: Thomas Jefferson  

Day 6: Slave Narratives  

Day 7: Mexican American Immigration 

Day 8: Abraham Lincoln 

Day 9: Science of Racism 

Day 10: Slavery + Capitalism 

Day 11: Slavery in the North

Day 12: Slave Codes 

Day 13: Black Codes  

Day 14: Lynchings 

Day 15: Chinese Immigrants + Exclusion

Day 16: Understanding Jim Crow 

Day 17: Impact of Jim Crow  

Day 18: Rise and Fall of Jim Crow

Day 19: The History of the KKK

Day 20: Red Summer (Chicago) 

Day 21: Tulsa Riot 

Day 22: Japanese Americans + Internment 

Day 23: History of Housing Segregation

Day 24:  The Quiet Plunder 

Day 25: Little Rock 

Day 26: Ole Miss  

Day 27: Selma + Voting Rights

Day 28: Letter from Birmingham Jail 

* I cannot guarantee how long these links will be active. Also, please be aware this is not chronological. I tried to group events together generally, but links certainly overlap in what they cover. I hope the overlap helps tie things together. Lastly, there is sooo much more to history than whats listed here, of course. Nonetheless, I hope this offers connection- between events and from Columbus till today.

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.