My friend made plans to come over. Before she arrived, she sent me a text warning me that the "well-meaning" white folks at her para-ministry job made her especially mad that day. She then added, "I hope my anger will wear off by the time I arrive." Without thinking about it I replied, "Your anger is welcome here". 

As I thought more about her concern of carrying the anger with her, I tried to think of places where our anger is truly welcome. It's generally not safe to be angry at work- even if there is good reason to be. It's certainly not safe to be angry at church- violating the unspoken rules of niceness, politeness, graciousness and forgiveness. To be angry at school is often invalidated or dismissed altogether. I remember often being asked, "If you are so angry here, why not just go to another school?" 

So where can we be angry?

Where can we be angry and still be heard? Where can we be angry without coddling the feelings of those around us? Where can we be angry and be taken seriously. Where can we be angry without being considered inhuman, unchristian, stereotypical or too sensitive? 

Where is the place that doesn't require immediate forgiveness before I've had an opportunity to express exactly what happened, what went wrong and why it was so bothersome? 

Particularly when we serve a God who was often angry and expressed that anger in ways we might consider a little over the top. Why is my anger so... unwelcome and unacceptable?

I can be angry and clear. 

I can be angry and right.

I can be angry and not hold a grudge.

I can be angry and require changes of your behavior.

I can be angry without ruining our chances at racial reconciliation. 

My anger needs to be safe. 

But not just mine. In any place that is seeking to be multicultural, seeking racial justice and reconciliation, there must be space for the anger of people of color. And not just anger about the state of the world, but anger about the state of the Church. To be able to hear, hold and honor the righteous anger of brothers and sisters is an important step on the journey to justice and reconciliation. I wonder if you might take a moment to reflect on the ways anger is displayed in the communities you are apart of:

Who is allowed to display their anger? 

In what ways is expressing anger acceptable? 

What areas are people allowed to express anger over? 

What do people of color currently do with their anger? 

To create space where anger can be heard and responded to could be more of a gift to your church (or community) than you can imagine. 

It was a recent trend for Christians to pray something similar to, "Lord, let my heart break for the things that break your heart." It was usually a prayer asking for increased empathy toward the poor, an increased desire to stop ignoring injustice in the world. It's a poetic prayer, really. I am sure I've prayed it in the past. But recently I have become more attuned to similar statements about God being heartbroken over injustice. It has occurred to me that this statement is not entirely true. God is not sad about the existence of injustice; God is angry about it. 

Yet we are far more comfortable with thinking of God as sad, weepy, mournful about injustice. We think of God as shedding tears, wringing hands, looking sullen. We think of God as going through the same shock and sadness we experience during the slow dawning of recognizing how injustice effects real people. But take a quick read through Isaiah or Amos or the Gospels when the subject is injustice. You will find that God is pretty fond of declaring the phrase "woe to you". This is not a statement of sadness but of anger wrapped in a pronouncement of judgement. Pay attention to the imagery used: fire, burning, laying cities bare, taking away wealth and homes and land. This is not a description of a sad God; this is the description of a God who is outraged. 

Though we are far more comfortable with thinking about God being sad, its important that we acknowledge God's anger. 

Its important to acknowledge God's expectation of us. The reason God gets upset over and over again regarding injustice, is because God expects better. Time and time again, God says through prophets that we have been instructed to stand against oppression, to care for the fatherless and widows, to give to the poor, to act righteously, to resist bribes, to be more than "religious". When these expectations are not met, we find the prophets proclaiming God's judgment. To acknowledge God's anger is to acknowledge the source of that anger- a reaction to our participation in oppression. Perhaps this acknowledgement could create a sense of urgency. I imagine we could live with the knowledge that we've broken God's heart. For some reason the idea that God is sad doesn't necessarily move us to action. I wonder if it would be harder to continue behavior we honestly believe provokes God's temper.

By this I do not mean to suggest that we should be fearful of God, cowering before the Almighty in an attempt to not make God angry lest we be struck by lightening. I believe in a forgiving, loving, grace-filled, merciful God who wrapped self in flesh and subjected that body to death for us. For all of us. And this is where it becomes important to understand the nature of God's anger. God didnt just die for the rich, the wealthy, the middle class, the educated and all the other categories we use to define who qualifies as "good and moral" people worthy of God's grace. These categories mean nothing to God. God is concerned about people too many of us would just as soon judge as unworthy. This thinking props up our comfort with participating in oppression. But if we truly understood that God died for all, including those we oppress, perhaps God's anger would soon become our own. Maybe we could move from being "heartbroken" over injustice to being just as angry as God is over it. 

Reading through the prophets has been helpful for me to recognize the validity of anger over injustice and oppression. I am an angry, black woman. What I am not is irrational, fickle or immoral because of my anger over oppression. I am an angry, black, Christian woman and proud of it. I am proud of all those who are angered over injustice and oppression. I am proud of all those who resist, protest, write, march, rap, organize, and advocate out of a deep belief that no one is worthy of oppression. 

May we be as angry as God at the powers and principalities that let injustice thrive. 

So, when Ferguson unfolded a year ago, I wrote an article not long after titled Has The Church Learned Anything From Ferguson? I thought about writing a part two... what the Church should learn, could learn, ought to learn (you get the point), but instead I thought I would tear a page out of #FergusonTaughtMe and talk about 5 ways Ferguson has impacted me. 

1. Darren Wilson is not a monster; he is normal and that is terrifying. I would rather Wilson be a tyrant, a monster, a dragon who must be slayed so that our little black village can feel safe again. But Darren Wilson is quite simply human. He is a human who exercised power given to him by the state to take a life when he deems necessary. He was free to see Mike Brown as monstrous. He was free to see Mike Brown not just as 'superhuman' but not human at all- demonic with powers beyond what we mere mortals understand. He was free to decide. Take a life or not. And he made a decision. In the year since Ferguson, we have clearly seen that Wilson is no anomaly. We have literally watched black bodies forced to bear state sanctioned dominance. All thats required is a good story. He reached for my weapon. She assaulted me. He tried to get the taser. She was resisting arrest. Harsh dominance, cool cover-ups, and a heart stops beating. We have all watched white supremacy and anti-blackness at work. We have learned that this most unholy couple knows no boundaries. south. north. east. west. city. suburbs. daylight. moonlight. No good thing comes from unrecognized action steeped in white supremacy and entrenched in anti-blackness. So I am developing a certain urgency around calling these out in all of us. I am almost defiant about it. If you dont want me to say the phrase "white supremacy" from your stage, dont invite to me an event. Because I must. I must call out this principality because white supremacy is the enemy within all of us who are "normal". We must choose to uproot it daily or we too will be capable of erasing and silencing lives. So I am saying it... often. 

2. I have never been more aware of the importance of self-care. I know I have been talking about self-care for a long time. But the truth is I always thought of self care as something I do during tense times, when the world is darkest. But there has been a remarkable shift in my personal need to be gentle with myself daily. It is no longer an option to wait until things fall apart. By then too much damage has been done- the well from which I would write, speak, pray, stay engaged is more like a puddle. I cannot do this work from an empty well. So here I am. Taking breaks from social media, not writing on every tragedy, and finding personal ways to be loving to myself. 

3. I have been deeply moved by the tenacity of #ferguson and #blacklivesmatter. Both have been  inspiring communities. The level of creativity that has been displayed through protests, teach-ins, workshops, Moral Mondays, writing and the use of social media... My goodness. The intellectualism combined with emotional truth-telling about the black experience in America has produced a number of tears (and a number of book purchases) in my life. #Ferguson also taught me to re-examine the ways economic oppression is still at work in black communities. The presence of military weaponry in #ferguson is still shocking to me. The police response to community members is still shocking to me. The DOJ report on #Ferguson is still shocking to me. But I needed to know. We needed to know. Now there is no turning back. I must continue to connect the dots from history to present. 

4. I am scared. I hate to write this one, but the level of fear I have carried with me over the last year is unlike anything Ive experienced before. I used to pass a police car, glance in my mirror and not think about it again. But not anymore. Now my heart beats fast. A knot forms in my stomach. My eyes must confirm multiple times that I am not being followed. I have to convince myself that I am okay. When my husband leaves the house I no longer say, "Goodbye" or "Have a nice day". Now the last thing I say to him is, "Be safe." or "Come back to me." Sometimes I even make him promise. I was on the phone with my father. He told me he was in a pretty rural part of the state and going into a store. I stretched out our conversation so that I would be on the phone until he was back in his car. I ask my husband (an attorney) about multiple police encounter scenarios; what can I do or should I do if I get pulled over? What is legal? When can I ask to call him? I am literally putting myself in the place of people who are now dead, wondering if there is any way I can protect myself, escape, live. I hope the fear wont last forever. But maybe I should be afraid. Maybe the fear keeps the urgency alive. 

5. Racial justice is far more urgent to me than it ever was before. I have been passionate about racial justice for a long time, but #ferguson taught me that I need to be urgent. Lives are at stake. And I feel the urgency beyond police encounters. There is so much work to be done, so much to dismantle, so much to unlearn. White supremacy is killing us. That matter has always been urgent, but #Trayvon and #MikeBrown have pushed a seed of urgency deep with in me. I would rather have them here, back in their mothers arms. I would rather not know the names Eric Garner or John Crawford or Sandra Bland. I would rather not have the phrase #Charleston9 at my disposal. Id rather there be life. But while I am still here, still breathing, I am determined to produce good fruit. It will never ever be perfect, but I hope it will be good. 

In the last few weeks, especially since the Charleston Massacre, I've seen a number of white people asking the question, "What should I do?" I've noticed this question has been asked on a personal note, but more and more I am seeing it asked on behalf of others. Like "Hey I know some white people who get it, and they are itching to do something but I am not sure what to tell them. Help!?" Have you seen this, too? After witnessing this on a few occasions, there a couple of potential pitfalls I would like to address: 

1. The reading and learning never ever ends. There seems to be this thought process that one can read a few books, and then once those books have been read, its time for the "real" work to begin. Well, friends, reading and learning is a big part of the work. Its part of having your worldview shaken, relearning American (maybe even world) history. Its being able to see and recite the connections from yesterday to today. The reading and learning never stops because there is always more. More ways to be challenged. More stories to hear. More studies to take note of. More myths to bust. A commitment to learning is necessary for this work. If you all could see my nightstand... covered in books all the time. My wishlist on Amazon is ridiculous. Because learning is work and we must give ourselves wholeheartedly to (un)learning what we thought we knew and learning news of being. 

2. Be aware of the motivations/assumptions behind that question. Sometimes the "tell me what to do" demand smells like the white savior complex (insert stinky face). You see, I sometimes wonder if white people read and listen to stories about racial injustice and believe that we are the ones who need to be saved. The system of racial oppression is killing us in America, but know it is you who needs to be saved from participation in the system. Does that make sense? The system continues to operate because white people refuse to see how they are perpetuating the system, are active participants in the system, have been reared in the system, are protective of the system, are beneficiaries of the system, and consequently destroy your own soul and our lives. Systems of oppression lead to death, and too often its a black or brown body being buried. The way we get saved isn't by your riding in on a white horse and doing something for me... its by recognizing that you have supported this system and choosing to save yourself (your friends, family, church and community) from white supremacy. You can go to all the protests and rallies, you can post all good things on social media, but if you are not actively saving yourself from white supremacy, you are still a danger to me. As you begin to recognize white supremacy in yourself, you will notice it in the systems, structures, actions and reactions in the world around you. At that point you can challenge it with me, because you can no longer ignore its presence. 

3. Don't assume there is only one answer. This is an extraordinarily hard question to answer if you are not asking someone you know personally. Tossing this question out into social media seems to me a strange practice. I understand asking for resources, wanting to know about events, looking for essays and answers to specific questions. But it seems to me that I would have to be pretty magical to be able to answer how you personally should start participating in racial justice. I think it comes from the subconscious assumption that there is a secret answer to this question that only people of color possess. I have bad news: doesn't exist. But this is also good news. It means that you can use your gifts, skills, and talents to work right where you are. If you are an artist- use your art. If you have a gift for organizing, help organize. If you are a pastor, start preaching. If you are small group leader, start teaching. If you are a teacher, rethink the curriculum. If you are a nurse or doctor, take a look at the system in which you work- who is being helped? Who isn't? Why? Think about what you are passionate about. Are there racial inequalities that you have been ignoring? Or if God is awakening you to new issues- like criminal justice- consider getting connected to a local organization working on that very issue. There are many books dedicated to help us understand the work of racial justice and reconciliation. There are concrete steps we should take as part of this work (i.e. learning and reading), but I want you to do the work wherever God has called you to be. 

4. Be gentle. I know it may seem like all people of color should jump up and down and celebrate when white people "get it" and are ready to "get to work". But for a moment just pause. Consider how long it took or how much it took to get you on board. I think its great that following the Charleston Massacre doing nothing is no longer an option for you, but consider how that feels to black people. We have been shouting about racism non-stop for a solid year and it took 9 lives shot down in a Church to convince you to be active? That sucks. Glad you are here. I want you to get to work. But can we acknowledge that sucks? Additionally, be gentle in giving people of color time to grieve if a major tragedy was your impetus for change. In those moments we need to recover. We dont want to be teachers, guides, role models, etc. We want to grieve. We will get back to you, but be gentle with us. Recognize that we are not hardwired to be teachers, like little robotic armies waiting for our next pupil. We feel. We cry. We mourn. We need time. 

So, in closing, wanting to do something is good. We want you to get involved. Just be mindful of the ways you ask.