This year has been one for the history books, and we only just made it to June. I’ve written periodically about the coronavirus over the past few months, and how as a believer I think we ought to respond. This was the first time (except for the 2016 election) that I’ve written about current events on my blog. Generally, I don’t think that there’s any reason for me to add my voice to such a vast conversation as the one surrounding the current state of our world. A few nights ago, there was a riot in my hometown and I was reminded, once again, that sometimes current events don’t happen a thousand miles away but in our own backyards, and I felt like I needed to say something, if only to distill my thoughts.
In this post I am going to be talking about racism and systemic corruption and before I go on, I must acknowledge that I am writing from the perspective of a white, Christian male. These aspects of my identity have fundamentally shaped the way that I have experienced the world and interacted with it. They give me certain blind-spots in life. There are things I can never understand. One of those is to understand what it is like to live in a culture that is systemically racist and prejudiced against me. I have never firsthand experienced the injustices of racism. There may be moments in my life where I experience situational prejudice, but that is not the same as racism. Racism is a complex and multilayered issue that I do not think I will ever personally understand. As a white man, it would be wrong to pretend I understand the individual experience of a black person, or other people of color. I do not. As a white person, I have what you could describe as the cultural benefit of the doubt. Culture historically has been on “my” side. This is privilege, plain and simple. Specifically “white” privilege. Privilege does not make me a bad person, but it is something that I must recognize. To deny it is to deny the injustice of the system that gives it to me, and to passively accept the unfair advantage I have because of it. This aspect of my identity means that my voice is far from the most important voice in this conversation. My voice and my words should not replace the voices and words of black people who have experienced these racism firsthand.
The death of George Floyd has prompted protests and riots. Believe what you will about the validity of various protesting forms and free speech–I am not here to talk about these protests. The one thing I will say: I think these events are symptoms of a deep anger. This anger stems from generations of injustice. It is an anger that comes from seeing the wickedness of our world and not knowing what to do with it.
I am using the word “anger” in a very specific way here. I am not talking about untempered, uncontrolled rage. That sort of anger is unproductive. Such anger can take control of us, and as Christians we believe that to be controlled by our passions, including anger, is not good. I am using anger to refer to a righteous indignation towards injustice. Perhaps the most notable example of righteous indignation, or righteous anger, is seen in the story of Jesus driving the moneylenders out of the Temple of the LORD (Mark 11). Moneylenders had corrupted the purity of the Temple and Jesus physically turned them out of the Temple, filled with righteous anger.
I think we have a right to be filled, now, with righteous anger. Why? Because of the basic definition of righteous anger. To be righteous is to be in line with principles of morality and virtue. And to be indignant is to be angry because of an observed injustice or instance of immortality. To be indignant is to have a knowledge of justice and injustice. You know that emotion you might’ve experienced when you were younger, and your brother or sister broke something and didn’t get punished? That’s indignation, because you understood that something ought to have happened, and hadn’t happened.
That word “ought” is key here. “Ought” implies that there is a way that things ought to be, a way things should be. Seeing things as they should be will produce a sense of righteous satisfaction. Seeing things not as they should be will produce a sense of righteous indignation and righteous anger.
Things, right now, are not as they ought to be. Racism and corruption have been a part of our history, not only as a country but as a people, for about as long as history can record. And as for our own country, we cannot deny or ignore the history of slavery and the many injustices associated with it. Times have changed, progress has been made, but things have not fully healed. We can look around us and see the brokenness. We know that even now, things are not as they should be. And this sense we have of brokenness comes because we know how things ought to be.
I believe that God created Heaven and Earth and that He created humankind in His Image. This belief, the belief in the Imago Dei, is a core tenet of Christianity. It is the conviction that every human, regardless of race, nationality, creed, gender, sexuality, or socioeconomic background, has an innate value not because of anything they have done but by virtue of who they are. Psalm 139, my favorite psalm, which I frequently reference, says:
“For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.” (Psalm 139: 13-14, ESV)
This is a beautiful verse, one that brings me deep joy because of the promise it contains. It is a reminder that we all are beautiful. That we have all been fearfully crafted, wonderfully made. The incredible, unfathomable handiwork of God can be seen in the life and breath of any human, regardless of how much or how little that person looks like someone else. This value, present in all, should then prompt us to act with love and respect towards all around us, recognizing everyone else as fellow image-bearers, as fellow reflections of our own beautiful humanity.
Brothers and sisters, we know how things ought to be. We know that they are not there. As such, I believe we should be filled with righteous indignation. We know what is right and we are indignant at the injustice we see. We should be the first to stand up and stand against any instance of evil, including systemic oppression and racist institutions and actions. We should stand up and say that it is wrong, and we must hold our fellow believers to a higher standard, because we should know better. We know that we are all created in the Image of God–that we are all created equal. We must then act like it, and encourage others to do the same. We must confront any cultural biases that have skewed our own perspective, and learn, and grow. We must be willing to do better and be better because we know better.
There’s a quote famously (falsely) attributed to Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a pastor and a leader of anti-Nazi resistance from WWII. There is truth in this quote despite its nebulous origins: “Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.” These strong words are an indictment against passivity, and they contain an idea that I (mostly) agree with. If we see an injustice, we should speak against it. We should not speak so loudly as to drown out the most important voices in the conversation, nor speak so loudly that we don’t have the humility to listen to those who might disagree with us, but we have the responsibility to speak in line with our convictions.
And as believers we hold the truth of consolation in our hearts and in our hands: the deep healing truth of unity with Christ. We know that the fullness of this consolation and rebirth and wholeness will only come in the new Heaven and the new Earth, but until then we are here and we have been given the divine commandment to preach this Good News to everyone. This Good News, this Gospel, starts with news which isn’t as good: the news that the world in which we live is broken. That things are dark, the world is depraved, and full of sin. We who know the light have a responsibility shine in the darkness because when the light shines in the darkness, the darkness cannot overcome it. We must not hide that light away, even when hiding the light might be more comfortable. We must push ourselves into discomfort and be willing to engage in difficult conversations with humility. And we must, we must, be willing to listen to the hurt of the world, because when we listen, we will know when to speak. Because to not speak, when we have seen and heard what is wrong, is to permit.
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One thing that I have to keep reminding myself to learn and to grow and to be a good ally is more than just posting on Instagram–or even on a blog. I’ve tried to take some steps to educate myself. In a follow up post, I’m going to include some of the resources I’ve personally explored to educate myself and take some action steps towards being a better anti-racist ally, but I’ve included a shortlist of resources here. This is by no means an authoritative or definitive list, but rather some things that I have found personally helpful.
- Some books to explore
- Some podcasts to listen to
- The Black Lives Matter website
- An insightful article on what it means to be an ally
- A very comprehensive list of resources from Forbes