My Name Is Frank. And I'm Racist.
How I Realized I Was Racist. And How That Moment Changed My Life.
I remember the day I realized I was racist. I had lived in Jackson, TN for a couple of years. Our little home was plopped in the center of downtown. It was nearly a hundred years old, but it bristled with character and beauty. We loved our little home, even if we wondered if ghosts occupied the upstairs. What we loved most was the location, though. We were less than a mile from the church where I worked, and within walking distance of both Walgreens and CVS.
Now, that detail isn’t something you would put on Zillow. But it was a huge deal for me. I was really sick at the time. I bought Sudafed like candy, so the location of these two establishments made my life a touch easier.
Most of the time I drove to Walgreens. Not because I couldn’t walk. But because I knew the kind folks at Walgreens would deny my request to buy Sudafed and I would have to go to CVS instead. In a strange twist, CVS also frequently denied me. Why was I denied? Sudafed, if you don’t know, is used to make meth. So, apparently, I was the profile for a meth head. Pale. Red head. Balding up top. Shorter than average. The pharmacists never, not even once, denied my wife.
It’s not just pharmacies that profile me, however. When I go through an airport terminal or the front gates at Disney World, I almost always get pulled aside for a “random” security check. The last time we went to Disney World, for example, we visited five parks. The guards pulled me aside in four of them. I kid you not. Ask Tiffani. So not only do I fit the bill for a meth head, but also a pedophile and a thief. My life sucks.
Anyway, back to the story.
On this night, I decided to walk to Walgreens. The dusky sky had almost given way to night. I could barely see. But I noticed ahead of me, a hundred yards or so, three men walking my way. They were black, maybe mid 20s. And they were minding their own business. Not a clue I was just ahead. Without hesitation, I walked across the road to the sidewalk on the other side. As I reached the other side, I asked myself why I did that. Why not just continue down the same sidewalk?
Would I have switched sides of the road if those men were white? I knew the answer. I attempted to justify my actions, one last hurrah from my ego to keep the walls from crumbling to the ground. The sidewalk on this side of the road was nicer. Walgreens was on this side of the road, so I needed to cross over anyway.
Lie. And lie.
The game was over. Truth was pregnant in my soul, and I felt the discomfort of a new new birth in my heart and mind. I crossed the road that night for one reason and one reason only: those three men were black.
I sat down on the sidewalk, breathless, paralyzed by reality. For years, my ego was strong enough to fight off my racist symptoms, to blind me from the ways I whitewashed my world. The ways I had been complicit in racist systems, the ways I refused to speak out against racist institutions, including my church.
Not any more. I sat down on that sidewalk, put my head between my knees, and reckoned with the truth: I was racist.
WHITEWASHED CHRISTIANITY
The next day, I went to our local Christian bookstore. I sat down in the children’s section, grabbed every graphic kids Bible I could find, and thumbed through the pages. I was hoping, praying, I wouldn’t see it, white faces and bodies from cover to cover. I knew I would, though. And I did. Moses. Noah. Jesus. They were all white. In every book. I couldn’t believe it. How had I missed this?
So, what? What’s the big deal?
It’s not a big deal, I don’t guess, if you’re white. But what if you’re not white? What if, like my daughter, your skin is dark brown? What do you think when you skim those pages? I’ll tell you because I’ve heard from it her lips: something is wrong with me.
The message you hear is that if you’re not white, you don’t have a role in God’s story. White people are the heroes, the only protagonists, the lone good guys. Everyone else plays second fiddle. Or no fiddle at all. I don’t know which is worse.
I’ve been in church my entire life, and whether intentional or not, I learned to worship a White God. I was taught that my skin color makes me superior, and that the darker your skin, the less important you are. I was taught the God of upward mobility, of progress, of privilege. I was taught that God rewards people in proportion to their hard work. That everyone can climb the ladder if they try hard enough. If your life’s not improving, you’re lazy. These are all ideas that are found and perpetuated by whiteness.
I realized that day that I had never, not even once, sat down with someone who looks different than me and listened to their story. I had no idea that someone could give the same amount of effort as me and not end up in the same place. I had no idea that the same systems that allowed me to thrive kept others shackled.
IGNORANCE IS NOT BLISS
They say that ignorance is bliss. I used to believe that. I don’t believe that anymore. Ignorance is not bliss. Ignorance is prison. It’s an intentional blindness to reality, which means it’s an intentional refusal to grow and learn.
If you refuse to see things as they are, you’re no longer alive. Sure, you have breathe in your lungs. Your heart continues thumping. But your heart and mind and soul become calloused the moment you refuse to look honestly at reality.
This is why so many people, so many Christians, are angry, bitter, cynical, joyless. Why they wave the banner of Christ, but their lives look nothing like him. They hoard for themselves. They’re inward-focused, more concerned with growing a large church than healing the brokenness in their community. More concerned with acquiring trinkets than transforming into the image of God.
These folks have adopted the “ignorance is bliss” mantra. They hear the voices of black people saying the system is rigged, that this country is prosperous because it was built on the backs of free labor, that black people are afraid to drive at night for fear that a policeman who operates in a racist system will pull them over and shoot them for no reason. But they don’t believe it. They can’t believe it.
Why? Because if this is true, they will be forced to change, to tear down their worldview. And that’s painful. What these people don’t realize, though, is that refusing to change is also a form of suffering, a more insidious and cancerous form. It’s a form of suffering that leaches the Life from your soul, that creates a chasm between you and your Creator.
You can’t have joy if you live by the “ignorance is bliss” mantra. Joy is for people walking with God, and you can’t walk with God if you don’t see the world as it is. That’s called unreality, and God doesn’t live there. It’s a valley of dry bones.
THE CHURCH AND RACIAL RECONCILIATION
I no longer have patience for Christians who say racial reconciliation isn’t a gospel issue. It’s THE gospel issue, as central to salvation as evangelism. The gospel is about bringing the kingdom of heaven to earth. It’s about healing the world. It’s about bringing people of all races and backgrounds together under the banner of Christ. This is what heaven looks like, the celebration of all skin colors and cultures.
Churches who don’t prioritize racial healing aren’t committed to being a called-out people, a light to a dark world.
They’re committed to maintaining the status quo, which is fine, but you shouldn’t call yourself a church. You’re a social club. A comfort gathering. A glorified pep rally. You need to re-brand, for the sake of those who are actually trying to live as the church of Christ.
HOW TO PRACTICE RACIAL RECONCILIATION
Some of you reading this think I’m a heretic and want to club me in the nuggets for my skewed beliefs. That’s okay. I’m cool with that, as long as you club me in the nuggets in your mind and not in real life. This just means you’re not ready. You’re not bad or evil. I still love you. So does your Creator.
Some of you are ready, though. Waking up to racism is hard and disorienting. It’s a death, of sorts. It’s painful, leaving behind the comfortable, starting honestly at your sin. If you stick with it, however, a new and more meaningful life awaits.
Because this is hard, I want to give you a suggestions, some tips to make the journey easier. Here they are.
1. Drink in small sips, not large gulps.
I’ve heard we can only call into question 5% of our current worldview at any point. I don’t know if that’s true, but it sounds true. Be patient with the journey. Don’t try to take in too much. You will become overwhelmed and give up. And that’s no good. A little here. A little there.
2. De-center your own experience.
If you want to understand how black people see the world, you need to listen to their stories. Find black voices, authors, speakers, activists. Buy their books. Put yourself in their shoes. Assume their experience is true, because it is.
3. Tell your kids the truth.
Change is generational, for better or for worse. What we teach our children becomes the dominant consciousness of the next generation. Racism won’t end in our lifetime. It probably won’t end in our kids’ lifetime. But we can take steps to move humanity in the right direction. The first step is telling our kids the truth.
4. A few resources to get you started.
Here are some of the most important books I’ve read about the black experience in America.
Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates
The Cross and the Lynching Tree by James Cone
How to be an Anti-Racist by Ibram X. Kendi
I’m Still Here by Austin Channing Brown
Me and White Supremacy by Layla F. Saad
The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander
Shoutin’ in the Fire by Dante Stewart
This Here Flesh by Cole Arthur Riley
This is so important. Thank you for writing and sharing.
Yes! This begins with me & my influence. So important. A primary truth taught by Jesus!