Precious Predilections

Tag: Reconciliation

  • When Friendships Fail

    When Friendships Fail

    It has taken me decades to embrace the beauty and benefit of failure. I did not embrace it as a high school student, young engineer, or businesswoman. I didn’t believe then what I believe now; failure is not final. Failure is refining. Failure is formative. For so long it has held such finality in my life, that I have been almost acrobatic in my avoidance of it. I would only come to learn later, that a perfectly prescribed life is devoid of freedom. Perfection is a myth. Today I am free and yet failure abounds.

    I have grown skilled at bouncing back from failure in my career, but last year left me in a quandary when many of my friendships began to fail. When my friendships failed, they most certainly reflected a host of unmet expectations. Again and again. This was unfamiliar territory. Most of 2020 left me with a lingering feeling of disconnected Sundays and disloyal Mondays. I was surrounded by people who were unable to care/support me, but repeatedly expressed care/concern for me. In a move to find peace and interrogate my heart, at the end of 2020, I halted all communication with those friends and questioned whether these failures were final. This was not a moment of cancellation in a time of discomfort, but rather a pursuit of clarity in a time of chaos.

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    It is near the end of 2021 and I have still not spoken to many of those friends. The time hasn’t come. This year long interrogation of my heart allowed me to see something which only becomes crystal clear in adversity; there was an idol among us called friendship. In western culture it is common for youthfulness and marriage to be idolized. People go to great lengths to appear young and unavailable. As a single woman who isn’t trying to reverse the clock and isn’t sprinting to the altar, I found myself unknowingly exalting the “strong friendships” I’ve held for years. The idol of friendship came tumbling down in 2020 when adversity hit hard.

    Meriam Webster defines idol as a representation or symbol of an object of worship; a likeness of something; a pretender, imposter. In earnest, I knew idolization was present when I began to subconsciously link their success or failure (as a friend) to my own success. I didn’t picture a reality where these individuals would deeply disappoint me, but they did. I didn’t picture a reality where these individuals would cause me such sadness, but they did. I definitely didn’t picture a world where I would willingly disrupt communication with them, but I did. I didn’t imagine a world where they would fail me. Idols are to be worshipped not humanized. In His sovereignty, God continues to use friendships to make me more like Him.

    God will use what we idolize to sanctify us.

    Preston Perry

    :

    When friendships fail – I can grieve

    The year 2020 nearly broke me and my relationship with the church. Although I don’t love God less, I am less likely to trust “his people.” This is a statement of grief I held over dismantled friendships with some christians. I recognize that trust will take time, but it is not impossible. When I thought failure was final in friendship, I packed away my grief and moved on. Time away from these friendships allowed me to grieve what was lost without the pressure to pretend all is well. Grief helped me see their humanity and tear down the idols.

    When friendships fail – I can begin again

    I am beginning the journey of rebuilding some of those friendships. It is strange to me, but I am beginning again with people I’ve known a long time. I’m learning that failure doesn’t have to be final in friendship. I’m also learning that sincere forgiveness is more powerful that superficial reconciliation. I don’t know that future of many of these friendships, but I do know that seeing them through a human lens changes everything. I don’t know at which point in life I moved away from that concept, but I’m getting back to humanity. Leaving the idea of perfect friendships behind hasn’t been easy, but I am confident it will be worth it.

  • Village People

    Village People

    “You’ve been here a LOOOOONNNNGGG time, Auntie…”  – my 7 year old niece

    And by “long time” she means that I’ve been in Orlando longer than 5 weeks.  Of course, children her age have a skewed concept of time generally leading to hyperbolic expressions of events.  Her tone was sweet and endearing as she described my return home from South Africa after a 3 month stay; this account was quickly met with bewilderment as to why I wasn’t allowed to stay as I had intended.  She didn’t understand why my plans had changed.  There was joy and sadness in her voice.  Joy as we laughed and played together, but sadness because she knew that something “felt broken” in her auntie and there was seemingly no remedy in sight.  I realized in that moment the depth of my village.  It’s deep y’all.  So, this blog is one of gratitude.  Gratitude to my village.

    “It takes a village to raise a child.” – African Proverb

    I’ve been a “village person” all of my adult life.  I’ve had the opportunity to be a part of the communal support system of nieces, nephews, cousins, and children in the various cities I’ve lived.  I adore being a part of the village.  The village isn’t just something we can benefit from as children.  I’m learning, “As an adult, it takes a village to really live.”  There are things that my friends provided that my family could not.  There are thoughtful ways that my family supported me to remind me that I am more than what I do.  I am family.  The warmth of my niece’s presence and her hand-written notes with God at the center that say, “We love you God,” remind me not to take for granted her place in my village.Niece Art

    Without this village, I would have floundered upon my return from South Africa.  Instead, I’ve been able to share my disappointment with my niece from the vantage point of a diamond, not defeat.  I want my nieces and nephews to know that they can do hard things.  They can try new things and succeed.  They will also try new things and fail.  But, they must try.  Their village is strong.

    In the last 6 months I’ve experienced very high highs and low lows.  I’ve cried.  I’ve lamented.  I’ve laughed.  I’ve dreamed.  I finally dreamed.  My village came through as I took deep breaths and acted with new courage imbued by faith.  I was no longer a reservoir in the village, I had become a recipient.  This transition has brought me face to face with my need for village people.  I am thankful for the expanse of people in so many different places that I know are a part of my village and I theirs.  Thank you all for your prayers, texts, meals, couch-surfing opportunities, and encouragement.  Thank you for allowing me to do hard things; to live freely.  This freedom has allowed me to throw off yet one more chain.  The chain that links my identity to what I do has been thrown off!  What does that look like for me?  Well, I’m glad you’re interested!

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    When I envision myself really living in freedom, it takes me to a place where I am most myself; when I am teaching and in the presence of children.  Therefore, I will no longer hesitate to make moves to make this a reality.  I’m moving deeper into the village!  I’ve accepted an offer to be a resident in a teacher residency program in Memphis while completing a Master’s in Urban Education.  I’m excited to become a teacher after this year of residency.  Teaching is hard work, but I can think of no other space where I will be more alive.  I am certain there are beautiful exchanges I will have with the community of Memphis as we learn from one another.  Memphis, here I come!

    Some might describe my journey from engineering to education as steps backwards, but I would describe them as the most courageous and invigorating steps forward.  When I stand in the classroom, I know I will not stand alone.  I echo the words of Maya Angelou in saying, “I come as one, but I stand as 10,000.”   As my heart enlarges for the vulnerable and marginalized, I am compelled to do things I’ve never done before to see justice lived out in a way I’ve never seen.

    Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go. – Joshua 1:9 (ESV)

     

  • Bubble Trouble

    Bubble Trouble

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    The beginning of the new year is generally bubbly; literally and figuratively.  Bubbles can be deceptively dangerous, distorting our perspective, limiting our impact, and diminishing our hope.  Yes, cute, friendly bubbles.  Bubbles look stunning from the outside.  Their iridescent color captures the eye.  Their ability to beautifully reflect exactly what is in front of them is impressive.  This is the allure of the bubbly perspective; it mirrors back to others your view in its best light.   The view from the inside of a bubble creates a fishbowl effect, most closely resembling that of tunnel vision.  And this is where the trouble lies, most of us live our adult lives inside of a bubble.  And what we see is not the full picture.

    Bubbles are troublesome because we don’t often realize that we’re encased by them.  Facebook recently projected that I would marry a White man.  Facebook projections are often outlandish, but whatevs. No prob with me because I’m open to marrying a man who’s outside of my ethnicity.  When I shared this “projection” with a friend, she stated, “Why would you want to go through all of that trouble?”  Her statement was a reference to some of the natural conflict and misunderstandings that she and I have in our friendship because we differ in ethnicity.  I jovially replied, well, if that’s the case, I probably shouldn’t have any friends outside of my ethnicity at all, right?  We both laughed and realized how much our friendship has enriched each others lives and knew the “trouble” had been worth it.  I’m glad that we can speak honestly to one another, but that perspective was down right bubbly.

    As one who grew up in poverty, I used to presume that safety was only found in the burbs, but a faulty presumption it was.  The first and only time my home was broken into was when I was a resident in the suburbs.  As a former resident of the suburbs, I found that it became increasingly easy to live in my bubble of lattes and chic eateries.  That’s what the neighbors were doing.  No one really left the bubble unless they had to.  For me, living like this certainly narrowed my view on social justice issues and lessened my conviction to respond politically or otherwise.   I don’t have an aversion to the burbs, but I had to find new ways to remain proximate to issues I care about.  To those things that keep me up at night else I knew the bubble of passivity (cloaked in apathy) would lure me to sleep.

    I realized a truth that Bryan Stevenson learned from his grandmother and so eloquently expounds on in his book, “Just Mercy,” when he recounts her telling him often, “You can’t understand anything from a distance, Bryan.  You have to get close.”  How could I say that I care so deeply about the marginalized and have such little interaction with them?  I had been living in a bubble.

    There is nothing like the disruption of life in your thirties to aid in the bursting of bubbles.  Life quickly moves out of the space of black and white when family and friends die of cancer.  An 8 year old child commits suicide.  Job loss occurs.  Home foreclosures for some and short sale for others.  From abundance to poverty.  In earnest, I lived in a bubble for most of my twenties.  While there was some struggle in college and thereafter, my life during this time was mostly euphoric.  I had a rude awakening, but an awakening nonetheless in my early thirties.

    The perspective from inside of a bubble is incapable of presenting the full picture.

    Bubbles are superficial and protect no one.

    They provide a false sense of security.

    Bubbles are going to burst.

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    Photography by: Rakesh Rocky  http://onebigphoto.com/ant-pushing-a-water-droplet/#

    My hope as 2017 draws to a close and a new year begins is that I don’t let fear drive me to create bubbles that keep others out, magnify my own worldview, and blur the experiences of others that are right in front of me.  It takes more effort to recognize a bubble than to burst it.

    In 2018, I want to broaden my perspective, increase my impact, and not lose hope as I think outside of the box and live outside of bubbles.

    Join me.  Let’s go.

  • Why South Africa?

    Why South Africa?

    If experience is our best teacher, then progress is a prison.  Our experiences can limit our ability to dream. – Dr. Myles Munroe

    Dr. Munroe said a mouthful! You hear me?  Most of our lives experience is our only teacher.  It reminds us of what we can and cannot do while slowly suffocating our dreams.  I just finished week 5 in South Africa and every single week, I have to remember that recounting my experience alone will keep me in the past and stifle my future here.   And this has been harder than I expected.

    The days are long and the nights are short.  With the 7 hour time difference, I have found it harder than normal to remain connected to those I love in the States.  It’s easy to look at my watch at 1 o’clock pm here and note, it’s only 6 o’clock am there. Long days.  I’m learning to be patient with the process of connecting.  I still often receive text messages at 2 am because people don’t realize the time difference.  I’m thankful people are trying to keep in touch.

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    Living in a new country has been a great way to learn that the world doesn’t revolve around America. While America continues to greatly influence culture outside of its sphere, there is such richness of culture independent of the States.  In order to fully embrace my time here, America remains a reference point, not my singular guide.  So my life has been full of tea time, outdoor recreation, and water conservation due to a recent drought here.  I am mindful that assimilation is seductive.  This is not assimilation.  This is me fully bringing all that I am (as a Black woman from the States) to every experience and in no way assuming that America’s way is the best or only way.

    I’m sure it’s not difficult to believe that the most common question I receive from locals in The States or those here in Western Cape is, “Why South Africa?” Although, I’m wearing less make-up and watching less TV, these positive changes don’t speak to why I decided to move here.    Truthfully, I only have a sketch, a brief outline of why I believe God gave me the desire to live here.  I am confident that God will shine a light on what He needs to when He needs to in order to reveal exactly why I’m here.  I don’t want to be in such a rush to “figure out God’s plan” that I miss experiencing His presence in daily encounters.

    Here’s what I can tell you today.

    1.  I don’t want fear to continue to rule.  Most of my life has been lived with an aversion to risk.  If it is too risky, I normally play it safe with fear being the dominate driver.  I’ve chosen courage over fear and put fear in the rear view mirror.
    2.  I’d like to live in freedom.  Even great opportunities can feel constricting when you know it’s time to move on.  I knew it was time to move on.
    3.  This is so much bigger than me. God’s vision is always bigger than one person.  This is His vision.
    4. Why Not South Africa? This question has been critical as God used it to dismantle what I had counted on to be sound, rational, logic for remaining in the States.  There goes experience again…

    I’ve applied for many jobs and I’ve only had 2 interviews – with the same non-profit.  I enter this next week believing for a final interview.  There were 500 applicants for this position.  Insane number, but this is so much bigger than me.  I ask you all to join your faith with mine as I trust God to provide the right opportunity for me here.  I also move with my friend and her family to Cape Town next week.  What a week ahead!

    There is one experience that I can always bank on and will do so again and again.  That is the experience of God’s remarkable faithfulness each time I choose to obey His leading and prompting.  Full details or not.  That’s like money in the bank.

    “The LORD’S loving kindnesses indeed never cease, For His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness.” – Lamentations 3:22-23

  • My Messy Beginning

    My Messy Beginning

    Friend, Joy Becker, finishes this blog series sheer bravery.  Her willingness to express where she is on this messy journey of privilege and racial reconciliation is authentic.  I’ve been honored to collaborate and share the perspectives of Mika, Amy and Joy during the past four weeks.  Perspectives unlike my own.  I’ve grown.  I pray that you read this last post with great expectation. Expecting God to speak to you.  I believe He will. With courage, obey whatever He speaks.

    I prefer when my writing culminates into a complete thought, when stories and anecdotes sit with me long enough to reach a finish line. I tend not to hit that Publish button until I’ve drawn a conclusion, tidied things up, and feel a sense of a closure.

    Today is different.

    There is no sense of closure because I’m just beginning this journey. I have so many conclusions spinning in my head I hardly know what to do next. I’m in the midst of so much learning and thinking and questioning; it is terrifying and thrilling. There are days I’d like to rewind the clock to before I wrestled with privilege and injustice. I’d like to unread and unlearn information that has left me wondering how me – this affluent, white, stay-at-home mom in the suburbs of Cincinnati – can possibly be part of reconciliation. Other days I want to shake myself because I spent so many years missing it, looking right past it.

    In the spring of 2016, I began reading the book Seven. Oh, to this day, there are times I wish I could unread it. God knocked the wind out of me within the pages of that book, awakening me to the intensity and responsibility of the privilege I was born into.

    Up until that day, I had thought very little of privilege and what it looked like in my life. I suppose when privilege is your norm, it is easy to miss.  

    But soon I saw it everywhere.

    I saw privilege when I opened my fridge, stared at shelves full of food, and ordered pizza because I didn’t feel like eating anything we had.

    I saw privilege when I put my contacts in each morning because I’ve had resources to correct my failing eyes for nearly 30 years.

    I saw privilege when I handed in my letter of resignation, voluntarily leaving my job to stay home with my children.

    I saw privilege when I was pulled over for a missing headlight and never considered a police officer might treat me unfairly.

    I saw privilege when I freely disagreed with colleagues and never thought twice that my race would be the backdrop for how others interpreted my words.

    I saw privilege when our president was elected because as much as I hate how he speaks of the oppressed, I knew my day to day life would not be much different.

    God put a fire in my gut the week I read that book, a restless stirring I haven’t been able to shake. I can’t stop reading and talking and asking questions. I can’t unlearn that I am in the top 1% of wealthiest people in the world, practically drowning in resources. I can’t pretend educational opportunities are the same for all children. I can’t ignore the hundreds of thousands of refugees who are desperately trying to come to America, and yet live such isolated lives once they are here. I can’t unsee the hate-filled eyes in those videos of Charlottesville.

    This is my messy beginning, my shuffling along, fighting my way through the weeds, with my hands outstretched, asking God, “What now? What can you do with the hesitant offering of a woman prone to wander, resist, and cling to privilege? Can you dig it out by its ugly roots? Can you keep forgiving me? Can you make reconciliation my heart’s cry rather than an item on my to-do list?”

    *****

    During the past year, I have looped through a cycle of emotions regarding the abundant advantages in my life.

    I am ignorant.

    I am overwhelmed.

    I am disgusted.

    I am paralyzed.

    I am afraid.

    I am humbled, forgiven, and obedient.

    Repeat.

    Those first five stages are fruitless at best; sinful if I’m honest, and I need to deal with them as such. I need to call out the sin in my life.

    I am ignorant. That is sin. Ignorance is choosing foolishness. It is looking away from truth and ignoring the mind God gave me for learning and questioning and engaging. Ignorance is choosing oblivion to global and national crises, excusing myself because it’s too sad, it’s too hard.

    I am overwhelmed. That is sin. I am looking to my own ability to solve injustice rather than following the lead of Him who came to change the world through servanthood. I am sinking into defeat, rather than clinging to a God of victory. Nothing is impossible for Him, and to be overwhelmed is to disregard the power of the Holy Spirit who is alive and active in me.

    I am disgusted. That is sin. The Lord needed to bring me to a place of disgust, a harsh realization of my abundant privilege. But to stay in that place of guilt, apologizing for all I have, is to forget the One who gave it to me. He did not accidentally place me in this life at this time in history, and He is not interested in my apologies for living in America, for being white, for being educated, or for succeeding in a career.

    I am paralyzed. That is sin. The reality of injustice is so thick and so heavy, I get lost in it. And then I do nothing. I stay in my neighborhood and in my home, with my conveniences and luxuries. I hang out with people who look like me and think like me. We talk about how thankful we are Jesus came to do all that messy work, but disengage ourselves from real action. Pretty soon, doing nothing in my norm.

    I am afraid. This is sin. Fear will lie to me every time, coaxing me to believe injustice is too much for my God. Fear tells me I will fail if I seek reconciliation. Fear tells me I will say the wrong thing and do the wrong thing. Fear tells me I will put myself in danger and be in over my head. Fear tells me I will upset people and annoy my friends. But God did not give me a spirit of fear, and to believe otherwise is sin.

    I am humbled, forgiven, and obedient. Confronting my own selfishness is miserable, but once each of those daggers have been humbly laid down, I can claim Christ’s forgiveness and move on to obedience.  

    The Bible tells me to feel the pain of others. Be wrecked by injustice. Be burdened. The Bible tells me to pray, and not just on the days after horrific events like Charlottesville, but to get on my knees every day, crying out for the broken and forgotten, repenting from my sins and the sins of this nation. The Bible says to be faithful in prayer, be persistent, keep bugging God to shake my soul and not look away from oppressive systems that have handed me a life of advantage.

    This doesn’t have to be an either/or approach. I can carry on with my daily life and remember the marginalized around me. I can write on my blog about eating dessert in the bathroom, and I can write about racial reconciliation. I can take my children to our community pool where they see dozens of children who look just like them, and I can take them to a church where they are the racial minority. My husband and I can celebrate special occasions at overpriced restaurants, and we can volunteer with the Cincinnati Refugee Resettle Program. I can go to the gym to teach Zumba classes, and I can learn to correctly pronounce the names of the colored women in my class, not just the white students. I can talk with my girlfriends about curtains and crockpot dinners and playdates, and we can talk about teaching our children to stand up for others. I can read Real Simple magazine and I can read about how to love my friends of color well. I can pray with my children for God to heal their owies, and I can pray with my children for God to awaken their eyes and hearts to those who need love.

    This isn’t a checklist. It isn’t more to add to my plate. It isn’t one or the other. It is awareness. It is courage. It is a transformation of my heart to move past the years I spent desiring peace and wishing well to those on the sidelines.

    Jesus spent His life on the bottom rung of the ladder. He surrounded himself with the powerless, the outcasts, the bottom dwellers, the marginalized. By his own choosing, He never made it up past that bottom rung. But I was born on the top rung; I was born into a life so far from Jesus. White. American. Middle class. Educated. Excess everything. It is a life so many long for, but it is a life that has proven to be my greatest hindrance in knowing the true Jesus. It is so far from the Savior who said He was “close to the brokenhearted” (Psalm 34:18) and that “the highborn are but a lie” (Psalm 62:9). There is such a distance from me and the man who constantly cared for the widows, the orphans, the poor, and the needy. It is so much harder to “seek justice and encouraged the oppressed” (Isaiah 1:17) from up on this top rung.

    It’s ironic how you can read something a dozen times and always hope someone else is taking it to heart. How did I miss it?

    In every corner of the Bible, God is screaming, begging, pleading, urging me to love mercy and justice, to care for the last and least. If I’m going to believe the Bible is the Word of God, then it seems God is obsessed with social justice, and He asking me to stay engaged and join Him.

    This is my messy beginning.

    *****

    A note from Mika, Amy, Precious, and Joy:

    It has been a joy to share our hearts with you over the past month. The four of us have each been challenged, convicted, and inspired. We have each prayed earnestly for our readers, and for ourselves asking God to shake some souls and spur on conversations that would bring Him glory. We would love to end this series by praying for our nation, together pleading with God to heal and restore.

    Oh Jesus,

    We come before You with our mess. We acknowledge our sin and repent from it. We need You to do your thing. We need your power to bring change because we know we are powerless without You.

    I pray, God, that You would heal our nation and bring us to racial reconciliation. I pray that our hearts and minds would be changed and that change would lead to action. May our hearts break for the damage white supremacy has caused in our nation – that we would see it for the sin it is, and commit to not being complicit in it. I pray we would move outside our comfort zones, invite people into our homes that don’t look like us, and build relationships in an effort to reconcile.

    I pray America would become comfortable with being uncomfortable and no longer shy away from our horrid past. I pray we would know that racial reconciliation is not simply a good option; it’s important to You. May our hearts remain pliable for You to mold and change; performing open heart surgery if necessary to make us into a people that not only embodies the ethos of reconciliation, but the life style. May our days be less comfortable and more courageous.  May our love for You, Jesus, cause us to actively love our neighbors well.

    I pray we would lay down our privilege to serve and to see. I pray we would open our hands and our eyes. We are in need of Your grace and Your grit to do and hear hard things. Lead us, Jesus. Please do exceedingly above what we ask.

    Amen.

    Chains fall

    Fear bow

    Here, now

    Jesus, you change everything

    Lives healed

    Hope found

    Here, now

    Jesus, you change everything

    Lyrics from Holy Ground

    About the Author

    Joy

    Joy Becker is a wife and mama living in Cincinnati, Ohio. She recently resigned from a twelve-year career as a literacy coach and first grade teacher to become a full time stay-at-home-mom with her two young darlings. She is a lover of new notebooks, October, and goat cheese, and a hater of traffic, scary movies, and overcooked asparagus. You can peek even further into her love for Jesus, food, motherhood, and friendship over at 44 & Oxford.

  • Miseducation of Privilege

    Miseducation of Privilege

    As a Black Christian woman I have more anxiety on the Sunday or Monday following tragic events such as the #Charlottesville attack because the work of racial reconciliation is exhausting.  The Sunday following Charlottesville (which happened to be less than 24 hours later), I remember being hopeful as I entered church that I would regain some of my sanity.  At least a little bit.  Thinking to myself,  this Sunday at least one non-person of color would come up to me and legitimize the concern I privately expressed to many.  I recounted the personal conversations held following the election of our President regarding his rhetoric and lack of empathy for non-whites.  At the time, I shared that I thought his views would give credence to those who held extremist and racist views to become hyper-visible and less concerned with “hiding” their views or their faces.  We witnessed that in #Charlottesville.

     

    This was not a moment of wanting to be right.  This was a moment of wanting to be validated.  I wanted to feel sane, if only for a moment.  The context here is that I have spent countless hours listening, sharing, and praying with congregants and colleagues as we earnestly look to live reconciled.   Yet, I exited my phenotypically diverse church that day without a single conversation or acknowledgement from a white person.  I exited with increased ache in my heart.  I exited wondering how many more Sundays will I sit in this pew and wrestle with the passivity of privilege and the tone policing of my voice. I then hoped for a face to face conversation, text, phone call on Tuesday, Wednesday, or any day.  It did not occur.  Exhaustion enters stage right.

    After reflecting on Amy’s blog, How Do I Handle My Privilege, and her compelling question at the end which asked ‘What privilege do you have, and how can you use it to serve the underprivileged?’  I stumbled upon a revelation.  

     

    In the United States of America, privilege has been a silent teacher for hundreds of years.  Privilege, white privilege, for those who possess it, has taught that good things will come to them simply because of who they are – even if that good thing is racial reconciliation.   

    Many would argue that hatred is a learned behavior.  I’d contend that just as hatred is taught, so is the passivity of privilege.  It is mostly taught without using words.  Privilege by its very nature is passive.  It demands absolutely nothing of its possessor. It teaches its possessor to protect it at all cost.  Privilege indirectly teaches that if one desires racial reconciliation, then it will be achieved by simply waiting for the “perfect, comfortable, opportunity” to have a difficult conversation, ask an awkward question, or get to know a person outside of your ethnicity.  Privilege has written thousands of history books and passed hundreds of laws. And with events like #Charlottesville, it waits patiently to reconcile.  We’ve been miseducated, and the western church has been an active pupil.  

    Miseducation definition: a wrong or deficient education

    Racial reconciliation is costly.  It takes work.  

    Many desire racial reconciliation through a five-step process or a “quick read.”  I’ve had countless people ask me to give them a resource to navigate this difficult and messy space. For instance, there’s a local church in our city that offers a fantastic six week workshop on race which creates a safe space for people in the community to listen to one another, grow in empathy, and dialogue.  However, I’ve encountered many who’ve been content with attending this six week session and reference this as their “work” in racial reconciliation.  I commend people for attending; however, when this session ends, the work of racial reconciliation doesn’t.  If the only desire is a resource, racial reconciliation may not be realized.  It happens over time through empathy, honesty, contrition, and proximity.  Get close. Get uncomfortable. Get honest.  

    If the American church desires to really model racial reconciliation, the Church must re-educate itself.   Learn from Black folks.  Listen to Black folks.  Lament with Black folks.  Let Black folks lead.

    I don’t want a racial reconciliation that demands more of one follower of Christ than the other.  I pray that my encounter on the Sundays following tragic events are less anxious and more intentional.  As Amy stated in the previous blog, may we be known by what we lay down, rather than by any privilege we hold high.  

    As a follower of Christ, I remain hopeful that racial reconciliation will occur in earnest as I continue to engage in uncomfortable conversations, love others where they are, and speak truth to power.   I’m encouraged that others are doing the same.  I have not thrown in the towel on racial reconciliation.  Each day I hold tightly to the hope I have in Christ, anchored by the reality of my desperate need for Jesus as I do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with my God.  

    Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. – John 15:13

    Maybe the first act of laying down one’s life is to lay down the passivity of privilege.

    As we lay down our respective privilege, I pray that we build authentic relationships across multiple ethnic groups, help restore broken communities, and recognize systems that perpetuate marginalization for disadvantaged groups. May we use our power, resources, and influence to tear these oppressive systems down; decision by decision. Racial Reconciliation, like sanctification (process of becoming more like Christ), is worked out daily.  It is not a one time act.  It is a lifestyle.  

    The church has been “waiting” for racial reconciliation for too long.  Let’s intentionally give differently, life differently, and love differently.  Not just in words, but in lifestyle.

    May privilege be ousted as primary instructor in the work of racial reconciliation and be replaced by empathy that leads to action.

    “He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”  – Micah 6:8 ESV

  • How Do I Handle My White Privilege?

    How Do I Handle My White Privilege?

    In this blog, Amy Seiffert shares her authentic perspective on privilege in a vulnerable way.  Amy and I are participating in a collaborative blog series  with other women where we will share our perspective on privilege and racial reconciliation.  Our collective prayer is that as you journey with us your heart will be open to what God wants to reveal to you.

    “Life’s most persistent and urgent question is: ‘What are you doing for others?  — Martin Luther King Jr.

    My name is Amy and I have white privilege. I was born into a white, middle class, educated family. I got a college degree and married a white male who also has his degree and is now a small business owner. We have three kids and reside in a predominately white neighborhood in a college town.

    I deeply miss the diverse relationships I had in high school; we had various cultures, religions, and race in my friend circle. Korean, Black, Indian, Arabic, Mexican, White, Jewish, Hindu, Christian. I miss recognizing and celebrating diverse friendships, having the weeds of prejudice pulled from my white privilege perspective, and raising my children with a colorful and beautiful view of the world.

    I miss the daily academic environment where the table is set to have hard conversations. We had many respectful and robust discussions about our distinct heritages. We not only talked, we were in each others’ homes. I loved the food, the practices, the clothing, and the family life of my friends who were very different from me.  My family now continues to cultivate relationships with other races that are around us, but we would love to – we need to –  cultivate more. The richness of other races in our lives grows such beauty, humility, understanding, joy, and hope. Our soul-soil is in a great deficit when we close it off to any kind of vital diversity.

    Privilege, according to the oxford dictionary, is: “a special right, advantage, or immunity granted or available only to a particular person or group of people.” Privilege can feel as obvious as our skin color and as subtle as our literacy. Even right now, if you are reading this blog, your literacy gives you advantage. I absolutely amen “education is a right, not a privilege” – but we can agree, for those who can read, there is an absolute upper hand.

    And today, as I come together with four different kinds of women, writing four diverse kinds of blog posts about privilege, race, ethnicity, reconciliation, fears, hopes and dreams – we also have one common denominator:

    Jesus.

    I sit humbled and thankful that King Jesus is King of a colorful Kingdom. His rule and reign is one where every knee will bow and every tongue will confess that He is Lord when it’s all said and done. “Every” being the game-changer. We will not be segmented under His rule, we will come under one allegiance, and we will all bow down on the same, level ground next to the cross.

    “After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands,  and crying out with a loud voice, “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!” And all the angels were standing around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God… — Revelation 7:9-11

    King Jesus had stunning leadership regarding privilege. He was enthroned in glory, fully God, crowned in all comfort. And He laid it all down. He put down His rights, His throne, His everything. Nothing was taken with Him when He took up human skin and moved into the neighborhood. Paul explains this beautifully:

    “Think of yourselves the way Christ Jesus thought of himself. He had equal status with God but didn’t think so much of himself that he had to cling to the advantages of that status no matter what. Not at all. When the time came, he set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave, became human! Having become human, he stayed human. It was an incredibly humbling process. He didn’t claim special privileges. Instead, he lived a selfless, obedient life and then died a selfless, obedient death—and the worst kind of death at that—a crucifixion. — Philippians 2:5-8 MSG

    It is tempting to forget that this is GOD who lived this way. Setting the pace for the good life, He set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave. He took up a towel, got down on His knees, and washed grimy feet. He served his heart out, to the point of death.

    And so when it circles back to us, to me, I have a big question to answer: What do I specifically do with my white privilege? I often freeze just thinking about my advantages, I feel guilty about them, or I hide them because I don’t know how to handle them well. I want to weed out the prejudices in the garden of my heart and sow seeds of racial reconciliation; I feel sad and embarrassed when I find incongruities in my soul. Who can help us in handling our white privilege?

    Praise be to God! If we take our cues from the King, we will find the answer. We don’t have to struggle or hide or be perfect with our privilege. Like Jesus, we simply lay them down to serve.

    After some soul-searching, just one of the ways my entire family (kids included) can lay down our white privilege and serve the underprivileged is being a Licensed Foster Care Family. Before you object in your heart and think “that’s for saints” – please reconsider. Those who foster are not saints, they simply have a safe home. The requirement to foster is very basic: a safe environment.

    At different times this past year, we have laid down our routines, our comforts, our possessions, and had children in our home for short periods of time (we have done short-term Respite Care), giving a sweet child (we’ve housed hispanic, black and white children) a safe place to be in the middle of insanity. In the middle of abuse. In the middle of drugs.

    Do we lay aside our white privilege perfectly? Absolutely not. Do we try to by faith? Yes. Even if it’s the size of a peppercorn. This is the way King Jesus lived, always by faith. He came down by faith, He laid aside everything by faith, He died by faith – faith in the resurrection to come.

    I often have the famous phrase “With great privilege comes great responsibility,” running through my mind. And I can freeze. But, friend, if you also freeze – let’s unthaw together and simply serve. Let’s serve in as many ways as we can. Serve in little ways and great ways. Serve with our voices when we see injustice and serve with our actions when we see helplessness. Serve using our strength for the weak and leveraging our power for the vulnerable.

    What privilege do you have, and how can you use it to serve the underprivileged?

    May we be known by what we lay down, rather than by any privilege we hold high. 

     

    About the Author

    Amy

    Amy is a wife of 17 years and mom of 3, who never thought she would love raising her family in a small college town. She works at Brookside Church as the Director of Outward movement and has the privilege of occasionally preaching. Amy loves tennis, ice cream, and making beautiful things . In between diapers changes, laundry, and soccer practices, she writes, blogs, speaks, and is working on her book on motherhood.  She has been in a monthly book club for 17 years and cannot believe Oprah has not brought them on her show. Amy inspires, teaches and humbly relates to the mystery and messiness of life. She tells all at www.amyseiffert.com.