White Christians: Who are our friends?

I have been quiet.

So quiet.

I haven't sought to speak in the storm, because I am not rain, nor wind, nor shaking earth or crashing waves. I find my giftings in other places, much like the gentle breeze in 1 Kings that causes Elijah to emerge from the cave because he knows it is God. 

And so it is with this image that my spirit resonates, thinking of myself as a breeze that caresses each and every person and calls them to know their Belovedness--and to cast off all that holds back from this Knowing. This is the tender compassion the Lord has given to me--one that seeks to protect the space for the journey of healing in each and every one of us, for we have all experienced trauma and fragmentation in our spirits. 
 

*  *  *

Once I was in the psych ward and in the room next to me was a woman who could not speak but who would occasionally erupt in fits of terrified screaming. While the rest of us played cards, ate meals, and built community together, she was in a room in a chair. We only knew her presence by the high-pitched screams of panic that would come from the small room.

All I wanted to do was to let her know that she wasn't alone.

My own screams were just within. 

*  *  *

Sometimes I think about this nation as a big house and we're all in different rooms looking outside of a window at the yard ahead of us. 

Some people see tulips, and some see daffodils, and some see a shed, and still others see a fountain of running water.  Depending on what room you're in, the view is different, and each room obstructs some view of the yard.

What if in the attic is the one who has all the keys to the house. They don't have all the keys to the house because they should, but because they are hoarding all the keys from the other housemates. Not only that, but they've been hoarding all the keys for so long that they believe that the keys were actually all theirs to begin with. 

The attic-dwellers rush to their window and see a shed far in the distance. Because they hold all the keys, they know that what they see out their window is true. 

"There is a shed in the yard!" they cry. 

The second floor housemates rush to their windows (in their respective rooms of course), and one says, "Yes, I see a shed from my window, but I see tulips as well!" The other observes that they, too, see a shed in their window, and not tulips, but daffodils. 

The attic-dwellers interrupt the observations of the second floor housemates by once again declaring more emphatically, "There is a shed in the yard!" 

This pattern continues for a few more rounds until the second floor housemates open up their windows and lean out. They see that the reason the attic-dwellers cannot see the flowers is because the attic juts out from the house, blocking the view of the flowers below. They also see that although one room cannot see the tulips from their window, and the other cannot see the daffodils, that both flowers are a part of the same bed.

All the while the attic-dwellers continue to declare, "There is a shed in the yard!" What they do not understand, of course, is that they are only seeing part of the picture, and that their housemates on the second floor are seeing a different part of the same yard. 

It is in descending from the attic they are ascending into relationships that allow them to gain a more holistic perspective, for it turns out that the keys to the bigger picture were never in their hands all along.

The attic is the embodiment of white privilege, and the communication of what we see out of the attic window are our poor attempts at intercultural communication. 

White friends, especially my white Christian family, we can do better.
 
*  *  *

Today I found myself reflecting on John 15:13 "Greater love has no one than this, than [s]he who lays down [their] life for [their] friends." 

What is it to lay down one's life? Looking at the Greek word (through Blue Letter Bible), a few phrases stuck out to me: "to place in a passive or horizontal posture," "prostrate," "kneel down," "lay." These words feel like a submission that is rooted in a heart-posture of honor and acknowledgement. 

How beautiful. Like the washing of feet and declaring of dignity. 

Like the brushing of hair behind one's ear and a gentle coo from a babe's mouth. 

Like a communion feast with bread broken for all and a sweet wine that declares that this blood has been shed and so you are all in right relationship with the Creator. 

*  *  *

Lay down your life.

Lay down your life for your friends. 

How beautiful a picture. How beautiful a posture. 

In a race classification system in the United States, contextually it's not too far of a stretch to say that for white people this passage resonates with our privilege. It's not too far of a stretch that to say for us this passage is the laying down of our privilege in love of our friends. In fact, I would argue that it is, without a doubt, a large part of the spiritual work that we must do as white Christians as we relate to our siblings of color, and the world at large. 

Greater love has no white person than this, than they who lay down their white privilege for their friends. 

Greater love has no white person than this, than they who step from the attic and seek to understand the view of the yard through the eyes of their friends. 

Greater love is active listening, greater love is seeking to understand, greater love is hearing the truth that everyone else in the house knows that you're hoarding the keys but you. And greater love is responding to this not in defense, but a posture of acknowledgement and recognition that your space in the attic has obstructed you from seeing a bigger picture. 

Greater love is a giving, but greater love is also a receiving. Greater love is a challenging, but also a being challenges. Greater love is messy and full of paradoxes and contradictions. 

Greater love is complicated.

But who thought that living one's life in a posture of humble, kneeling submission would be?

*  *  *

"Greater love has no one than this, than [s]he who lays down [their] life for [their] friends." 

And who are our friends? 

*  *  *

White Christians: Who are our friends?


 

Luke 10:25-37  

On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

“What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?”

He answered, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”

“You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.”

But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”

In reply Jesus said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. ³⁵ The next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’

“Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”

The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.”

Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.”

"Live in the tension," she said.

I feel compelled to write something, and so I will. Though the story is much longer than what time allots at this moment, I sense that a snippet is needed to share right now at this moment. 

A moment where narratives are held in great anticipation and contradiction:

The Cleveland Indians might win the World Series.

The Standing Rock Sioux tribe (and many others) are gathered together to stop the pipeline being built across the nation.

The election is in one week. 

Anticipation. Unknown. Standstill. And yet so present.

How is it that I'm existing among so many contrasting things? What is this space of in-between where I find myself? Why now?

On Friday I fly out to Kansas for "Would Jesus Eat Frybread?," a conference for Native students navigating the intersection of faith and culture. I don't have words for the depth of what it is to have been invited to be present in such a sacred space of processing, healing, and community. And I know beyond knowing that I will come back on Monday changed. I am open to the process. 

As many of my peers belted "Go Tribe!" today, I found myself packing and preparing for the conference. On Saturday there is a time of cultural sharing. I haven't felt much anxiety about going to the conference, but when I read the email which said to bring a gift for the night of cultural sharing, I felt my throat closing slightly. What does it mean for me, a European American, to bring a cultural gift? What represents where I come from? More importantly than that, what kind of gift could I bring that represents where I come from while acknowledging the injustice of how where I come from came to be?

The truth is I never questioned anything regarding indigenous peoples growing up until I became dear friends with an indigenous person. Well, that's not entirely true--I remember being eight and hearing the story of Thanksgiving and stating that it seemed mean that "Native Americans welcomed us and then gave us gifts and then got killed and pushed off their land." The dissonance never quite settled in me, but I never had answers from teachings to fill my confusion. (Manifest Destiny was the goal after all, right?) When dissonance is too great, you just let things go to make harmony within yourself. 

And so I find myself in an entirely different space over 15 years later, packing to go to a conference for Natives who are seeking harmony in their stories of dissonance, too. The narratives are much different than mine contextually, and yet there is a common thread in that we are all seeking. And I find myself seeking with so many questions of the Church and intercultural trauma and healing. 

This weekend all that I am seeking is to show up and be fully present in each and every moment as it unravels in story. 

But in the midst of all of this reflection I am still unsure of what gift to bring. Nothing I can think of seems appropriate, and so I ask the one who invited me for advice. He shares much, but what I take away is this: "Bring something of great value." And all at once I know in my being what to offer, and it is something of great value.   

Encircled around the rearview mirror of my car is a lei. It was given to me by my friend (and former Mission Year teammate from Hawai'i) as I left O'ahu during my visit in June. The lei has been commercialized and caricatured, but it is a sign of friendship, honor, greeting, and celebration. In the case of this lei, it was a gift of goodbye as I boarded the plane for the long flight back to Ohio. During the plane ride the flowers slowly died, and when I got back I chose to hang the strand of dried flowers on my rearview mirror, not quite sure what to do with it, but it's symbolism being too rich to simply discard. 

It is relationship that causes us to care, and relationship that causes us to change. Listening to one another's stories opens us to viewing the world differently, and challenging where we came from, what we believe, and how we view things. In this case, the story of me beginning to understand myself as a colonizer through the eyes of the colonized has been a story of many tears, restless nights, and inability to move forward during a year in Philadelphia and beyond. Yet I am convinced that the way forward is continuing to listen, repent, and partnering as invited into the work of intercultural healing.  

I'm bringing a lei not because I'm Hawaiian, but because it was a person from Hawai'i who embodied the missing narrative that I sought to hear when I was eight and I said "I don't think this was fair." I'm bringing a lei to acknowledge that through this friendship I was invited into healing within myself as a colonizer, and that I am committed to continue the hard work of repentance and healing. I'm bringing a lei because the reasons I care so much for Natives on the mainland is because of the influence of Natives from another land. To me the two are intertwined. I'm bringing a lei because it symbolizes friendship and honor which was given to me, and now I seek to give to others, a commitment to continually sow what has been sown in me as I relate to and am in partnership with indigenous peoples. 

I share all of this to say that the Cleveland Indians might win the World Series tonight, and I'm bringing a lei as a gift to a conference in Kansas for Native students the weekend before the election between Hilary Clinton and Donald Trump. 

Anticipation. Unknown. Standstill. And yet so present.