What does one preach on the first Sunday back from a 12-week sabbatical? I had hoped to preach something light and fluffy, perhaps full of stories about camping in Yellowstone or swimming in Yosemite in the crystal clear Merced River—right beneath El Capitan.
In addition to happy stories, I also wanted to acknowledge the amazing work and ministry the Govans congregation has done over the past 12 weeks. So many of you have taken up the mantle of leadership through preaching, pastoral care, mission and organizing. I have come back to a church that has not been idle—just waiting for my return—but that has sent a work team to our neighborhood Habitat for Humanity site, made improvements to our physical building, continued the community garden and community-supported agriculture pickup, kept the labyrinth weeded, and come together to worship as one congregation during the summer when folks usually head off in many different directions.
I hope you know how amazed and grateful and proud I am about your work this summer. Yet, beyond the walls of this wonderful place, events in the world have been disturbing and painful. Instead of the light and fluffy sermon I wanted to give, I feel compelled on this first Sunday back to respond to some of the injustice we have heard about this summer out in the world. In particular, the killing of Michael Brown by a police officer in Ferguson, Missouri, cries out for a response.
As I address the issues raised by this tragedy, I will briefly make a personal connection between the events in Ferguson, my sabbatical, and ministry here at Govans. The killing happened on August 9th at 12:01pm. I was home after a 40-day trip with my family across the country with three weeks left to complete my sabbatical. As the news began to break and the story developed about what happened that day—the peaceful protests, the looting, the violent police response, the biased media coverage and hashtags like “Iftheygunnedmedown,”—as it all entered into the national spotlight, I found that the one place I wanted to be was at this church. I wanted to talk with the members of my church family about these events. I wanted to hear how people were responding. I wanted to think together about what we could do as Christians and as a congregation. In other words, it was confirmed for me through this sabbatical that Govans Presbyterian is my home. Govans Presbyterian is where I am called to live out the Gospel in this world. And of all the things I discerned on sabbatical, that may be the most important.
So, let’s talk about it. We could discuss the particular events and incidents of those days and try to judge the actions of the police or Michael Brown or the protestors or the media. However, there is something much greater at work here than the singular choices of individuals. The events of Ferguson have made plain what minorities, and African Americans in particular, have always known. American society as a system is biased against them. Racism is not just a feeling; it is a reality they face every day with real consequences for daily life. One term used to summarize this institutional racism is “white privilege.”
I had heard of and even studied the concepts of white privilege and institutional racism before they were raised in the context of the events in Ferguson. However, these events have brought these realities into harsh relief and have left me convicted to seek some kind of constructive action in response.
Before I continue talking about white privilege, I must acknowledge what is obvious. I speak and think about these things from a particular social context: I am a white, heterosexual, able bodied, married man between the ages of 25-50. So without consciously choosing to, I experience every unjustly-and-unfairly-given social advantage our society offers. So I speak about white privilege as a white person who in many ways doesn’t really “get it” even though I understand the concept. But, I also speak as the Pastor, the spiritual leader, the shepherd and caregiver of a congregation of people who fall all along the spectrum of social advantages and disadvantages. Our church contains women, African Americans and other non-white people, immigrants, disabled, elderly, children and LGBT persons—as well as white men. Though society would seek to divide us by treating each of us differently, as a congregation we are in this together. We are a family. As a pastor, I have a unique responsibility to advocate for justice for all the people of this congregation. And you have the responsibility as people in this congregation to hold me accountable to my blind spots on these issues. Together, we have the responsibility as Christians to advocate for a fair and just world. We respond as people who are each different and are all united.
So let me just say a few words about my understanding of white privilege. White privilege is real. Michael Brown is dead because of white privilege. He is dead because he was walking while black. We could say he should have acted differently when confronted by the police officer, but black people have always known that, when it comes to confrontations with the police, the safest response often can be a humiliating, soul-crushing experience. Even then, if you try to do everything the officer instructs, you could end up in handcuffs or worse. If my son Oscar responded imperfectly to a police officer, he would be given a lot more leeway than Michael Brown was given.
Wikipedia defines white privilege as “a term for societal privileges, existing in predominantly white societies, that benefit white people beyond what is commonly experienced by non-white people in the same social, political, or economic circumstances. The term denotes both obvious and less obvious unspoken advantages that white persons may not recognize they have, which distinguishes it from overt bias or prejudice. These include cultural affirmations of one’s own worth; presumed greater social status; and freedom to move, buy, work, play, and speak freely. The concept of white privilege also implies the right to assume the universality of one’s own experiences, marking others as different or exceptional while perceiving oneself as normal.”
It is also timely to note on this Labor Day Weekend that the concept of white privilege can be traced back to discussions about the labor movement in America. The concept, though not the name, was first suggested by W.E.B Du Bois, the sociologist, historian, civil rights activist and co-founder of the NAACP. Du Bois suggested that within the labor movement, low-wage white workers and low-wage black workers were not equal. He suggested that low-wage white workers received a “psychological wage” that low-wage black workers did not receive. In 1935, in his book, Black Reconstruction in America 1860-1880, he wrote, “It must be remembered that the white group of laborers, while they received a low wage, were compensated in part by a sort of public and psychological wage. They were given public deference and titles of courtesy because they were white. They were admitted freely with all classes of white people to public functions, public parks, and the best schools. The police were drawn from their ranks, and the courts, dependent on their votes, treated them with such leniency as to encourage lawlessness. Their vote selected public officials, and while this had small effect upon the economic situation, it had great effect upon their personal treatment and the deference shown them. White schoolhouses were the best in the community, and conspicuously placed, and they cost anywhere from twice to ten times as much per capita as the colored schools. The newspapers specialized on news that flattered the poor whites and almost utterly ignored the Negro except in crime and ridicule.” Does any of that sound familiar?
I read a blog recently by a white pastor, Jeremy Dowsett, who commutes to work on a bike in Detroit, Michigan. The title of his blog was “What Riding a Bike Has Taught Me About White Privilege.” He explains that as a bicyclist he must deal with an entire transportation infrastructure designed for cars. When he rides a bike on that auto-centric infrastructure, which he has every right to do, he is a second-class citizen. He is subject to frustration, humiliation and life threatening danger every day. He points out that some of the drivers are intentionally hostile, but most drivers he shares the road with are not bad people nor are they intentionally trying to harm him. But if they are in a car traveling on an infrastructure built for cars, they are going to enjoy privilege that he does not and their enjoyment of that privilege contributes to his disadvantage and threatens him in multiple ways. I found this analogy smart and helpful because it makes clear that white people are not bad or even necessarily racist when they experience white privilege, and yet the social system advantages them whether they choose it or not—while simultaneously disadvantaging non-white people. The way cars and bikes share a physical infrastructure that is inequitably designed, we all share a social infrastructure that is inequitably designed.
So the question is what do we do about this? What do we do as Christians? What do we do as a congregation of diverse people who experience the whole spectrum of social privilege and social disadvantage? How do we respond as a church? I don’t have all the answers, but to get that conversation started, I would like to suggest that it is not enough to just talk about the problem. It is not enough only to study or educate ourselves or even to try to persuade or enlighten a few other people. We have to find ways as a congregation to confront the system.
In the Old Testament Scripture passage, Moses is called to confront the unjust system of his time. He is called to confront Pharaoh, the figurehead of the oppressive, racist system, under which the Hebrew people labor. He is not supposed only to minister to the needs of the people and comfort them in their distress. He is not supposed only to educate the oppressor. He is called to go and liberate. Make change. Make a difference.
In our New Testament Scripture passage, Jesus calls us to take up our cross and follow him. Jesus confronted the unjust systems of his day. He confronted the oppressive system of his own religion in that day, and he confronted the oppressive system of the Roman Empire as it occupied his homeland. As a result, he sacrificed himself on a Roman cross. Because of his willingness to make that sacrifice, he died and then rose (not as a single person, but) as the body of Christ in the world in the form of the Christian Church. Today we are called as the body of Christ to continue to confront injustice in the world in real and tangible ways.
As a white, male, heterosexual, able bodied, married person between 25-50, I know I have blind spots when I think about how to respond. I need to hear your thoughts; how can we confront the unjust systems of the world as the Body of Christ? That said, I will lift up one possible course of action to begin the conversation (that you will recognize if you have read my Sabbatical Report).
I believe we, as a congregation, have to go out into our neighborhoods. We need to get outside the walls of this church and into the world together. We have to go out and be present. I’m not talking about doing projects like Habitat or GEDCO. Those are good and important and we should do them, but there is a difference between going out to fix something and going out to be present. Institutional racism is something you can’t fix with a program, but perhaps we can do something with presence. And I think we need to go into all the neighborhoods. Ideally we need to go as mixed race groups. We need to go down to Woodbourne and York, we need to go into Homeland. We need to go to McCabe and we need to go to Stoneleigh. We need to engage people along all points of the spectrum of social advantage and disadvantage. We need to go where it is not comfortable. That discomfort is part of the crucifixion that we are called to experience. It is part of taking up the cross.
I don’t have a grand plan except to be out in the world together. But somehow I believe that our presence out in our neighborhoods is a first step in confronting and even changing systems of injustice. This is not something we can do from inside the church. Moses could not liberate the Hebrew people while he stood barefoot at the burning bush. He had to put on his shoes and go out. Maybe we just walk together around our neighborhoods. Maybe we get some coffee or takeout and go eat together on a city bench or park bench by a fish pond.
If you are interested or willing to join me in this project, please let me know and let’s do it. Tell me your ideas, and let’s talk about them together. But, we have to do something. Another unarmed black youth is dead. Another community is in turmoil. White privilege or, if you prefer, institutional racism is real, and it is dangerous. We have a responsibility as the body of Christ in the world to respond.
One thing I’ve come to believe, both before and through my sabbatical, is being a Christian is about action. Christians are defined by how they act. We put our bodies on the line. We do something. We take up crosses. We don’t just look at them. We don’t just believe. We don’t just think a certain way. We act. Let’s do something together.
Rev. Tom Harris
August, 31, 2014
Posted by tomharris1972 
Govans Presbyterian Church 