What I’m learning about race and the body of Christ

[intro]Philippians 2:4  “Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.” [/intro]

When Michael Brown was shot in Ferguson, I was confused. To me, it seemed like a sad, but typical, news story. Someone shot by the police in a town far away from me. This was a story that had nothing to do with me or anyone I knew. Yes, it was a white cop with a gun and a black man who was shot, but was there any evidence that race was a motivation? I didn’t have the facts, and honestly, I tend to trust the justice system in these situations.

But then I saw the outcry. Not just from the media, but from my African-American friends. My first thought was “We don’t even know the facts!”  “There’s an officer’s life in the balance too.” “Shouldn’t we wait to see what happened until we start getting upset?” I didn’t understand it and didn’t think I needed to.

As we know, it didn’t stop with Michael Brown. A black man shopping for a toy gun was shot and killed in a Dayton, Ohio Wal-Mart. A kid with a toy gun was shot in Cleveland.  Eric Garner was choked to death in New York. The posts on Twitter and Facebook kept coming. Unrest on the ground kept these stories in the news. I started to realize that maybe I’m not seeing this the same way as my black friends for a reason. Maybe the lens I’m viewing the world through is more “white” than I thought. I wondered why we all seemed to be speaking a different language when it came to this case.

So, I did the only thing I could think of – I started to have conversations with my friends.

In these conversations I heard frustration and pain. This pain was based on real, tangible experiences of injustice, suspicion, and control.

I asked one friend “Why is this Ferguson thing such a big deal?” His response wasn’t a political argument, instead it was story after story of profiling, abuse, and suspicion in his own life. At one point he told me how he was walking down the street with a backpack on and headphones blasting. An officer came up to him, grabbed him and yelled, “Why didn’t you turn around when I told you to?” Scared, my friend said, “Sorry, my headphones.” The officer proceeded to dump the contents of his backpack onto the sidewalk, breaking several items, before letting him go. This friend of mine is a good man. He loves his family, loves God, works hard, never gets in trouble; and yet, he’s scared for the lessons he’ll have to teach his son about what it means to stay safe as a black citizen in America.

So for me, I’m realizing this is a lifelong struggle for people who have been seen as “other” by our most powerful authority figures who also happen to carry guns and batons. This is not to disparage the good men and women who risk their lives to serve and protect, I have family members who are in law enforcement and have known many officers who do their job well and treat people with respect. But it is eye-opening to see how my friends’ experiences differ from mine and how that affects the way they see these situations.

My friends may be right or wrong in regard to the facts of a particular case and what justice should look like. I don’t know. But I do know that they’ve been hurt in ways that I haven’t because my privilege protects me. I’ve see police as protectors and defenders. They see police as controllers looking for a reason to take you down. After years of feeling like a target, it wears on a person and on a community.

So right now my posture is to listen, pray and speak words of encouragement and unity with my brothers and sisters.

Scripture tells us in 1st Corinthians 12:12-13 “Just as a body, though one, has many parts, but all its many parts form one body, so it is with Christ. For we were all baptized by one Spirit so as to form one body—whether Jews or Gentiles, slave or free—and we were all given the one Spirit to drink.”

When I stub my toe, my body is in pain. My hand may not be hurting, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. My body is in pain, and my body is now working together to heal itself. That’s our job now as the church with Christ as the head. If you’re not feeling the pain, guess what?  The other members of the body need you.

It starts with real conversations with people. It means acknowledging and engaging in the real pain our brothers and sisters are feeling. It means making an effort to see past our (name your color) lenses to seek the benefit of others, not just ourselves. It means not brushing sin and injustice aside, but instead leaning on the Gospel and the fact that Jesus has made us one in Him.

Image credit: Robert Cohen, St. Louis Post-Dispatch/AP