A call to reflection, repentance, reconciliation, and renewal.

The death of George Floyd shocked the world. We all have our views, opinions, and responses. I have been troubled and saddened by the polarisation of adopted positions, the special pleading from various sides of what is now a dangerous divide.

What to say, if anything? Silence allows time to think, right enough. But moral imperatives are rarely fulfilled by silence. A time comes to speak. I trust that I speak humbly, hesitantly, and hopefully.

Regular readers here will know this is a place where I explore what it means to follow Christ faithfully in out times and places. My starting point is how to live well as a Christian in a beautiful, broken, complex and God-loved world. That is expressed in the words of Thomas More, in Bolton's 'A Man for all Seasons', words from which this blog took its name,

"God made the angels to show His splendour – as He made animals for innocence and plants for their simplicity. But men and women He made to serve Him wittily, in the tangle of their minds."

I take "living wittily" to mean faithfully, intelligently, self-critically, with integrity, hopefully, or to use another of my favourite phrases, "to look humanely forth on human life."

What I am offering in this post is three things. A set of suppositions, some "what ifs" that imagine changes in mindset on all sides – by changes of mindset I mean the theological and spiritual reality of repentance. Secondly a text out of context, but capable of standing alone as a call to repentance and change. Thirdly a prayer which acknowledges the intransigence and complexity of racism as a vast multiplex problem, and seeks to be specific in confession and trusting in its prayer for change.

For my part, I see racism as a problem that starts in the human heart, but it never just stops there. It is then inevitably released as a toxin into social structures, causing a festering wound in institutions and systems, and becoming a pervasive offence to the purposes of God for human flourishing in justice, mercy and humility before God. Theologically, racism is sin, and sin is personal, social, structural and systemic. 

All of this set me thinking of what might be possible

if in acknowledging the raw grief caused by racists and racism;

if in witnessing seemingly endless suffering inflicted by racists and racism;

if in hearing voices of righteous anger and protest against racists and racism;

if being alert to the dangers of creeping despair at the seeming intransigence of the racist mindset;

if refusing to give credence to voices of denial that say there is no racism where it is clearly to be seen;

what then might be possible, if our minds were finally and fundamentally changed about racism, and our own part in it?

Supposing all that.        

Supposing, instead of pontificating and daring to instruct others about what racism is, we shut up and for once listen to the voices of those whose experience contradicts our certainties about how right we are and how truthfully we see the world?

Racism is complex, deep, destructive and real.

 

Supposing we took off the earphones that pump into our minds only the playlist we have chosen, playing only the music we like, reflecting only the view of the world we agree with, drowning out other voices we do not want to hear, or think we do not need to hear?

Racism thrives on excluding the noise of other people's pain.

 

Supposing instead of defending our own certainties with our prejudiced arguments, we made enough time and space for truth to be spoken that may question those certainties and prejudices?

Racism is deep untruth about the worth and rights of others.

 

Supposing instead of shooting off about what we think, and telling others where they are wrong we first, possibly breaking the habit of a lifetime, consider we may ourselves be wrong, and in desperate moral need to stand corrected?

Racism is a form of moral, because wilful blindness.

 

Supposing we were more intellectually humble, more righteous in our thinking, more merciful in our judgements, more careful with our words, more reticent about our opinions, and more open to that revision of thought which is repentance, a willingness to be taught to think and act differently?

Racism is an offence against Who God is and what God requires of us.

 

Supposing then, we repent of our own complicity in the institutional systems, national histories, ingrained attitudes, intentional social structures, embedded language, and personal involvement in the continuation of cultures which enable and sustain the complex wiring of the racist mindset?

Racism can be at one and the same time, personal, social, institutional, cultural, structural and systemic.

 

Supposing then, we were to begin to show proper humility of heart, an enacted righteousness in how we live, seeking embodied justice in our systems, promoting mercy by our words and actions, creating a culture of genuine justice for all people, in obedience to God in whose image every human being is created?

Supposing? 

Supposing this text, and that huge conditional starting, and startling "If"? 

"If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land." (2 Chronicles 7.14)

The prayer below is from Chris Hall, President of Renovare, a Christian renewal group founded by the Quaker, Richard Foster. The context of the prayer is the United States; its relevance reaches beyond national boundaries to the human family wherever we happen to live. 

“Lord, have mercy.”

• We have refused to lis­ten atten­tive­ly to our black and brown broth­ers’ and sis­ters’ cry for jus­tice. Lord, have mercy.

• We have been deaf to the prophet’s call: ​“And he looked for jus­tice, but saw blood­shed; for right­eous­ness, but heard cries of dis­tress.” (Isa­iah 5:7b). Lord, have mer­cy.

• We have been intel­lec­tu­al­ly lazy and moral­ly obtuse.  Our minds and hearts lis­ten only to voic­es that rein­force opin­ions we already hold. Lord, have mercy.

• We have been blind to our com­pla­cen­cy and com­plic­i­ty. Lord, have mercy.

• We have car­i­ca­tured or ignored books, poems, art, and films that chal­lenge our prej­u­dice and rebuke our igno­rance. Lord, have mercy.

• We have been com­plic­it in a cul­ture that delights in false­hood and dis­re­gards the truth. Lord, have mercy.

• We have expect­ed applause for our fee­ble thoughts and tot­ter­ing steps toward your pre­cious image bear­ers who dai­ly expe­ri­ence the hatred and vio­lence of racism. Lord, have mercy.

• We have been self-absorbed and self-deceived. Lord, have mercy.

• We have pre­ferred teach­ing rather than being taught. Lord, have mercy.

• We have manip­u­lat­ed and exploit­ed. Lord, have mercy.

• We have feared los­ing our ​“rights,” while with­hold­ing rights from the gen­uine­ly oppressed and des­per­ate. Lord, have mercy.

• We have lacked steady com­pas­sion and stur­dy courage. Our response to the evil of racism has been short-lived and shal­low. Lord, have mercy.

• We have loved the big deal and shunned hid­den ser­vice. Lord, have mer­cy.

• We have hat­ed our ene­mies and loved those who love us. Lord, have mer­cy.

• We have equat­ed the Unit­ed States of Amer­i­ca with the king­dom of God. Lord, have mercy.

• We have embraced pow­er and ignored the demands of love. Lord, have mercy.

• We have delight­ed in cul­tur­al con­flict and dis­dained the pur­suit of peace and  under­stand­ing. Lord, have mercy.

• We have walled out the alien and the for­eign­er. Lord, have mercy.

• We have enact­ed unjust and oppres­sive laws. Lord, have mercy.

• We have incar­cer­at­ed the poor and released the rich and pow­er­ful. Lord, have mercy.

• We have glad­ly trav­elled the wide and easy road that leads to destruc­tion and avoid­ed the nar­row road that leads to life. Lord, have mercy.

Oh, Lord, we have sinned,
against you and against our neigh­bor,
in the things we have done, and the things we have left undone.
We acknowl­edge our igno­rance and will­ful neglect. 

For­give us. Cleanse us. Renew us.
Reset our moral com­pass.
Fill the wind of our sails with the breath of your Spir­it.
Pro­pel us to the places and peo­ple who can teach us to love in new and unex­pect­ed ways. 

We plead for deep­er courage and com­pas­sion.
We ask for a qui­et, teach­able spirit. 

Give us love and humil­i­ty to erase the bound­ary lines we drew in fear.
Expand our vision to life and flour­ish­ing for all – from the unborn to those liv­ing on death row. We invite you, we wel­come you, to plant new seeds in the gar­den of our minds and hearts.  Amen

Supposing all this?