Coming to terms with racism

Fourth in a series on racism
If I was to write an autobiography I think I would title it “Stumbling toward Christ” or something along that vein. Friends know I have said before with undertones of sadness, “I am one of God's slow learners.” I don't wear the label proudly, but with a deep understanding some of the lessons of God's grace have had to seep into my soul and mind. It was a slow process. I brought a lot of baggage and carried a lot of baggage through my walk with Christ. Two plus two in Kingdom math is not always easy to figure out. It is the way of grace, and the patience of God. That is what keeps us from perishing. He brings us into the family because He wants us, and is fully aware of what it will take to “raise us” to be a Kingdom Adult. I think I have always been at the back of the class.

Racism is not a word I often use because it is the more modern word, and as I frequently tell people, “I am old.” In my growing up it was called “prejudice.” Nice and neat, easily denied and more easily overlooked. My family knows and all who knows me this prejudice did not rest easy on my heart or mind. I just could not figure it out—or did not want to figure it out. Within the bubble of prejudice I saw the nobility of my mother and father's behavior toward the blacks who were in our sphere of influence. I remember my dad sending me down to “the flats” as they were called in our time to find a certain person. I don't remember why, but he told me, “Go down to the flats and stop at the first person you see and tell them you are J.L Chancellor's son and he has sent you down to pick up _______.” I did and they did. My dad was known and respected in the black community. I thought even more of my dad on that day. Then our cleaning lady died suddenly, and mom went to pay her respects. She was told Mae would not be prepared for viewing until her family came up with the money to prepare her and for the casket. Mom was shocked and she told the Funeral Director Mae had a funeral policy she paid on weekly. The Funeral Director knew nothing about that policy. Mom called dad sobbing. My mother has been a force of nature, but sobbing she is a tsunami. Dad did two things, first he said, “How much does the funeral home need to get her ready? I will write a check.” Then he called his insurance guy. As it settled out, Baker Life Insurance of Dallas had a salesman who would go door to collect weekly payments on insurance in the flats and pocket the money. There were no policies, all had lapsed. Dad was furious. Baker Life insurance paid, the salesman was fired and the tsunami passed over.

I look back and those memories and experiences frame my unease with prejudice. Within their experience and understanding, Dad and mother would never hurt anyone and was deeply loyal to each who works for them.

So my journey of trying to see, understand, and make sense of a nation whose founding documents were contradicted by the culture and the people who were sacrificed to make “a more perfect union.” My love of this country is deep and profound. I want to live no place else. I want to travel, but I always want to return to my bed in America. However, from the beginning of this nation, the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and then the Bill of Rights, a conscious decision was made to compromise on slavery and the buying and selling of people. George Washington was a part of that, Thomas Jefferson a part of that. The list is long and indicting.

It was my middle son and his family spending time at Cambridge England, that resulted in his perspective and that was, how poisonous slavery was to the American blood stream. It is our national original sin. Signing documents which affirmed the equality of all persons, and yet keep some ethnic groups imprisoned in slavery or as the object of extermination (the Native Americans). Theologically, we know the meaning of original sin. It simply means it is the the pool from which we all drink and are therefore poisoned. These were America's original sins.

My mind cannot unremember an encounter I had with a chain bus driver who brought a load of offenders to Polunsky. Those getting off at this prison stop and some came out of the bus. Some were returning from doctor's appointments, or other reasons. I remember that I called out to one of the offenders to get his attention. He was known to me. I prefaced his last name with the address “Mr.” The white driver went ballistic. “How dare you call them “Mr” they are convicts and criminals. You don't call them by that respectful title!” Fortunately I have learned to hold my tongue, but determined in the future if I ever dealt with him, I would simply respond, “You call them what you want to, I will call them by the address I am comfortable with. I raised by a father who respected all life.”

So at the ripe old age of certifiably old, I am still on the journey. My ability to quickly form opinions out of my vast knowledge has been laid aside because the truth is, I know less than I know for sure. That is why I listen, I read, I think, and I try to follow the Spirit's leadership as He helps me understand the heart of God.

I have no doubt God's heart is broken at this time in our culture. His word continually reminds of us of that. Hosea 6:6 sounds a refrain from the heart of God, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice. And acknowledgment of God rather than burnt offerings.”

As one of God's slow learners, I can tell you what this means in our time. It means we reach out beyond our comfort zone to care and understand. Caring has a way of covering a multitude of ignorance. It means we take the time to listen. I can tell you without equivocation there are voices in America that have not been heard. Hate, and fear has drowned them out. They must be heard, and more that that, they must help us find a better way.

All these years after the Declaration of Independence was signed as one of the great documents of history and people—real people are still oppressed and marginalized. We need to come around them, energize them with our strength, and create a force in our time that cannot be ignored, or dismissed. “Black Lives Matter” and white believers need to say that and believe that. It is not that “white lives don't matter,” it is that Black lives matter as much as any other life. That really is the point. Even today, that is not true. It is time for it to be different.

Wash your hands, mind the gap and be kind.