When a White "Sorry" Is Not Enough

When a White "Sorry" Is Not Enough

by Dean Borgman

Pentecost Sunday, and I just can’t get the sight of that white knee on a black neck out of my mind…. Just weeks after 25-year-old Black man Ahmaud Arbery was shot to death while jogging… Black police officer Breonna Taylor shot to death by white police in her own apartment… reminding us of a long list… including Eric Garner in 2014--also strangled by a wrongful police chokehold.

We’ve watched the slow and reluctant response of the police departments and police unions and town officials… and unresponsiveness up the line of our justice system to the Executive office itself. We’re forced to wonder about official response to a black knee on a white neck…. I’m left dazed and frustrated. 

My personal white apologies to close African American friends fall flat—I can sense it. They have seen it all… over and over… and experienced their own indignities. They have heard voices of seeming remorse with no systemic change… too often before. They know this painful cycle of oppression and are quite sure that hollow amends will continue. What can be done… until I… all of us… are able to see ourselves as part of the problem… before any solution can come?

Before we ponder solutions and suggest some new strategy, we must hear, more clearly than ever before, the depths of our problem. Few of us Whites have taken enough time to listen…  to really hear… what Black people have experienced along all the way since 1619… and how it really feels going into the fifth century since then. How does such a trail of racial travesties affect Blacks and Whites? Adequate response will take more painful time and effort than most of us have ever taken.

The Westminster Presbyterian Church of Minneapolis invited Princeton professor Eddie Gloude to speak on “Racism and the Soul of America,” (13Sep16) This look into White America’s soul from a Black perspective is painful… while perhaps prophetic as to the events of this past week in that same city.  This video speech is slow getting started but soon gets to the heart of systemic racism in America. Have we taken the time to listen to it… have we heard its diagnosis?

But how is it that so many White Christians, have through the centuries, failed to support the oppressed? Jesus announced his Gospel and personal Mission statement by saying:

 “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me

to bring good news to the poor… to let the oppressed go free.”  (Luke 4:18)

In my life experience, growing up in a strong church, majoring in Bible and Theology, teaching in a White Seminary… this announcement of Jesus did not seem prominent… nor protests against systemic racism a priority… from Martin Luther King, Jr.’s time up until now.

A second Black voice comes to us from the pastor of Washington D.C.’ Metropolitan African Methodist Episcopal Church, The Rev. William H. Lamar IV, preaching on: “It’s not just the coronavirus, it’s bad theology killing us:”

Here is what he had to say:

"There comes a time when being nice is the worst kind of violence. This is especially true for the many Christians who erroneously conflate being nice with following Jesus. No more euphemisms. No more pretending. No more craving the annual Martin Luther King Jr. Day “Kumbaya.”

"I believe it is time for those who claim to follow Jesus to declare, without equivocation, that white evangelicalism is a morally bankrupt, bone-crushing theological system devoid of any semblance of the deity incarnate in Christ."

"Multiple factors are responsible for the alarming death rates that black, brown, Native American and poor white communities are experiencing from the novel coronavirus. Mendacious, misanthropic political leadership. A so-called health care system driven by profit and not human flourishing. An economic reality where even the below-a-living-wage money earned by poor and working-class people is siphoned off to the wealthy via tax cuts and tax policies that force wage earners to pay a larger share than dividend earners."

"American white evangelicalism is the offspring of the religion of settler colonialists, and the raison d’etre of settler colonialism is to remove an existing population and replace it with another. Settler colonialism is always violent, and it always has a theological system to support it.

"COVID-19—and its impact on black and brown communities—is the American empire in viral form. It lodges itself among the poor and feasts upon them. They cannot socially distance in tight, squalid quarters. They cannot wash their hands in lead-ridden water in Flint. We are having digital funerals for people who live in a city where Congress refuses to extend the health benefits… they themselves enjoy."

"This bad theology of who belongs and who does not, of who is worthy and who is not, has the blood of my parishioners on its hands. How would the novel coronavirus be affecting my community if the God-talk of white evangelicals, whose theology controls our political landscape, sounded more like Jesus?"

A third Black voice this Pentecost Sunday 2020 offers hope through Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit. It reaches into the richness of the Black experience for spiritual hope and more effective efforts for the common good. The voice is that of our national Episcopal Presiding Bishop Michael Curry: 

As a white man, I can’t say this so eloquently or as effectively. May the collective worldly- centeredness and individual-egocentricity of our systems be overcome with loving justice. May we, of all ethnicities and political parties, be able to hear this plea for our common good: the hope of God’s kingdom come and God’s will be done… for global health, for our national healing, and for the common good for all…. Through the love of Jesus Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit.

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Dean Borgman is a retired (but still teaching) professor of Youth and Family Ministries and Social Ethics at Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary. He is an assisting Episcopal priest at Christ Church, Hamilton-Wenham and works as a part-time consultant for the Emmanuel Gospel Center in Boston. His experience in youth work is both suburban and urban, church and parachurch, national and international. He was involved in Young Life for several years, including YL’s early urban work on Manhattan’s Lower East Side and Young Life’s Urban Training Institute in NYC. He has taught for several years in Africa besides leading classes and workshops in several countries. His books include Hear My Story: Understanding the Cries of Troubled Youth, 2003, and Foundations for Youth Ministry: Theological Engagement with Teen Life and Culture, 2013. Dean received a Youth Ministry Lifetime Achievement Award from the Association of Youth Ministry Educators in 2006 and from Youth Specialties in 2013. Dean and his wife Gail live in Rockport, MA and have four grown children with twelve grandchildren.

LEARN MORE

EGC is issuing a series of 1st person reflections in response to the killing of Mr. George Floyd, in the hope that each unique voice might be heard, that we might each speak to the part of the Body that we are nearest to, and that together as a team we might disrupt the sin-cancer of white supremacy and our beloved church’s addiction to simple answers.

The Journey for Justice: How Lament Powers Repair

by Liza Cagua-Koo

The Journey for Justice: How Lament Powers Repair

We are a world in tremendous pain, and as we convulse with it in our inner being, Jesus is standing at the door knocking.  His spirit is knocking urgently at the door of the church, his Body.  He's here, looking for the sick and those who welcome resurrection.  We are each individually and through our local expressions of church now making decisions to answer that knock, or not. 

Pursuing God's ways of dealing with pain through lament are the strong foundation from which we can engage productively and perseveringly in the work of justice and healing.  Unless we figure out what to do with pain in an ongoing way, we won't last in the cross-bearing partnership Jesus is calling us into.

Unless we figure out what to do with pain in an ongoing way, we won't last in the cross-bearing partnership Jesus is calling us into.

In this 3-part series I will share what I’m learning about running a marathon against injustice, and the interrelated centrality of pain, lament and repair.  This first reflection attempts to bring some texture to the pain I am seeing in others and in myself.

We Are in Pain 

We are in pain.  I bear witness to it here, in my limited way, and pour out my anguished cry out before God now and in the presence of those who might have an ear to hear. 

Selah.

There is a pain that no human can really hold consciously in its fullness: the depth of the suffering of even one person who faces chronic systemic dehumanization from white supremacy culture and systems.  Only God can fully bear the parental soul pain of having "the talk", the bone-deep exhaustion of the black tax, the mental trauma of being continuously gaslit when you've tried to name the systemic pattern throughout your life, and for generations. 

This is the pain of fighting to honor your imago dei when your experience at school, at the doctor's office, with the loan officer, or with the police, screams otherwise. And now, in this unexpected moment opened up by the straw-break of one horrifying video, there is the jolting pain of seeing the world you've been living in suddenly perceived by those on the outside. 

And as this other world outside your door seems to be waking, as white strangers kneel along a funeral route honoring George Floyd, Breonna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery, as targeting systemic injustice becomes a thing, there is the pain of daring to hope that this will lead to something.   And another kind of suffering manifests: the pain of figuring out a new way to be and to lead, in the face of eager white folks wanting to make it all better but not ready to face the cost to them of what repair might entail.

Selah.

There is another kind of pain: the pain of having your understanding of the world blown up into cinders.  The pain of deconstructing a comforting world that has rested on the myth of meritocracy, on the myth of American exceptionalism, and the misguided understanding that there are good and bad people in the world and all rests on individual choices, untethered from systems and their behavior.  The pain of betrayal of where you put your trust (your parents, your schooling, your history), and worse: the pain of sensing some level of responsibility now that you know something is deeply wrong. 

And when, finally, you come to terms with this new world, and decide to step forth into the struggle against systemic injustice, there is the pain of not knowing what to do, of making mistakes, of having your good intentions mean very little in the face of the impact of your actual choices. Here too is the pain of not knowing where to take your pain, because the world that has been oppressed does not have room for it.

Selah.

And there's the kind of pain I know best: the pain of being part of a group dehumanized by white supremacy while at the same time cooperating with white supremacy in order to survive it. 

This is a diverse nexus with many kinds of pain and expressions.  The pain of white-presenting Latinos who've gone along with being "white" and have let go of their roots.  The pain of non-white-presenting Latinos who've gone along with being tokens.  The pain of black-presenting Latinos marginalized within their own community because of colorism and anti-blackness in it.  The pain of seeing other people of color (POC) weaponized against our efforts for justice. The pain of seeing POC standing on the sidelines of those efforts, like when recent immigrants are quick to separate ourselves from historically disenfranchised groups here and distance ourselves from their cause. 

I well remember my first cries at school in Boston of "I'm Colombian!  I'm not Puerto Rican!" when my 8-year-old mind subconsciously tuned into that demonic wavelength broadcasting that Puerto Ricans were less than, as I witnessed my white teachers routinely chastising them and expecting little from them.  So much pain that the disease of white supremacy has caused the non-white immigrant communities as it has dehumanized and divided.  And as if that was not hard enough, there's the pain of coming to terms with the fact that we were also carriers, that the infection of racial/ethnic hierarchy was spread by us too.

Selah.

There is great pain amongst POC when we've left each other behind.  The pain is not just between white and black, it's amongst us all. 

The pain of indigenous people: decimated, blamed for their community's uphill battles—and mostly forgotten by other POC and whites alike as we fight for resources on their ancestral lands.  There is the pain of Southeast Asian immigrant communities left behind, invisibly falling short of the ridiculous "model minority myth," their youth in battle with other kids of color in the fight for street cred, looking for respect where it can be found.  There is much pain in the realization that we are often just fighting each other for crumbs in the heirarchy of the white supremacy table.

Selah.

What can be done with all this pain—these "tips" and the icebergs that they represent?  So many of us have trained ourselves to not look at such horrors, to ignore them, to overcome by focusing on what we think we can do and control.  But regardless of whether any of these different streams resonate with you or not, whatever your story is with injustice, I believe we MUST look at the pain and suffering, that the Spirit beseeches us to stand in its presence and see the extent of the desolation, the valley of dry bones before us corporately. 

I believe we MUST look at the pain and suffering, that the Spirit beseeches us to stand its presence and see the extent of the desolation, the valley of dry bones before us corporately.

Only by walking with God's spirit amongst these bones can God begin to transform us into a people who can be cross-bearers in Jesus, into a Body who can prophesy over dry bones, that they—that we—might all come alive and live.

While Ezekiel prophesied with words, I believe we must prophesy with action.  Today’s dry bones need the flesh of repair-- actions that have the chance to rehumanize what has been dehumanized, to bring to thriving what has been chronically attacked by the systems we live in. I am convinced that biblical lament is an essential fuel for our prophetic action, what will give us the courage to do what needs to be done.  Part II will speak to why that is.

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Liza Cagua-Koo
Assistant Director

Liza Cagua-Koo pursues racial justice & healing at home in a Latino-Asian family, at Emmanuel Gospel Center with a multiethnic team of urban ministry practitioners, and in life with her BFFs and church community in Dorchester, MA.  She is on the long journey of decolonizing her mind and longs for the day when the church is best known for being an agent of justice in our racialized society.  Or the day Jesus comes back and delivers us all.  She'll take either.

Learn More

EGC is issuing a series of 1st person reflections in response to the killing of Mr. George Floyd, in the hope that each unique voice might be heard, that we might each speak to the part of the Body that we are nearest to, and that together as a team we might disrupt the sin-cancer of white supremacy and our beloved church’s addiction to simple answers.

Reflections on Charlottesville

Reflections on Charlottesville

Lead Editor Liza Cagua-Koo, Assistant Director of EGC, with contributions from the EGC Team

As a community of Christians who are grieved by the violence in Charlottesville, VA, and what it represents, the Emmanuel Gospel Center humbly offers some reflections in service to the Church and communities of Boston—the city we love, where God has called us to minister.

We urge our brothers and sisters in Christ to denounce the evil of White supremacy (in all its forms) and affirm that all people are created in the image of God. Indeed, it is our hope that all Bostonians regardless of faith will affirm the dignity and value of every person.

Our Lament

We lament the violence and loss of life in Charlottesville, as well as the larger social situation that allowed such a tragedy to arise.

We lament the fear, personal trials, social conditioning, and isolation that leads some to participate in these public expressions of hatred.

We lament the ways these destructive behaviors hurt most Americans—of every background—as they can encourage more private and public expressions of bigotry, ethnocentrism, and the tendency to hoard resources and opportunities out of fear for the well-being of oneself or one's group.

We lament our country’s long and painful history of prioritizing the welfare of one group over another. We long for this legacy to be increasingly less evident so that we might each stand as equals, not just before God, but before police officers, mortgage brokers, and others in positions that can promote or stifle justice for entire communities.

Our Prayers

We pray for each family—in Charlottesville and beyond—that has experienced the pain of racism, whether acutely through a white supremacy rally or in their daily barriers to opportunity. We ask God for healing, resilience, and courage to continue forward in hope, love, and action.

We pray for those who have been deluded by the lie of White supremacy, and especially those who would say they are followers of Jesus. We pray that Jesus would speak to them by his Spirit and through his Body, the Church. May they in Christ experience freedom from lies they believe about themselves and others, the country, and the world. May they by the Holy Spirit see the choices they can yet make to love others as they love themselves.

We have all these same prayers for ourselves. We ask for God's guidance in the choices we will all make in the future to make another Charlottesville less likely.

Our Calling

Indeed what remains now, what has always remained—even if Charlottesville had never occurred—is our daily calling as Christians, individually and corporately, to relate across lines. We have the privilege and calling to offer a redemptive response to pain, fear, violence, and injustice.

The Church has incomparable resources—in God’s Word, the richness of our faith traditions, and the fullness of God’s Spirit—to bear His love and healing presence. If any community has the shared resources to respond to fear with hope, to injustice with change, to hatred with love, it's the Body of Christ.

Let's commit to go beyond our isolated silos of self-protection or short-sighted action. Let's seek God’s wisdom together, and contribute to Christ's restorative work, all by his grace, in step with his Spirit, and in his name. 

ABOUT THE LEad Editor

Jesus captured Liza's heart while at Harvard, and after several years in the private sector leading technology initiatives, she joined urban ministry startup TechMission in 2002. There she launched tech programs and co-directed a youthworker program, all in partnership with local churches. In 2006, Liza joined EGC as senior program director, and has served as assistant director since 2010. A member of Neighborhood Church of Dorchester, Liza learns about growing up in Jesus from being mamá to Jacob & Camila, spouse to Daniel, and daughter to one of the world’s best abuelitas.