"Silent Night, Lonely Night: Christmas in Pandemic"

Silver starlight descends with the snow as 

aged hands light Christmas candles, 

alone at home though her family is near.  

Tears trickle with liquid love, reliving holidays past, 

with children and grandchildren gathered 

in a cacophony of grownup laughter, 

baby's cries, childhood play, and teenage angst.  

But not this year.  

Now, she is alone in her silent night,

lonely night, lonely night.

Two doors down the dawn will come 

to babies she will not see.

Little feet will race down stairs,  

delighted squeals above the sound of tearing paper.

But not for her.

This year has taken many things from her:

ability to travel, 

pure breath free from the filter of a mask,

financial security,

social stability.

But the greatest toll is being alone 

on this silent night, lonely night, lonely night.

Her mind reaches back to a couple, young, 

frantic in their need in that quiet Judean town,

turned away from human dwelling,

alone beneath the light of a single star.

Amid the agony of labor, 

a young woman pleads for her mother who isn't there.

Filled with desperation, 

a young man yearns for the steady hand of his father,

nowhere to be seen.

They, too, feel socially distant, isolated.

Silver starlight descends on angel wings as

Joseph kindles his lamp in the stable 

alone among beasts, though people are near. 

Even shepherds keep their distance when they visit,

faces hidden beneath their scarves,

because they are called unclean.

Tears trickle with liquid love, celebrating this present moment, 

grateful for what he does have:

the warmth of a stable, the love of his wife,

a newborn child,

in a cacophony of stable sound, 

and it is enough

on this silent night, lonely night, lonely night.

Grandma's heart reaches to the tent city

surrounded by bustling town, 

figures huddling beneath discarded layers 

of thin tarpaulin, wet cardboard, and sodden clothes.

Turned away from human dwelling,

alone beneath the light of a neon sign.

A cacaphony of souls scream in the night,

a bit of raucous laughter,

others cursing ghosts of the mind,

still more finding solace in strangers' arms

or the warmth and oblivion of a pipe.

Silver starlight descends with visiting angels

who bear no gold, frankincense, or myrrh, 

but whose treasures smell like coffee,

protect like masks and wipes,

and feel like love.

So Grandma puts on angel's wings, which look like PPE.

Leaving her warmth to join the Seraphim,

she shares her manna of  blankets and smiles.

Keen ears listen to well-traveled stories from a safe distance

as hot tears warm her cheeks with liquid love.

It's Christmas in pandemic, 

but change is in the air.

The Star shines as it hasn't done in centuries,

and hope for the nations wispers peace

to a weary and war-torn world.

"No room at your inn," say the mandates from above.

So Grandma takes her love outside

and gives,

behind mask, at a distance,

but gives,

on this silent night, lovely night, holy night.

"Racism in the White, Southern Church: A Pastor's Confession of Compromise"

"I hear you've been invited to preach at the Black church," the deacon told me.  "Do you think that's wise?"

Yes, this was a real conversation in a real church I served in Virginia.  One of the great things about having been either a youth pastor or senior pastor at six churches is that when I talk about them, nobody knows which church it is.  So there will be no names--but this really happened.  This is the tragedy of a congregation and community in the rural South, where such things still happen...and the story of a pastor who still had a lot to learn.  It's a story in which we learn that the color of compromise is yellow, and how cowardly some churches and pastors can be.  I'll tell you more in a minute.  But first...

I just finished reading The Color of Compromise: The Truth About the American Church's Complicity in Racism.  Amazon's review says: 

"The Color of Compromise is both enlightening and compelling, telling a history we either ignore or just don't know. Equal parts painful and inspirational, it details how the American church has helped create and maintain racist ideas and practices. You will be guided in thinking through concrete solutions for improved race relations and a racially inclusive church....The Color of Compromise is not a call to shame or a platform to blame white evangelical Christians. It is a call from a place of love and desire to fight for a more racially unified church that no longer compromises what the Bible teaches about human dignity and equality."

Jemar Tisby's book is a must-read for all followers of Jesus who want to understand the real history of brutal racism in the American church.  The author goes beyond discussing aggressive forms of racism, and tackles the passive-aggressive prejudice that allows racism to exist and thrive.  Tisby talks about the "go along to get along" attitude toward racism that does nothing more than perpetuate discrimination, even if motivated by a well-intentioned desire for unity in the church.  I hope you'll get a paper copy that you can take notes in, underline, and mark up.  It's definitely worth the read!

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" the deacon asked, piercing me with a gaze that said, "You know that you'll be in trouble if you do this, don't you?" That stern look also made me wonder if this deacon might be the source of the trouble, and if this "kind advice" might be more of a threat than a caution.

Bear in mind--I was not a novice pastor at this point in my career.  So I knew that in a Baptist church, the pastor doesn't truly call the shots, and lives or dies professionally at the whim of the people.  Neither was I a seasoned veteran, full of confidence and able to weather the storms of an angry congregation.  So I did the only thing I could think of.

I compromised.  Well, to be honest, I lied.  

Compromise would imply a give-and-take.  But in this case, all I did was take.  I took back my promise, and broke my word.  Or maybe the compromise wasn't with other people, but with my own beliefs, and my own character.  In any case, it was one of the things I'm most ashamed of in my life, and I have told few people about until now.

"I'm sorry," I told my friend, the pastor of the other church.  "When I agreed to speak on that date, I forgot that I'd already booked that Sunday off with my family."

I'm sure he could see through my lie, but he also knew that I was so fragile at this moment that he let me get away with it.  He simply said, "Well, maybe some other time."

You have to understand the deep-seated racism in the rural South where I served.  You have to know that integrated churches in that region are few and far-between.  On page 52 of The Color of Compromise, Tisby says:

"Harsh though it may sound, the facts of history nevertheless bear out this truth: there would be no black church without racism in the white church."

Yes, it's true that the African American church was formed by formerly enslaved people who left the Caucasian church of their own accord, to establish for themselves churches and denominations independent of their former enslavers.  So it could be said that the segregation of the American church is due to the actions of Black worshipers.  Yet, there would have been no need for these believers' mass exodus from white churches, had it not been for the racism of church leaders who forced congregants of color to endure continued submission in church roles.  Realizing that segregated worship was the only way to find equality in the church, Black believers had left the white church in droves.

In my time pastoring that little church, I had seen the racism of my own congregants.  I had also built (what I believed to be) a friendship with the pastor of the local African American church.  I visited them when I could, when their services fell at times when my own church had no meetings.  I became known to the people of that congregation, and I felt I knew some of them.  So the invitation came naturally, when that church scheduled it's anniversary celebration, marking a benchmark number of years since its founding.  "It only makes sense that you speak at our church," the pastor had told me.  "Since the ancestors of our church members had been former members of your congregation."  I thought it made perfect sense, too, so I had accepted the invitation.  But then I had caved, and lied, and damaged a friendship, at the slightest pressure from a racist deacon who may or may not have even been speaking for the others in my church.  (And so what, if that deacon had been speaking for all of them?)  Yes, the color of my compromise was as yellow as the cowardice in my heart.  And I have regretted that decision from that day until now.

Let me emphasize--I knew this decision was cowardly, even before I carried it out.  I didn't "slip into sin"--I ran into this lie as if into the arms of a savior that would rescue me from a tight spot.  I knew it was wrong, but I didn't see any way out.  I thought it was the easiest way to keep my deacon and other church members happy, while saving face with the neighboring church that I had come to love, too.  What I didn't realize was the rift that it would create, how guilt would prevent me from entering the doors of that neighboring church for another fifteen years--and how the face I was trying to save had ended up breaking relationships.  What I didn't realize was the chasm it would create in my own soul. 

Jemar Tisby writes:

[Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech] was August 28, 1963. More than fifty years later, how far has the American church come in terms of race relations? The “Whites Only” and “No Negros Allowed” signs have been taken down, but schools remain segregated. People of color are incarcerated at disproportionally hight rates. Black unemployment remains double that of whites. Most poignantly, churches remain largely segregated. The reluctance to reckon with racism has led to a chasm between black and white Christians in theology, politics, and culture. This chasm only makes it harder to productively communicate and take effective action around racial issues.  (Pg. 192)

I was still struggling with this chasm when, a few months later, another opportunity for the church and me to do the right thing emerged.  I received a phone call from a bride-to-be who said she was looking for a church building to rent, for their upcoming ceremony.  She explained to me that she was a member of a local congregation, but their facility was too small to handle the crowd she expected.  "We've always driven by your church and thought how pretty it was, and we're wondering if it's available."  I told her that I didn't make those decisions, that we had a committee that handled bookings of our facilities.  I told her I'd talk with the committee and have them give her a call.  I did just that, and once I had passed the job on to the committee chair, I thought nothing else of it.

Some time later, the chair called me back, her voice quavering anxiously.  "Did you know that the couple is Black?"

I was glad that she couldn't see me rolling my eyes through the telephone, but I don't think I disguised my feelings as telegraphed through my own voice.  "Well, first of all, you can't see what a person looks like through the telephone, so no, I didn't know that they were Black.  But, second, so what if they are Black?  Why does that make a difference?  This is, after all, the twenty-first century."

That ruffled her.  "I...well, I... you don't understand," she said.  "We don't rent our building to their kind.  The committee is going to tell them no."

That pissed me off.  I knew very well that we did not have a discrimination policy, and that it was only the intent of the committee, or perhaps only the chair of the committee, to keep people of color out of our building.  So I told her this had to be decided by the church at large.

By the time our church business meeting came up, word had spread through the whole congregation that one of the things on the agenda would be a decision whether or not we would allow this particular couple to rent our building.  People came with their proverberial guns loaded for bear.  However, as we began to look into the date the couple had requested the use of our building, we discovered that the church already had a major event planned for that entire weekend.  So it was decided that we would contact the couple and say that we were sorry, it was nothing personal, but the building simply wasn't available for their wedding.

That pacified a few people, but it just made me even more angry.  I had come to the meeting prepared to settle this matter once and for all.  Instead, the missed opportunity to decide for inclusion seemed like one more nail in the church's racist coffin.  So, at our next business meeting after that, I came to the church with a well-drafted nondiscrimination resolution that I wanted the church to pass.  After reading the resolution and allowing time for discussion, I asked for the vote to be by show of hands.  And, to my surprise, the resolution passed with only a few dissenting votes.  What a cause for celebration!

In The Color of Compromise, Tisby writes:

In the Bible, James 4:17 says, “If anyone, then, knows the good they ought to do and doesn’t do it, it is sin for them”…The church today must practice the good that ought to be done. To look at this history and then refuse to act only perpetuates racist patterns. It is time for the church to stand against racism and compromise no longer (Pg 212).

I was so proud that my church had known the good that needed to be done, and then had the courage to act on its convictions.  I was so delighted with the decision that I framed the nondiscrimination policy and nailed it to the wall in the sanctuary, in a spot where every passerby would see it.  It was only later that I learned that not everybody who had voted for the policy actually agreed with it.  When asked why they had supported it, one grumbler stated, "The vote was by show of hands--I wasn't going to be publicly racist."

And isn't that just the thing?  The church doesn't want to be publicly racist.  That's why the deacon took me aside in private to say I shouldn't preach at the Black church.  That's why everyone breathed a sigh of relief when our building just happened to be unavailable for the wedding.  That's why the few African Americans who have entered white churches in the South have done so with a sense of dread--not because of what's said to their face, but behind their backs.

Don't get me wrong--overt, malicious racism in the church is rare, in my experience.  But I have wondered why do-nothing members were nominated for deacon, when the Black deacon who had joined us from another church was never mentioned.  I have had to explain why it's offensive when farmers refer to the migrant workers they employ as "Our Mexicans," (especially when some were from Honduras).  And I have heard the loud silent gasps of the congregation when a person of color ascended the pulpit to preach in my place.  

Racism has been a pernicious thorn in the flesh of the Southern, white, evangelical church for a long time.  I confess that when I was younger, I compromised my own non-racist beliefs to keep the peace.  I didn't realize at the time that it's not enough to be non-racist.  Only an anti-racist stance from church leadership can break the cycle of overt hatred and violence, as well as covert undercuts and bigotry.  Ephesians 2:13-15 says:

But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far away have been brought near through the blood of Christ. For He Himself is our peace, who has made the two one and has torn down the dividing wall of hostility by abolishing in His flesh the law of commandments and decrees. He did this to create in Himself one new man out of the two, thus making peace…

Christians, if we believe that's true, then it's not enough to defend our perceived non-racism by proclaiming that we have Black friends.  It's not enough that we try to be fair and equitable by declaring that "all lives matter," rather than singling out the significant pain of one particular group.  Instead, we've got to come to terms with the systemic racism present in our society and in our churches.  We've got to have courage enough to face our own racism, because it's there, whether we want to believe it or not.  We've got to educate ourselves, and gain perspectives we've never had before  (Jemar Tisby's book is a good start).  And we've got to become proactive rather than reactive.

Remember the old tradition of "testimony night" in many evangelical churches?  In the absence of a sermon, church members would get up and tell their own stories of God's goodness.  At testiony night, we heard tales of miracles, of broken relationships restored, and of blessings.  But the ones that always moved us the most were the confessions.  When a brother or sister stood up and said, "This is how I've failed, but this is also where I've learned, where God has given grace, and where I can do better."  I think its time that we had testimony night.  I've gotten the ball rolling, with my confession.  Now, it's your turn.

 

 

"Are You Religious?"

"Are you religious?" he asked me.  

"Damn, I hope not," I said--and I meant it.  Because religious people are more concerned with the fact that I used that word than the fact that I instantly diffused any tension there might be in the conversation, in order to have a deep conversation about Jesus.  But we didn't begin there--we started out talking about tattoos and whiskey, and how I, as a follower of Jesus can enjoy both of those things.  He talked about how he'd been hurt by religion, and I assured him that God doesn't want us to be religious, anyway.  God just wants our hearts.  The problem was, it was an uphill conversation, because the church had convinced him that religion was all about putting on a righteous appearance, and looking down on people who didn't fit the standards of the Christian culture.  So I told him a story...

Jesus said, “But what do you think about this? A man with two sons told the older boy, ‘Son, go out and work in the vineyard today.’ The son answered, ‘No, I won’t go,’ but later he changed his mind and went anyway. Then the father told the other son, ‘You go,’ and he said, ‘Yes, sir, I will.’ But he didn’t go. “Which of the two obeyed his father?”

They replied, “The first.”

Then Jesus explained his meaning: “I tell you the truth, corrupt tax collectors and prostitutes will get into the Kingdom of God before you do. For John the Baptist came and showed you the right way to live, but you didn’t believe him, while tax collectors and prostitutes did. And even when you saw this happening, you refused to believe him and repent of your sins (Matthew 21.28-32 NLT).

The man shook his head.  "Yep, I've known a lot of Christians who said they followed Jesus, but you'd never know it."

"So have I," I said, "And I worked with them for years.  I've also known a lot of people who were closer to following Jesus than some church folks were, even though they'd never call themselves Christians."

"That makes sense," he told me.  "I've always thought life was about knowing that God is love, and trying to live like God.  I never thought it was about going to church and trying to impress people by how good I am.  Is that right?" he asked.

Giving him a fist bump, I said, "Damn straight."