MY “RACIAL RECONCILIATION” GROUP

          

Many years ago, while teaching a course on Christian Ethics, I asked my students if there was a particular issue that needed to be addressed that my course hadn’t already addressed. Two black women answered, “racial reconciliation.”

I was thrilled with their suggestion. My wife and I decided to host a group to discuss this very important issue at our NYC apartment. This had always been a subject close to my heart. Unity among the brethren had been a major focus of Jesus’ prayer (John 17:20-23). Therefore, it became central to my prayers.

Consequently, I pursued this meeting with high expectations and determined to do whatever was necessary to make these brethren feel comfortable and loved. I was also sure that other friends would like to be part of this group. Instead, friends of all colors warned me away from this endeavor, saying, “You don’t know what you are getting yourself into.” They were right, but I assured them that I knew these women, and we had already established a trusting relationship. Nevertheless, all of my friends declined my invitation.

Despite my best efforts, only three black women came. With me, my wife, and a friend who had been visiting, we were only six people. Nevertheless, the conversation never lagged. Instead, it was impassioned.

It was slowly becoming obvious to me that we all were approaching this meeting with different expectations of what “racial reconciliation” entailed. I had naively expected that if I listened to understand what their experiences as black women were like, this would build trust and unity. However, the most militant of the women quickly set me straight. For her “racial reconciliation” wasn’t about building friendship across color barriers, since she already had “enough white friends.” Nor was it about achieving a unity, even Biblical one, without adopting shared goals for social change.

Then what was it about? Merely listening and understanding were not what it was about, at least for two of the three women. Only later did it become plain to me that the militants want more than verbal affirmation. Instead, a “true” friend had to become an “ally” in their quest for “social justice.” But even becoming an “ally” was not enough. The initiate had to prove their “allegiance” through action.

But what is social justice without an actual injustice, which had to be corrected?

Weren’t all the laws against minorities already eliminated? Instead, minorities had been granted preferences in university admission and in employment. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. I was glad to listen in order to understand each of these sisters. However, I was beginning to feel pressure to see the world as they did, but this was something I could not do, not honestly. I wondered. “Can we still be brethren and love one another despite our political disagreements?” Why not? Could I be free to express myself honestly, or did the militants demand compliance as the price of friendship?

During this past year, I saw a placard, which captured what I had been experiencing: “White Silence is White Violence,” and I began to understand.  Any unwillingness to join their “social justice” quest would be regarded as “violence.” This meant that my unwillingness would be interpreted as “violence” against the black cause, and support, even if only passive, for the racist system. I realized that I was guilty, at least in the eyes of my militant “friend.” I was even a “racist.”

After this first gathering, I was beginning to develop a growing sense of our irreconcilable differences, even though I wasn’t able to put them into words as I now am. It was our first and last meeting. After it, I received a lengthy letter from the militant, whom I had once regarded as my friend. In it, she denounced me as a “racist.”

I found that every Biblical term was redefined to support a militant victimization and “white privilege” narratives. However, this required the redefinition of “sin,” “friendship, and “unity” in entirely unbiblical ways. In view of this redefinition, only a white person could be guilty of sin and needed to bend the knee. Speaking truth in love could only go in one direction, and this meant that the white person had to continually bend a knee in hope of being granted absolution.

I insisted that we needed to privately get together to discuss our differences. I was hoping to be able to work through these differences, but I found her even more entrenched, and perhaps she saw me in the same way. She confidently explained to me that all whites were racist, whether they realized it or not. In response, I pointed out her own blatantly racist statements.  However, she retorted that it was “not possible for blacks to be racist because they had little control over the repressive system of ‘systemic racism.’”

In her eyes, I remained guilty of enjoying my “white privilege” at the expense of her black brethren. What could I do? As far as I could see, I hadn’t been guilty of any sin against the black people or against any black person. Therefore, no apology was possible, and no reconciliation was in view. Nothing that I said made any difference to her, not even the Scriptures. As Daniel had confessed the sins of Israel to the Lord, I was also willing to confess the sins of the Church, but this wouldn’t be a confession of my own sins for which I would need to make reparations. Therefore, in her eyes, I would still be guilty as charged. I would still have to pay reparations though compliance with their fight. “White Silence is White Violence!”

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I had told some of my classes that I had experienced a lot of anti-Semitism growing up. I was filled with so much rage that I actually experienced white people as having a repulsive odor. (I grew up only among whites.) However, I was certain that sharing this  with her would do little to thaw the ice. She had already become too entrenched in a life-controlling theology of race.

Why have I written about this after many years? Actually, I believe that prayer is the only answer. The walls are humanly impregnable. However, I recall that Jesus had been able to multiply our feeble offering of a few loaves of bread and fish to feed the masses. This essay is my one slice of bread topped with a fish spread. May our Lord multiply it to feed others!