Bryan Shields, May 3rd, 2021

An essay responding to: Hart, Drew G. I. Trouble I’ve Seen: Changing the Way the Church Views Racism. Harrisonburg, VA: Herald Press, 2016.

I struggled, for quite some time, to come up with a clear understanding in my own mind of exactly what is meant by persons of color who refer to the concept of ‘whiteness.’ At times I wondered if it had to do with the physical color of my skin. This seemed possible since so much hatred and bigotry had been directed at persons of color simply due to a greater presence of eumelanin in their skin. This understanding of whiteness was related to my view of racism as a set of actions; something that was done by one human being to another.

Hart, however, quickly disabused me of this understanding of racism: he did describe racism as having to do with skin color, but also as having to do more with a worldview. This worldview was one I could barely see. It was so much a part of my understanding that I could hardly imagine a world apart from it. But Hart invited me to try, and then showed me how he had already made a path for me to follow in doing this work.

Hart shared a conversation that he had with a white colleague, a pastor, in which he graphically displayed my own need to listen and learn about what it meant to be white. As he and his white pastor friend were sitting at a McDonald's, the white pastor decided to illustrate his understanding of the problem of racism in this country in a concrete way. Reaching out and grasping the McDonald's cup setting between them, the white pastor began to explain that while both he and Hart had a clear view of their own side of the cup, in order for either of them to have a complete understanding of it they would each have to open up and share their views and experiences. Hart’s reply was so simple, but so illuminating: 

"I explained that, in fact, I did know what was on his side of the cup. This is because I have learned Eurocentric history written from a white perspective. I have read white literature… I have learned about white musicians and artists… I have had mostly white teachers and professors… I have read lots of white authors… I have been inundated by white-dominated and controlled television and media. I have lived in a mostly white suburban community, and I have live on a predominately white Christian campus. The truth of the matter is that I wouldn't have been on track to a PhD without becoming intimately familiar with the various ways that white people think.… After explaining why I already knew it was on his side of the cup, I continued on… I noted that in contrast to me, he most likely could go through his entire life without needing to know black literature, black intellectual thought, black wisdom, black art and music, or black history. That is, he could choose to never engage with or be changed by the range and beauty of the black community. Nor would he be penalized for it. That option of white exclusivity would not affect his livelihood or means of providing for his family." (emphasis added)

As I began to read this illustration, I identified with the white pastor; I believed that mutual listening was the path forward toward racial reckoning. But I had not yet fully realized just how thoroughly my Black brothers and sisters had outpaced to me. Reading Hart’s analysis of white privilege opened my eyes to how insidiously this paradigm had affected me. I had highlighted choices I was making to engage in racial reconciliation, without an awareness that my choice itself was proof of my participation in systemic racism.

In the end, listening is still something that I must do in order to facilitate racial healing and social justice. I think Hart would agree with this. However, what I, as a Christian that is white, need to bring to this work is not simply my skill is a listener. I must approach any listening that I do, to the stories my Black brothers and sisters, with an attitude of humility. The point is not simply that I need their perspective on the problem; the point is that I need their perspective on my perspective. They have seen both sides of the cup. I need to recognize how limited my understanding is, since I come to the work of listening from the position of cultural dominance. It is the poor in spirit who inherit the kingdom of heaven; to the degree that I do not admit my own poverty, as a Christian that is white, I cannot move forward in this work of social justice.

Bryan Shields, November, 2020

A theological approach to the ethical concern of institutional racism in the United States of America

Introduction

In his book, Reconstructing the Gospel, author and teacher Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove recounts a time when he realized the dissonance that existed within the Body of Christ along racial lines. He describes attending a Christmas program with a group of his friends, both Black and white. Sandwiched in between the drama and the closing musical numbers was a quick sermonette by a local pastor. Wilson-Hartgrove depicts his Black friend’s instant and visceral reaction to that white man’s words. “He’d touched a nerve—in Alvin and me, connecting with hundreds of years of history in a way that made good tidings of great joy feel like an assault.” He goes on to clarify the issue: “This was about more than differing interpretations of the gospel. It was about the integrity of the good news itself.”

One might choose to understand this situation as an isolated event that uniquely occurred in Wilson-Hartgrove’s personal life. The evidence, however, does not support that view. Willie James Jennings, Ph.D. describes “dawn on August 8, 1444” as the inaugural moment of the Christian ritualization of the commodification of persons possessing other-than-white skin-color. Obviously, this rending of the Body is no recent phenomenon. Could it perhaps be relegated to the past—a problem already solved? Eduardo Bonilla-Silva, Ph.D. claims otherwise, in his examination of the Post-Civil Rights Era, and claims that, “a new racial ideology has surfaced: the ideology of color-blind racism.” The racial climate of the world, in Bonilla-Silva’s opinion, has been “500 years of white supremacy.” 

What is a follower of Jesus the Christ to do? This paper seeks that answer. In doing so, a well-marked, albeit relatively un-trodden, path is discernible. Reggie Williams, Ph.D. points out that “[Dietrich] Bonhoeffer remains the only prominent white theologian of the twentieth century to speak about racism as a Christian problem.” Notwithstanding this fact, the source of racially predatory paradigms, which Jennings identifies as the abandonment of “the Christian capacity for intimacy,” has been examined and responded to in other arenas and specialties. “The struggle for intimacy goes on for as long as we live,” writes Janet Woititz, Ed.D., in her work focused on relationships. The staff at Shepherd’s House, a Christian counseling clinic in operation since 1970, have this to say; “Life is about receiving and giving—reaching one’s destiny, and helping others reach theirs.” This paper draws from diverse sources to craft a specifically theological response to the ethical concern of institutional racism and offers it as an aid to the intimate integration that forms the Body of Christ.

Institutional Racism vs. Individual Racism

“I’m not a racist!” This claim, frequently heard by those involved in the work of social justice, is often made in good faith. As soon as the topic of racism is introduced, the personal denials of racist activity almost visibly ripple out from the epicenter of the conversation. While not necessarily malicious, this insistence on individual guiltlessness is misguided. “Blatant [individual] racism still continues above and beyond the institutional frameworks,” asserts Diane Emling, PhD., “rendering the institutional structure even more invisible.” 

Institutional racism can be revealed like X-ray films are interpreted; where absence is depicted, structures are present. Emling traces, through a historical examination of government-supported land acquisition in the USA, the exclusion of Black persons from this foundational resource. The largest Homestead Act, of 1862, allowed settlers access to land with minimal overhead expenses. However, Emling goes on to note that while, “over a million whites became landowners via homesteading…black future citizens were still in chains, working even harder to expand the wealth of white plantation owners.” As the dominant socioeconomic class of the USA, white persons formed a culture of land-ownership from which Black persons were absent. This absence, largely resultant from policies and practices, was fundamental to processes that would eventually lead to the institutionalization of racism.

Institutional racism can also be identified like fruit in an orchard; the tree determines which fruit is born, and not the other way around. Looking at the conspicuous similarities between widespread current-day policing activities and the “night patrols” instituted in slave-holding communities, Emling highlights another method by which Black persons are systemically denied common benefits of personhood in the USA. In her words, “the slave patrol should be considered a forerunner of modern American law enforcement.” Fannie Lou Hamer’s account, telling of her torture at the Winona, Mississippi jail, drives this point home:

“And this kind of beatin’, I know I couldn’t take it. So I held my hands behind…And I was screamin’, and I couldn’t help but scream. And one of the white men began to beat me in my head, and told me to ‘stop screamin’…My dress worked up from this hard blackjack, and I pulled my dress down…And one of the city policemens walked over and pulled my dress as high as he could…after awhile I must’ve passed out. And when I did raise my head up, the state highway patrolman said, ‘Get up from there, fatso.’”

Here the roles of institutional racism and individual racism intersect. Once a society has tolerated an attitude or behavior long enough, those who indulge in those attitudes or engage in those behaviors, be they ever-so-heinous, are no longer denied roles of authority or power. The night patrols consisted largely of poor, lower class white men who had been displaced by Black slave labor. The policeman and state highway patrolman who directed the assault of Fannie Lou Hamer were most likely well-thought-of, participatory members of their local communities. Both of these groups were fully authorized to carry out atrocities against Black persons; all that separated them was nearly two hundred years…of institutionalization.

“But I am not a racist! I would never in a million years do anything like that!” This, please God, is the truth. Nevertheless, the overwhelming concern of non-oppressed persons to distance themselves from any responsibility to the oppressed, while perhaps initially innocently motivated, rapidly devolves into participation, however seemingly passive, in the same oppression. A parable spoken by Jesus comes to mind—a Samaritan had an opportunity to passively deny assistance to a person institutionally estranged from him; however, without explicitly attacking the institution, he still actively undermined it by his actions of mercy and justice. To do the opposite, then, is to participate in the oppression. To do nothing good is to do evil. 

Responding to Racism Theologically

Racism, individual or institutional, does demand a response, but hereabouts is where individual racism and institutional racism are sometimes considered to part ways. Individual racism can be dealt with, in its most egregious forms, by simply enforcing the ‘do nothing evil’ rule. On the other hand, racism of the institutional variety has, by some accounts, taken on a life of its own and will perpetuate itself until it is deinstitutionalized. This process will be accomplished when enough individual racists comply with a societal demand to ‘do nothing evil.’ So goes the tale. Ironically though, to do nothing evil is not necessarily to do good. In the 2016 and 2020 presidential elections of the USA, persons who had ostensibly abided by the ‘do nothing evil’ rule supported institutional racism. In some instances, they bolstered the power of those actively ‘doing evil.’

In the epilogue to Color Conscious, Kwame Appiah, Ph.D. seeks to engender a sense of unity and purpose in the face of divisive racial conversations. In a cloaked manner, he surreptitiously reaches for a theological approach to racism. “The sovereignty of the individual…is nourished by the wellspring of American individualism;…individuals flourish only within families, churches and temples, communities and professions.” Appiah acknowledges the obvious; individuals require intimacy to flourish. On the other hand, he sources this intimacy to individualism—a non-theological response to racism that is just as easily appropriated by those seeking to perpetuate animosity and fear.

A theological response to institutional racism addresses the heart of this matter, as it were. Theologian and civil rights leader Howard Thurman writes that Jesus’ “message focused on the urgency of a radical change in the inner attitude…Again and again he came back to the inner life.” It is specifically this inner, invisible source, of all that persons are and do, that a theological response to racism engages. Other responses, even when to some degree effective, do not have the language or the power to oppose the hatred that lies at the core of racism. It is all well and good to forbid a person to use the racial slur, “n----r”, but what can change the inner condition that motivates its use?

Defined as “extreme dislike or disgust”, hatred is at the root of racism. “Hatred”, Thurman attests, “in the mind and spirit…is born out of great bitterness—a bitterness that is made possible by sustained resentment which is bottled up.” Once again, the invisible inner workings of a person are involved. A non-theological response to racism misses this by focusing primarily on behavior. Behavior must be changed, yes; but to forcibly change behavior, without also moving the heart, is to engender increasing resentment which, in turn, builds into bitterness that sustains the hatred of racism. “Jesus had to apply his love-ethic to the enemy.” With this statement, Thurman theologically addresses racism.

In an address given in 1955, Dr. James Hudson pursues the same idea. “A fourth and final step toward the Christian Ideal of Brotherhood is…to practice the Golden Rule. This simply means to love all men.” What then is signified by this call to love everyone, including enemies? Elisabeth Vasko, Ph.D. shares this insight; “Jesus lived a life of compassionate involvement in the world, evidenced in his…critique of hegemonic forces.” Therefore, Jesus’ solution to racism—His call to love everyone—was an intimate one. Jennings agrees: “To break the power of death [racism, hatred, etc.], the power of the kinship network would have to be rerouted through the very life of the Son of God.” A theological response to racism stands in contrast to a non-theological one in that it acknowledges the root of racism as an internal component of a person and offers an equally embodied solution—shared intimacy within a mutual relationship with Jesus the Christ. Behavior modification alone cannot mount a meaningful response to racism.

Beginning Again

In the first chapter of their book, entitled Living from the Heart Jesus Gave You, the counselors at Shepherd’s House make these connections:

"People need to know who they are. They also need to be reminded who they are, frequently, by those who love them, and really know them. And they need repair, so that they can live from the hearts Jesus gave them. That is what it takes to achieve wholeness in a fractured world. It takes belonging to a community. It takes a whole lot of work in the area of maturity. It takes God’s hand to boost people when they are stuck, and it takes a lifetime."

With these words, the model for a theological response to racism, first individual and then institutional, is revealed. Not surprisingly, it is a return to wholeness, and not a new fabrication of it, that appears. In the words of Luke’s Gospel, “the kingdom of God is among you.”

This, at first glance, seems to be a non-theological paradigm masquerading as a theological one. The brotherhood and godhood of all; these are indeed secular ideas and ideals. For all that, they stop short of transforming and reclaiming the heart of humanity. Contrast the previous quote on the topic of hatred with this declaration: “Redemption means that out of our greatest pain, can come our most profound personal mission in life.” Rather than coercing compliance with an external, albeit beneficent, morality, and thereby deepening the resentment that ultimately fuels racism, a theological approach organically erodes the structures that give rise to hatred, by acknowledging personal pain and repurposing it for healing.

Both Jennings and the Shepherd’s House counselors speak of the role the Church has in this process. In closing his book, The Christian Imagination, Jennings writes that to enter into intimacy as an alternative to racism and race-derived identities “would be nothing less than a theological act,…a Christian act of imagining.” Dr. Friesen and his team describe a faith culture in which all members “take part in both ends of the receiving and giving life exchange.” This, they say, “is the beauty of the church when it lives as the family of God. That is the power of the Christian community when people live from their hearts.”

Terriel Byrd, Ph.D. echoes this assessment. He writes that “the Church will realize a revolution of transformation when ethnicity, race, gender, and class are relegated to a status much lower than its[sic] current elevation.” He continues; “a theological repositioning, which moves it to a Christ centered entity will energize it with new life in Christ.” Pastor Adam Powell, Sr., of Abyssinian Baptist Church in Harlem, New York, so epitomized this that the German theologian, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, overhauled his own personal beliefs. For Powell, “social and political action on behalf of the oppressed [was] a sacred and core Christian responsibility.” As a result, “Bonhoeffer’s understanding of Jesus underwent significant development…he was put in touch with the call of obedience to the God who shares suffering with the oppressed.” By way of intimacy, a heart was changed.

Conclusions

“We will trust each other totally, automatically, and all at once.” Woititz labels this as a myth and offers this truth in its place: “In the real world, trust builds slowly.” Even after adopting a theological approach to the ethical concern of institutional racism, the Body of Christ will face the process of building trust. “Christian interpretations of redemption have [historically] participated in maintaining narratives of privileged (white) innocence in view of structural oppression (culturally entrenched racism).” There is much to be overcome. Woititz lays out seven components of trust-engendering intimacy. She writes that trust-filled relationships are those in which feelings are shared and respected, honesty is the rule, willful injury is disallowed, individual freedom of identity is granted, stability is guarded, commitment to the relationship is ensured, and all confidences are kept. This is exactly what is needed within the Body of Christ in order to live out the vision of Jesus that is depicted in John’s Gospel; “that they may be one, as we are one.”

The theological approach to the ethical concern of institutional racism that this describes is explicitly intimate. The progression is clear, as well. Rather than focusing on the behavior of the masses, this approach seeks to deal with the inner machinations of individuals’ hearts. Once these realities are acknowledged, movement into healthy, healing communities of faith is the next step. Inside these communities individuals are intimately relational with diverse groups of other individuals, and trust is built. After trust has been established, intimacy comes to full bloom and racism, first individual but ultimately institutional, is progressively eliminated. A theological approach to racism, then, offers a breadth and depth of impact impossible to achieve within a non-theological approach.