Something is Broken in Me

This was written by my friend, an author and blogger.

I kept waiting to hear from the predominantly white evangelical church in America. I kept waiting for someone from that community to chime in and say something—anything. Even something like, “I see what’s happening in Ferguson. I don’t understand it, but I want to. Can someone help me understand it?” One person contacted me to ask a question that sounded something like that.

But, for the most, part, days passed, and I was hearing nothing (http://www.deidrariggs.com/2014/08/14/why-weve-got-to-go-there/).

I respect her so much that when I hear her put out a call for words from “white evangelical church in America,” I feel like the professor has given an assignment.  As a pastor, I consider myself “evangelical.”  Even though the word is freighted with political baggage and is often misunderstood by many who have a secular worldview, I still embrace.  To me, evangelical means one who believes Jesus is the full revelation of the triune God – Father, Son, and Spirit; and salvation is in Him; and finally, the Bible is the true revelation of who He is and is instructive for a believer’s life.  By that definition, I am an evangelical.  I am also a white, middle class, suburban American male.  I don’t think any of those terms require definition or qualification.

Michael Brown, a black teenager, unarmed, was shot by a white police officer in Ferguson, MO.  The officer who killed him will have to live with this the rest of his life.  He shot and killed an unarmed teen.  Whatever the young man did, was it necessary to shoot him?  Every night that he goes to bed, he sleeps with the knowledge that while doing his job, trying to maintain law and order, he pulled his gun and killed a young man/big kid.  I consider 18-year-olds young men and don’t accept calling them ‘kids’ as so many sports commentators like to do, but that’s for another column.  This policeman killed someone whose whole life was ahead of him. 

Why could he not resolve the confrontation with Michael Brown in another way?  Call for back up.  Use a Taser.  Use pepper spray.  Shoot the kid in the knee.  I am not a policeman.  I do not know the techniques.  I do not know what happened that day in his confrontation with Michael.  One of the reasons I have not commented is I do not know happened in this specific instance.  Maybe this was entirely a race-related event.  Maybe race had nothing to do with it.  Maybe it did.  Did Michael Brown provoke a policeman who has been disrespected one too many times by one too many young persons?  Was this about an overaggressive cop, or was it racism through and through?  It is just as possible that what happened was an example of racism that still lurks like a demonic agent of destruction bent on bringing our society down.  I just don’t know.  

I don’t know Michael Brown.  I don’t know the officer.  I wasn't there.  And I don’t know how trustworthy the news reports are.

I do know that it is tragic when a teen dies.  Truly, someone’s baby died.  Even if he did something wrong, it should not have come to this.  It is very sad that a young man died in this way.  Our culture’s violent reaction is an extension of the tragedy as well as an expression of wounds that continue to afflict America with pain.  The death of Michael Brown is awful for his family and at another level it is awful for America.

We have to acknowledge that something is broken.  Inside all of us, sin arises because we are apart from God.  We choose our way instead of God’s way.  Given Eve’s opportunity, every one of us eats the forbidden fruit willingly.  Something inside Michael Brown was broken.  

Something broken in the police officer led him to pull that trigger.  I know the voices who defend law enforcement officials would cry out that the policeman did nothing wrong.  He was using the necessary force to do his job.  I cannot deny or affirm that.  But I know that before he shot Michael Brown, something in him was broken – and now that which was broken has shattered even more. 

Deep in me, I know there is much that is broken.  Every time I demand my wife be someone other than who she is it is an example of my brokenness spilling out.  She is remarkably strong and loving to endure my self-centered, shallow tirades.  Every time I yell at my kids when a calmer response would accomplish more and be less destructive to their psyches, I know it is my brokenness on display.  Deep in every human, something is broken.

Jesus did not come to fix what is broken in us.  Jesus came to show what was always true – that which is broken in us leads to death.  This is why in baptism we go under the water.  Every time I baptize, as I sink the believer under I say, “Dead in sin.”  As I bring her up I say, “Raised to new life in Jesus.”  Jesus did not come to mend us.  Jesus’ arrival sheds light on already true fact: we are already dead.  But in Him, we are born again. 

The wounds of Trayvon Martin have not yet healed, and Michael Brown is upon us, awakening us to what is broken in all of us.  By the way, this means we (and here I mean “we whites,”) cannot, cannot, cannot talk about Trayvon Martin or Michael Brown as “they” (as in “those blacks”).  “We” and “they” does not work in this conversation.  This conversation will never gain any traction in drawing humanity together if “we” and “they” continue to be used.  We are heartsick about Michael Brown because he is one of us.  He is a human being.  He was made in the image of God.  Jesus died on the cross to cover his sins.  I feel my brother has died. 

As we have moved from Trayvon to Michael (and all the awful news that has popped up in between), Michael will barely fade from our lips when another incident will arise.  What can we (“we humans”) do?  Maybe we start with a question. 

The next time a tragedy happens, ask what is broken in each person involved.  What is broken in the victim?  What is broken in perpetrator?  What is broken in our system that allows such rush-to-judgment news reporting?  What is broken in social media that makes it such fertile ground for creative expressions of hatred and evil?  What is broken in me that I react the way I do, feel the way I do?

If, instead of anger, we recognize brokenness, we may feel compassion before we feel rage.  The compassion in us may have greater pull on how we express ourselves.  We may be more inclined to pray than we are to vomit our rage with confrontational posts and tweets.  And maybe, if we make asking what is broken in him an everyday practice, we might be more compassionate all the time.  We (“we humans”) might be intentional about seeking ways to be compassionate with each other all the time, and not just in times of turmoil like our current crisis. 

That is my thought.  I don’t know anyone in Ferguson, MO.  Beyond praying, I cannot do much there.  But in my life, in my town, in my interactions with people, I can be guided by the question what is broken in him or her.  As I process that question, I hope, no I pray, it will lead me to be compassionate.   In compassion, maybe I can do my part to present the world with an alternative story one in which people turn to Jesus and are born again to live forever with each other in God’s love.

A White Father with Black Kids

A friend from many years ago, Diedre, writes a wonderful blog - "Jumping Tandem" http://www.deidrariggs.com/ .  On it, she asked for stories related to race.  Here is what I shared. 

My wife and I have three adopted children, but most people looking at our family would never guess.  Our oldest, I___, adopted from Russia, is as white as we are.  It's not a stretch for people to look at him and guess which features are from me and which are from Candy.  But the joke is on those who innocently pose such guesses.

I___ shares as much with us genetically as his younger siblings, his brother H___, 6, and sister M___, 4.  H___ and M___ are adopted from Ethiopia. 

The three of them act like siblings.  That means I___, 11, despises, bullies, and in his best moments protects the younger ones.  M___, like any youngest sister of older brothers thinks she is a princess, thinks the world revolves, and is pretty convinced she is really the one in charge.  I___ also thinks all people exist to serve his purposes.  He might have a future as a drill sergeant. 

            And there is golden-hearted H___.  This child is one of the happiest, most well-intentioned people I have met.  I came down to the breakfast table the other day and H___ had been the first one awake.  He is most days, up by 5AM, singing, clapping, happy.  On this particular morning, H___ was the only one downstairs.  There were five bowls of cereal, with milk already poured, around the table.  Ah, my H___.  He woke up and thought it would be nice to have everyone's breakfast ready and waiting for them.  What 6-year-old   does that?

            The Trayvon Martin story, and others told in our local area (Raleigh-Durham-Chapel Hill) worry me a bit.  Right now H___ is cute, but he is going to grow into a strong young man.  He's already compact and muscular.  He's probably too nice to every play football, but he has a condition I have never had to deal with.  Because he is male, if, when he's an adult, he goes out at night, with a hoody on, I have to fear for him.  I have to worry that my own neighbors will call the police because he outside, at night, with a hoody, and he is black.  When the police come, I have to worry that they will assume he's up to no good.  My golden-hearted H___.

            Last year, one of our neighbors posted in the neighborhood email list serve this message.  "I just saw two black young men going door to door.  Should I call the police?"  My wife went outside and discovered these were in fact players on our local high school football team selling calendars to raise money.  Many times, white players did the exact same thing.  There was no panicked email about calling the police.  My wife, appalled, called the woman and requested that she not call the police if she ever saw H___ out playing.  The woman, to her credit, immediately recognized the racism in her own actions and came to our house to apologize to Candy in person. 

            Being the white father of black kids has awakened many things in me.  I have mentioned some of the majors, especially regarding H___.  Simpler things include lotion, shea butter for the skin.  Never in my life have I used any kind of lotion on my skin, save for sunscreen.  I hate.  I hate having my hands sticky or greasy.  H___ and M___ need their skin lotioned every day.  Candy has to make the lunches for school.  I who hates having stuff on my hands have the pleasure of applying shea butter to my children. 

            I asked my friend Emerson about this.  He is black and he said it can be a peaceful, intimate time with your child.  My friend lied.  He raised daughters.  My son H___ gets half greased up with shea butter and then, naked, runs around the house.  Try grabbing someone who is strong, fast, and greased.  I supposed it could be described as intimate, but there is nothing quiet or peaceful about it.  The more frustrated I get, the harder H___ giggles.

            But's that's nothing.  I am a bald man.  What little bit of hair I have is cropped tight.  "Doing my hair," involves zero effort.  Candy has mastered M___'s hair, which is about as curly as you can imagine.  Awesome.  Husbands and wives divide up labor and Candy has M___'s hair duties.  And Emerson, the father of daughters, is right.  That time Candy and M___ have together is special and beautiful and intimate.  And Candy is going to Ethiopia for a 9-day mission trip in October. 

            Who is going to do M___'s hair?  The white bald man who hates getting stuff on his fingers?  One day in August, Candy intentionally left the house early, M___'s hair undone, and stayed away all morning.  She knew I would have to get M___ ready for the day.  She kind of shouted some instructions as she ran out the door.  It was test.  She claims it wasn't, but I know it was.  I got the stuff in the purple dispenser (don't ask me what it's called), and started working through M___'s curls.  I know I was using the correct product.  But I probably did not spend enough time working through the kinks and knots.  And I definitely did not tie the band for the puff tight enough.  M___'s confidence is in tatters.  The four-year-old often anxiously asked about what will happen with her hair while Mommy is in eee-pee-oh-oee.  She asks the question as if I am not home, even though I am sitting next to her while she asks.  Clearly, in her mind, it is not even a remote possibility that I will be of any help.  October 21, Candy's return date, cannot get here soon enough.

            I love my three children.  I love that I live in a time and a town (Chapel Hill, NC) that accepts our colorful family.  I love that they have friends from colorful families.  I love that our church celebrates our family and that there are other interracial families in our church.  I thank God for Martin Luther King Jr. and John Lewis and so many others who have worked for a better world.  I thank for my Dad, who as a young college student, against his father's wishes, hopped on a bus in Detroit, road to Washington DC, and heard the "I-have-a-Dream" speech.  I bet he didn't think he'd one day have black grandchildren.  But he sure loves them.  I thank God for my mom who taught in Mumford high school in Detroit.  One day her principal asked how many of her students in a class were black.  I don't know, was her response.  Upon reviewing her role, she realized all of them were black.  She had not thought about it.  Because she doesn't form opinions about people based on their pigmentation.  That's the right kind of colorblindness. 

I have told our story many times.  I appreciate this context in which I can share it again.

"Suffer with ..."

I have spent this year writing about the practice of Christian evangelism.  What is a Christian who hears the call of God to follow Jesus and share the Gospel to do in light of these violent shootings?

In Oak Creek, WI, yesterday (August 5), a shooter entered a Sikh temple and killed six and injured four before he was killed by police.  Two weeks before that a random shooter several people in a theater in Colorado.  In February of this year teenager Travon Martin was killed by neighborhood watchman George Zimmerman.  And how many killings aren't in the national news?

What is a Christian committed to sharing the Gospel with a lost and hurting world to do?

We are to open our arms and offer compassion, comfort, love, and prayer to all who experience such tragedy.  Specifically regarding the shootings in Wisconsin, we need to love our friends who are Sikhs.  I do not know a lot about that faith.  There are Sikhs in North Carolina, but I do not know any personally.  What I know is Jesus loves them and calls us to love them.

In another time, a more peaceful time, that love can include sharing why Jesus is so important to us.  For now, with such psychological devastation and emotional pain inflicted on their community, not to mention the tragic, senseless deaths, we should reach out with compassion and love and with no judgment.  As human beings and as Christ followers, we express to our Sikh neighbors in our state, in Wisconsin, and throughout America our support and our care.  And we do the same for others who have had violence imposed upon them.

There times when God speaks through our words.  This is a time for God to speak through our acts and hearts of love.

Peace be with You

“Peace be with you,” Jesus said as he appeared in resurrected form before his followers. They were behind locked doors, afraid that the people who crucified him were coming for them. They had last seen him on the cross. All of a sudden, there he was, wishing them peace.

I would imagine George Zimmerman has not had peace ever since he spotted a black youth in a hoody and decided he should confront the boy because black teens in hoodies are naturally to be suspected of something. An unarmed 17-year-old was gunned down even after police had expressly told Mr. Zimmeran to avoid the confrontation. No, he has not had peace.

In my own neighborhood, someone saw some two black teens going door-to-door. Not knowing that these were high school football players doing fund-raising, this concerned individual wondered if she should call the police. In 10 years, someone will wonder that about my own son who is also black.

In Tulsa, Oklahoma several black men have been randomly shot. Now two men are custody, one Caucasian, the other Native American. It made me think back to 2002, several months after the 9/11 terrorist attacks. At the time I lived just outside of Washington DC where a sniper was randomly picking people off. First, planes crashed into buildings, then snipers were shooting people. Those shootings, not racially motivated, but produced in people a nagging tension that hung in the air. My then girlfriend and now wife, Candy, and I would go out on dates and constantly watch out for the snipers.

I remember in Florida the renegade pastor threatened to burn a Quran, and all the trouble that caused people in many communities.

And Afghanistan: 3rdworld Muslims and American soldiers repeatedly find ways to fuel the fires of hate.

Black-white-hispanic; 3rdworld, 1st world; Muslim world v. America; where is this peace Jesus promised?

He said it twice. “Peace be with you.”

20After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. 21Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

Thomas, of the disciples, wasn’t there when Jesus appeared and refused to believe. “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

A week later, again they were behind closed doors and again, Jesus was just among them, and again he said, “Peace be with you.” We recall John 14. Jesus gathered with the disciples for the Passover meal.

He unexpectedly washed their feet and said, “27 Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”

To their confused minds, Jesus bid them peace. Post-crucifixion, in the height of their fear Jesus showed up to extend to them peace. To Thomas’ doubts, Jesus said “peace.”

To the Martin family in their grief and the Zimmerman family in his guilt, Jesus bids peace.

To Muslims who hate America and to Muslims who are American citizens, Jesus sends his peace.

To American soldiers and to the people they fight, he gives his peace. To the mourning families in Tulsa and to the killers and their family members Jesus gives peace.

This would not make everyone happy. Those who cry for justice through frustrated, angry tears do not want to hear Jesus give his peace to terrorists and snipers and killers. They want justice! They want the guilty punished! And make no mistake about it. There will be a judgment and the guilty will have to face God in their sin. God is loving and wrathful at the same time.

But, while justice is right and we should demand it, it does not bring peace.[i] In August, 1989, Anneliese MacPhail got a call. Her son Mark, a security guard, had been murdered. In September of 2011, the man convicted for killing her son received the lethal injection from the state of Georgia. The CNN story about her that I read on the website last weekend made a point quite emphatically. In the six months since her son’s killer had been executed, she has not had peace. What she thought might bring closure to the ordeal, did not. The killer’s execution has not eased her troubled soul. Though I personally oppose the death penalty, you might say justice was served this case. But it did not bring peace. Only Jesus can do that.

Racial killings, murders, tension related to war and to Muslim-American relations – this does not connect with everyone here. For some, these stories are on the news and we see them, but then we turn the news off and they don’t affect us very much. So, do we have peace? Examine your own life.

For me, anticipation of like special worship services and big trips and big events brings anxiety. I have sat in the hospital waiting room with people and the uncertainty and the fear take peace away. Maybe this day – April 15, tax day – maybe today is a day where peace is hard to come by. Maybe relationships do it. Our parents and siblings and spouses and children are the ones who make up our closest relationships and often, our happiest times come with these people we love. But just as often, we spend frustrating energy in impatience, anger, and hurt that can only come from someone who is extremely close. That’s not exactly the definition of peace.

To our nervousness, Jesus says, “Peace.” At the hospital bedside,“Peace.” When financial worries weigh us down, he offers peace. In the midst of our family feuds when emotion boils hot, the resurrected one steps in and says, “Peace, be still,” the same way he said it to calm the waves on the Sea of Galilee. Does this peace given by Jesus help? In the midst of turmoil, Jesus says a simple five-letter word. But all the stressors and sources of pain are still here. His so-called peace has not taken danger, death, and evil away.

And yet, these disciples who huddled in fear where changed men and women after meeting the risen Lord. In Acts 7, we see Stephen. As his body is pelted with rocks thrown by people determined to snuff out the Jesus movement, he calmly says, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” He’s dying a slow, painful death, yet he has peace. James of the inner circle of Peter, James, and John, the disciples closest to Jesus of the 12 is executed for his allegiance to Jesus (Acts 12:2). Faced with Herod’s threats, he maintains his faith and is beheaded. He was not rescued. He died. But he had peace. And because of that many heard the story and decided they would follow Jesus.

Even when I have major stress, when I slow down and pray and rest in Christ, I can face them in peace. How does the peace of Jesus help us face the world – simply daily stressors and major ills that assault all of humanity? How in the worst of times can we rejoice as resurrection people?

21Jesus said to them … “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”22 When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit.

Just as promised, when Jesus departed, the Holy Spirit remained as the tangible presence of God with the church. Our peace comes when we are in fellowship with God’s Holy Spirit and with God’s church.

It doesn’t mean the relationship with the church is always perfect. Sometimes we get angry with the church. Sometimes the church or someone in the church does things we do not like. But, we stay connected both with God and with God’s people. We do not turn our back on the church or on God. Even when storms of pain and tension and angry upend us and toss us about, we stay in full contact with God.

The resurrection legacy is not that things get easy but that God is with us. Matthew 28, Jesus tells his followers, “Remember I am with you always to the end of the age.” This is completely true even as He ascends bodily. We are filled with his Holy Spirit. So the circumstances of the world do not determine whether we have peace or chaos; when we are tuned into Christ, He gives us peace no matter what’s going on in our lives.

In 1950’s, missionaries in South America were murdered. Their wives continued and led to faith the natives that killed their husbands.

Theologian Dietrich Bonheoffer did some of his best work while in a Nazi concentration camp.

Some of my own moments of feeling closest to God have come at times of tension or loss. This is not a case of “that which doesn’t break me makes me stronger.” This is the real and living and all-powerful God showing up in life, in the form of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit of the resurrected one is present now.

Perhaps your life is sorely lacking peace and you need hope and you need something different than what you have right now. In the afterglow of Easter, I urge you turn to Jesus. Rather than listening to familiar stories of thriving in the face of turmoil or hearing me share how Jesus has strengthened me, in the midst of the difficulty you are facing today, why not come to Him. Why not open your heart and invite His Holy Spirit to take over your life. To each one of us He says,“Peace.”

Today, come and receive the peace He gives.

AMEN

[i] http://www.cnn.com/2012/04/07/us/troy-davis-macphail/index.html?iref=allsearch