I'm not shy about posting thoughts about race. Some might say it's unhealthy to think/talk about it as much as I do. Regardless, I'll probably continue to write these kinds of thoughts down.
I have always lived in a world that looked a lot like me. White suburb, white public schools, white churches, white friends, white coworkers and clientele at all my jobs, extremely white college. I don't necessarily think I (or my family) consciously planned life to go that way, but it did. Pretty much everywhere I've been in life, I've been in the majority.
What would it feel like to be the only black student in my high school class? How would it feel to be the only black employee at the supermarket I worked in... when all the white employees were stocking shelves and bagging groceries and helping customers while the black employee was relegated to cleaning the back room where he'd be neither seen nor heard? How would it feel to be the black visitor at church?
What would it feel like to be a minority? The thought has crossed my mind many times. I have no idea if it's even a healthy thought. Being obviously different in appearance, would I feel the stares that I know I've given? Would I be judged simply for looking different than everyone else, like I've judged others? Would I feel uncomfortable in the presence of a majority that didn't look like me, like I assumed minorities must feel?
These questions weren't in the forefront of my mind (but were probably bouncing around somewhere in there) as I walked through the doors of a black church last Sunday. I'd heard good things about the minister there and knew the singing would be excellent, so I went there on my Sunday off from my church job.
Upon entering, I realized that there probably wasn't another white within a mile radius of the building. But I didn't feel stared at. I didn't feel uncomfortable. "It must be painfully obvious that I'm a visitor," I thought a time or two, but for most of my 2+ hours there, I felt very much at home, forgetting that I looked different.
As I left, I thought about how I'd love to go back and visit again. I was treated like a family member by the congregation. I felt genuinely welcomed and had a few conversations with some very kind folks, including the pastor. I thought about how much I'd enjoy singing along with a congregation that has rhythm (!). I thought about how much I'd like to be taught by a pastor who spoke the way he did. I thought about how it seemed that everyone was a part of the service, that there were no spectators.
I thought about how I was the only white person in the room.
Wait... where did that thought come from? Why the hell was I thinking about skin color after such a wonderful Sunday morning at church? Why, after experiencing so much good, was I thinking about some stupid little boundary that didn't matter when I was there?
I still have a lot to learn.
My little boy isn't scared of black people. He doesn't see any boundaries. God, please, please, please help me not to teach him to see any. The only way the madness continues is if I pass it on to him. Heal me, and protect my son from the sinful bigotry I'm trying to escape from.
3 comments:
all the things you talk about, lise and i got to experience first hand - and it was an awesome and humbling experience.
when we moved from lily-white cincinnati to washington dc 15+ years ago, we really didn't realize how white cincinnati was and how diverse dc and the surrounding area was. we lived in PG County, Maryland, right across the border from dc - and PG County was/is 60% black. i worked at a school in NW DC where i was the only white guy in the whole place. lise attended bowie state university on a MINORITY scholarship (historically / predominantly black college under federal orders to segregate - she spent five years there). we participated in an inner city church plant in downtown Baltimore surrounded by black / asian / indian / mexican / white / etc. we lived in baltimore city for 2 years and were the minority there, too.
it was SO GOOD to have been a part of such a diverse community for those ten years. it was GOOD being the minority, and yet after a short time, we didn't even think about it anymore. it did make the shock of moving back to cincinnati that much worse, though. folks are TOO conscious of it here.
were there people there who didn't like us because we were white? sure there were. were we conscious of it? and of our differences in our many experiences? sure - initially. i think the "novelty" wore off quickly and many of those little inner prejudices and pre-conceived ideas started flying out the window.
it's late. i'm tired and nursing a toothache. this may not be all coherent, but you get my drift. we're not really all that different - black and white communities. it's getting past those things we've come to "expect" for one reason or another, and really just going into new relationships with an open mind. allowing yourself to be challenged and stretched.
and a quick aside: long before it won all those academy awards, Crash blew our minds. one of the finest movies made in years. highly recommend it.
i AM curious, though: when you say you knew the singing would be good at the church you visited on sunday - did you know it would be good because of a stereotype about black churches and their singing or because you'd heard that this church had a good choir specifically?
to answer your question, I knew the singing would be good because I heard their men's chorus several years back. they blew my mind.
and you're much more coherent than you give yourself credit for.
i ought to mention that while i said and emphasized GOOD being the minority, this isn't always the case - we were quite lucky to be around people who didn't abuse their majority status to oppress or harm. that issue is so big that i can't even begin to touch it - lise and i being the minority in DC was nothing like being the minority in the rest of the country (especially when middle-aged white males control, rightly or wrongly, the majority of the united states).
i wasn't trying to be glib with my statements or somehow think that my small experience is somehow indicative of the country's minority experience.
thank you and goodnight.
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