You can take the pastor out of the church, but you can’t take the Church out of the pastor.
Open your hearts
What I wanted to say after the #CharlestonShooting—a message to my white brothers and sisters in the church
by Derrick L. Weston
I miss preaching. I miss the preparation and the delivery. I miss the connection with the congregation that is formed. After events like last week’s—when nine people were shot and killed during a prayer meeting at Emanuel AME Church in Charleston because of the color of their skin—and there have been a lot of these kinds of events, I think about what I would be saying to a congregation. I think this is what I would have said this past Sunday.
As we work together with him, we urge you also not to accept the grace of God in vain. For he says, “At an acceptable time I have listened to you, and on a day of salvation I have helped you.” See, now is the acceptable time; see, now is the day of salvation! We are putting no obstacle in anyone’s way, so that no fault may be found with our ministry, but as servants of God we have commended ourselves in every way: through great endurance, in afflictions, hardships, calamities,beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, hunger; by purity, knowledge, patience, kindness, holiness of spirit, genuine love,truthful speech, and the power of God; with the weapons of righteousness for the right hand and for the left; in honor and dishonor, in ill repute and good repute. We are treated as impostors, and yet are true; as unknown, and yet are well known; as dying, and see—we are alive; as punished, and yet not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing everything.
We have spoken frankly to you Corinthians; our heart is wide open to you. There is no restriction in our affections, but only in yours. In return—I speak as to children—open wide your hearts also. (2 Cor. 6:1–13)
We do an awful disservice in the way that we read Scripture. Usually we recite in a monotonous droning, as if we’re bored out of our skulls. I get it. Numbers is a tough slog. There are a few genealogies that make me want to gouge my eyes out. I really couldn’t care less about the dimensions of the Ark of the Covenant. Only Indiana Jones can make that interesting.
There are other parts of Scripture, however, where we let both ourselves and the text down by draining them of emotion—or by infusing them with the wrong emotions. We think that Paul wrote his letters as a harsh disciplinarian. I tend to take another view. If you’ve ever started something, you know that founders become protective like parents. There may be correction involved, but ultimately, the dominant sentiment is love. I imagine that Paul’s letters, especially to Corinth—which seemed to need a little extra attention (two letters, both fairly long, possible third missing letter; they were the problem children)—were written from the perspective of a nurturing parent wanting to see the kids succeed.
‘This past week, I felt an emotion that troubles me more than sadness. More than fear, more than anger. I felt hopeless.’
Paul’s missionary journeys were fundraising trips—dad’s attempt to make sure that all the kids were eating. He would visit or write to churches with resources and encourage them to give to the churches struggling in other parts of the Roman Empire. Corinth was one of the churches with resources. And in his letter to Corinth, Paul identifies himself strongly with the parts of the church that are suffering. He’s been through imprisonments, beatings, riots, and hunger. Paul has known some hard times, and he’s speaking to the side of the church that has the ability to give on behalf of—and see the world through the experiences of—the part of the church that is struggling.
This is how I want my white sisters and brothers to hear this text today. I want them to hear this message as coming from one part of the body to another, from the part that is tired of being beaten, abused, and neglected to the side that rings its hands about problems being too big. From the side wondering where the next meal might come from to the side that whines about what was missing from this year’s potluck. From the side that knows riots and looting to the side that is shielded behind gated, gentrified communities.
Hear them now: “Don’t take the grace of God in vain.” “Now is the time!” “We have done everything you’ve asked of us!” “Our hearts are wide open to you!” “There are no restrictions left except the ones you’ve put on yourselves to love us back!” “Open up your hearts!”
I feel like this is the message that the black church has been screaming to the white church. I feel like this is the message that black people have been screaming to this country. We’ve done all you’ve asked us to do. What more is it going to take for you to love us? Not just fetishize us. Not just love elements of our culture. Not just to want the surface trappings, but to love us in deed and in truth.
Immediately before this section of the letter, Paul claims that he has been given the ministry of reconciliation. Yes, it is the ministry of reconciliation of God to humanity, but that cannot happen without an equal ministry of reconciliation among people.
I want to see racial reconciliation happen in my lifetime; I really do. But it can’t be a “colorblind,” let’s-forget-the-past, everybody’s-human kind of reconciliation. It has to be a reconciliation whose money is where its mouth is. It has to be a reconciliation where people recognize that they can no longer love their neighbor from a distance. It has to be the kind of reconciliation that costs you something, namely the benefit of the world remaining as it is. It has to be a reconciliation that goes beyond writing a check.
‘We’ve done all you’ve asked us to do. What more is it going to take for you to love us? Not just fetishize us. Not just love elements of our culture. Not just to want the surface trappings, but to love us in deed and in truth.’
This past week, I felt an emotion that troubles me more than sadness. More than fear, more than anger.
I felt hopeless.
I felt like this is just going to keep happening, and my white friends are going to be sad, and they are going to hold vigils, and they’re going to ask, “How long, oh Lord?” But they’re not going to leave or merge their congregations to join communities of color. They’re not going to relocate the congregations that left during white flight back into the cities. They’re not going to make massive investments in job development and education. They’re going to move out of the city when their kids reach school age because public schools are subpar.
My friends, can you hear the words of the apostle Paul anew?
But as servants of God the black church has commended herself in every way: through great endurance, in afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, hunger; by purity, knowledge, patience, kindness, holiness of spirit, genuine love, truthful speech, and the power of God; with the weapons of righteousness for the right hand and for the left; in honor and dishonor, in ill repute and good repute. We are treated as impostors, and yet are true; as unknown, and yet are well known; as dying, and see—we are alive; as punished, and yet not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing everything.
We have spoken frankly to you, white church; our heart is wide open to you. There is no restriction in our affections, but only in yours. In return—I speak as to children—open wide your hearts also.
The voices of Clementa Pinckney, Tywanza Sanders, Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, Myra Thompson, Ethel Lee Lance, Cynthia Hurd, Daniel L. Simmons Sr., DePayne Middleton-Doctor, and Susie Jackson cry out to you . . .
Open your hearts!
Derrick L. Weston is a teaching elder in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), a community builder for the 29th Street Community Center, and cohost of the podcast God Complex Radio.