How I learned compassion

Matthew 9:13 (NASB)  But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire compassion, and not sacrifice,’ for I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners.

I started learning compassion when my life started going in a direction I hadn't anticipated.  I hadn't anticipated it because I had tunnel vision.  Most of my closest friends could have called it 10 years out.  My family was not surprised. My professors were not shocked; in fact, they were pleased.  I may have been the only one who somehow still clung to a vision of my life as a stay-at-home mom with tons of kids.  Believing all the things I was taught as a child.  Never questioning.

For the love, I was in denial.  Because ever since I was able to talk I have been questioning, challenging, testing the limits.  Not because I was going to cross the limits.  Oh, no. I was a first-born and a people-pleaser.  The reason I tested the limits was because the limits, as I saw them, were not entirely logical or well thought out.  It seemed like the limits were somewhat arbitrary, actually, and I just wanted to know if anyone else was paying attention.  Yes, I was sent here by God just to keep you on your toes.  You're welcome, Mom.

But here's the thing. I started on a path that involved saying "yes" to a lot of seemingly little choices.  The choices were not so obviously correct at the time.  In fact, I have spent a lot of time feeling regret over certain choices.  In the end, I made choices that seemed like the right way to go.  It made sense in a sort of "die to yourself, crucify the flesh" kind of way.  In other words, they were often the choices that didn't make good financial sense, but somehow amounted to better character.  Or something.

Until here I am.  One husband, two kids.  Full-time doctoral student working on a Ph.D. and teacher certification.  I may be in school for the rest of my life.  Or the next 3 years, whichever comes first.  My husband is now officially a stay-at-home dad.  What's that?  Yeah, you heard me right.  He cooks, cleans, gardens, changes diapers, and generally manages the home. He also is the best arts-and-craft, fort-building, ukelele-playing, baby-snuggler I have ever met. 

One other thing you should know about me--my research focus involves the social construction of "race" and class in education, racial inequalities in education, and anti-bias curriculum.  What, you say?  Well, I couldn't find anything more controversial, so I settled on that topic. 

Actually, there's probably one more thing you should know.  When I stumbled upon my new research topic--because I don't know a better way to described how I landed there--people in my church told me I was making crap up.  Please stop talking about racism.  Thank you.  Except no "thank you."  Which inevitably sent me into a crisis of faith, because if you seriously are in that much denial about our society, I obviously can't believe anything that you say about God or life or anything.  

All of this taught me compassion.  Okay, so I wasn't so compassionate towards the naysayers initially.  I'm working on that.  But I take comfort in the fact that Jesus Christ experienced throughout his life what it was like to be on the "outs."  Like he kept saying that he was God, so the religious leaders called him a heretic.  Stuff like that.

In the Bible in the book of Hebrews it says that Jesus Christ "learned obedience through the things that he suffered."  That word for obedience actually means "attentive hearkening," which people take to mean just straight up submission.  But really I think more than anything, Jesus learned to listen.  He was the ultimate example of someone who learned to walk a mile in another person's shoes.  He learned, taught and acted compassion.

I know what it's like to have someone tell me I'm probably doing it wrong, and why don't you just stay home with your kids.  I know what it's like for people to think my husband is a "man-fail."  I know what it's like to have people tell me "I don't even know if you're a Christian anymore, what do you believe anyway."

And dear God, I have so much compassion now. 

For every person who has been labeled a heretic.  For every person who was told "don't ask too many questions, that's a slippery slope." For every mom or dad that has people whispering behind their back about their parenting or life choices. For every person who the church has shunned, overtly or covertly.  For every person who feels like no one "gets them" and everyone is judging them (because maybe they are). Single people. Single moms.  Couples without children. Gay people. Black people. Democrats.

And I'm so sorry. 

To every person I have ever judged with my words or my thoughts.  For every time I have argued instead of listening.  For every time I have participated in the behind-the-back whispering.  To every person I shunned because I was too scared of people's opinions.

My message to others, but mostly to myself is this--it's okay to be "different." It's okay to have different opinions about life, God, the Bible, parenting, etc.  It's okay to have disagreements, to make mistakes, and change your mind.  It's okay to say, "I don't know."  And above all, it's okay to really not know.  Because we really don't.  We just don't really know anything. 

And I'm not making excuses anymore for my lifestyle.  We are happy, as a family, as a couple.  This way of doing things works for us, at least for right now. I am not less of a woman or a mother, and my husband is not less of a man or a father.  If anything, we are free to be more ourselves.  I may have ended up here haphazardly, but I'm so glad I did.

White Privilege Is Not in the Bible...or...Why White Christians Need to Pay Attention to Sociology

A few weeks ago, blogger and fellow Southsider, Kenneth Pruitt asked me to answer the question: What form of privilege do you personally feel is most urgent for the church to wrestle with in order to be the community Christ calls it to be? 

This was a great moment for me to stop and synthesize what I have been thinking and writing about for about a year now. I wrote:


"White Christians need to develop a “sociological imagination. 

Sociologists are able to see the world in ways that are supremely helpful to understanding our experience.  Along with anthropologists, they are the ones who describe how “race” is not a biological or cultural reality, but is social constructed.  Going all the way back to W.E.B. Dubois, they are the people who talk about a system of “White privilege,” which is the other side of institutionalized racism.  

White Christians mostly don’t know about these concepts, because to be brutally honest, White churches were helping to maintain Jim Crow laws and racial segregation on Sunday morning and every other day of the week for much of this time.  We absolutely have to listen to what sociologists, anthropologists, psychologists are saying about "race," racial identity, privilege and oppression, because we as White Christians have not been developing a capacity to think about these topics.  If we can listen with discernment, we will begin to understand why it is so critical to be aware of the society in which we live." 

The rest of the post can be found on Kenneth's blog, which I recommend checking out at http://voicilesmotsjustes.blogspot.com/. 

I am still hoping for some dialogue around this topic, so maybe I can give another go at engaging people.  

1)  What form of privilege do you think we most need to engage in the church?

2)  Are the sociological concepts of "privilege" and "oppression" useful for Christians?  If not, are there similar themes in the Bible that might help Christians theorize about "race" and racial inequality?   

3) Other thoughts, opinions, or critiques?  

Christianity and Whiteness

In doing some reading this summer, I came across the works of antiracist activist Tim Wise.  I haven’t actually read his books yet, but I have listened to a few of his lectures on YouTube.   My first impression was pure awe.  I totally agree with his antiracist message, which he delivers with humor and selective profanity.  I found him helpful in clarifying otherwise muddied arguments regarding race and racism.  He inspired me to have the courage to speak out against racism. However, two things coincided for me.  

First, many of the people in my sphere of influence seem to dislike liberals, feminists, socialists, etc, a detail that has caused conflict between me and these same people at times. These friends cannot reconcile their worldview with these ideologies so as to even sympathize with the aforementioned groups.  This is supremely frustrating to me most of the time, and I have been known to express said frustration.  On the other hand, as Tim Wise pointed out, it's kind of like talking about "my momma."  I can do it, but don't you dare.  So when Wise starts "conservative bashing" on Twitter, it's not like I haven't done it before, but it hits me the wrong way coming from him.  And then he went there—he started insulting Jesus and Christians. 
 
I found myself slightly defensive, to say the least.  I argued, “I mean,  I understand there is hypocrisy in the Christian church, I get that there have been abuses, but for me, these have not been a correct representation or interpretation of my faith."  I find it supremely intolerant and hypocritical for Tim Wise to defend Islam and denounce stereotyping of Muslims for the acts of just a few, and then proceed to lambast Christianity and stereotype Christians.  Both religions have been potentially misinterpreted by groups of extremists.  Further, both religions have historically and currently do maintain hegemony in various parts of the world.  According to his own moral code, if it's not okay for him to stereotype Muslims or insult Islam, it should not be okay for him to do the same towards Christians and Christianity.

However, as I reflected on my reaction I suddenly had an "aha" moment regarding Christianity and its role in the U.S.  I suddenly saw the parallel between White privilege and "Christian privilege," between White supremacy and role of Christianity (or a distorted interpretation of it) since the before colonies were established by White settlers.   I'm not trying to gloss over the entire history of Christianity, and it's important to note that I’m locating my discussion in the U.S. 

All this to say, I realize there are reasons why Tim Wise and others would be angry at Christians, and specifically White Christians.  I also realized that I had used the same type of logic that I have heard other White people use when talking about "race," but this time applied it to religion.  The argument goes something like, "Well, there is racism in other countries.  Look at what [insert oppressive people group] did to [insert oppressed people group]."  At which point, I want to say, "Right, but we're in this country, and we have to deal with our mess, not theirs."  So in saying, "Islam maintains hegemony in other countries, oppresses people, etc." I should follow my own logic, "Right, but it doesn't here, whereas Christianity has and does."  

In this country, Christianity has a complex and problematic relationship with "Whiteness."  (This first and foremost evidenced by the fact that when I or other White Christians talk about Christianity, we are thinking about White people.) This dual identity, often seen as one and the same, maintained institutionalized slavery based on a hierarchical racial order.  This ideology continues to dictate life in the U.S. and has real psychological and material consequences.  White Christians cannot separate themselves from this history, nor from the present reality of segregation and racial inequality.  It must be acknowledged first before continuing in any public or community relations.  

My new stance is that Christianity may have earned a good number of the insults dealt out by Tim Wise, although I can't fully stand behind his type of activism.  We [White Christians] have marginalized and oppressed people of color, and we continue to maintain a segregated order (see Emerson's study, "Divided by Faith").  Secondly, as a Christian I am supposed to follow Christ, who "while being reviled, did not revile in return," and he was blameless—I am not.  Finally, I started to wonder how much of White Christian’s outrage at being "persecuted" in the U.S. is really just masked rage at losing privilege?  Rage at being perceived as anything but the norm?  Fear at losing power?  And anyway, how do Christians justify fear and rage?  Do we recognize it as such, or do we call it “righteous indignation”?  This is one of the reasons why we need truly diverse churches.  As Christians, we need the perspective of people from other racial groups to reveal our pride, indignation, fear, privilege and oppression for the purpose of repentance and reconciliation.