Racism and Spiritual Formation

“The real question of Christian discipleship is not can I be your brother in Christ, but can I be your brother in law?” I first heard this statement in a class in seminary. Who can’t your child marry? Who do you feel uneasy about having in your home?

Questions like these help us get to the core of our racial situation. It’s one thing to be in close proximity to someone who looks, thinks, or even eats differently than you. It’s another to be in deep relationship with that person, and still another to work for a world (that is, Christ’s “kingdom”) where our differences are not placed on a hierarchy that regards some as superior and others inferior.

The reality of racial sin and hostility in our world is very real. In the US, places and names such as Ferguson, Eric Garner, Trayvon Martin, and Charlottesville have reminded us that matters of race remain one of America’s deeply embedded thorns in the flesh. Just take a look at your social media timeline. A day doesn’t go by when we don’t see people vocalizing their rage, puzzlement, and defensiveness over matters of race. The turbulent discourse has found its way into our local churches and our homes.

We are consistently faced with the troubles of a racialized world. The stories we hear and see seem to be endless. Whether the stories are nationally televised or known only to us, we are regularly weighed down by the destructive ideas and practices that establish subtle and not-so-subtle hierarchies of human value based on skin color. Although the symbols of racism have been largely dismantled, the spirit of racism continues to permeate our world.

But we are not without help. There is a way that can take us beyond the disjointed and narrow approaches that fail to engage the multiple perspectives of racism—perspectives that include our collective past, our inner life, and our outward engagement.

Tensions in Brooklyn

During my childhood, the East New York section of Brooklyn was one of the most dangerous and economically poor areas of New York City. I grew up around Puerto Ricans, Dominicans, Jamaicans, and African Americans. Certainly, there were tensions between these groups, but one of the consistent places of racial and ethnic conflict were found at Chinese take-out restaurants or the local Korean-owned dry cleaners. I can vividly recall the tensions as well as the glimmers of healing that would surface from time to time. I have one memory in particular.

As a teenager and into my twenties, I would make monthly trips to the dry cleaners. For as long as I can remember, there was a massive, bullet-proof partition on the counter that separated the customer from the dry cleaner’s employee. In order to drop the clothes off one had to put the clothes into a drop box and then talk through the clear partition, giving specific instructions. As a kid I thought all of this was normal until the day the partition was removed.

One day in my mid-twenties, I stopped in to drop off a few buttoned-down shirts, and to my great surprise the partition had been taken down. I was about to go back outside to make sure I was in the same place. I mentioned how different the store looked and the owner said, in his heavy accent, “We want to build trust with our neighbors.” For the first time I was able to shake hands with someone in that space.

Upon reflection of that situation, I couldn’t help but think something deeply spiritual was taking place in that neighborhood on the corner of Essex St. and Pitkin Ave. I would find out later that the new Korean owners of that business were Christians. Something had compelled them to imagine a different way of being together. A new community was forming based not on suspicion, mistrust, and fear, but on hospitality, trust, and good-will. In that small dry-cleaner’s space, a metaphor of the gospel became clear as day. It wasn’t the fall of the Berlin Wall, but in my neighborhood it was a significant act.

You see, God is not simply in the business dry-cleaning our souls. God is in the business of tearing down walls and creating a new family, a new way of belonging together. One could argue that the primary fruit of the gospel is not going to heaven when you die, but the miraculous new family that is created out of death and resurrection of Jesus. Racial justice and reconciliation remain one of the most urgent matters of faith and public witness. In this respect, the cross of Christ isn’t just a bridge that gets us to God, it’s a sledgehammer that breaks down walls that separate us.

In the midst of all of the confusion and anger that persists due to the racial tensions in our country and world, the Church must lead the way in proclaiming a message of hope, justice, and reconciliation. This is what we have attempted to do over three decades at New Life Fellowship in Queens, New York City.

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This is an excerpt from the chapter on racial justice and reconciliation in my first book, The Deeply Formed Life