Black Lives Matter
Brothers and sisters of faith: Black lives matter.
In Brunswick, Ga., Ahmaud Arbery had gone for a run. While jogging, he paused and walked through a building site to look at a house being constructed.[1] Apparently seen by white neighbors, he was chased down by two pick-up trucks, hit by one, cornered by both, then shot three times with a shotgun. Ahmaud Arbery was twenty-five.
In Louisville, Ky., Breonna Taylor was twenty-six years old. She had just finished a long day of work as an Emergency Medical Technician. She saved lives for a living and was an aspiring nurse. She was unarmed and sleeping. Her door was broken down, her home was invaded by She was shot eight times by police in what has been described as a “botched raid.” The officers were looking for someone else. She would have been twenty-seven on June 3.
In Minneapolis, George Floyd was arrested and had been standing with the arresting officers, unarmed, peaceful, and respectful. Ten minutes and a long, calculated, inhumane knee-on-the-neck-choke-hold later, he was dead. The other three officers watched, listened to Mr. George saying he couldn’t breathe, heard bystanders calling out to them to stop, to let him up, to let him breathe. At least one member of the crowd was forcibly pushed away when he tried to intervene. None of the officers attempted to provide him with medical assistance. George Floyd was forty-six.
Given the circumstances, what we now know, and what we can see for ourselves, the evidence appears to point in a tragic, suspicious, and terribly troubling direction.
These lives, specifically, these BLACK LIVES didn’t appear to matter.
The casual nature of the kneeling on a man’s neck, hearing his cries for help and mercy, and no apparent sense of compassion, concern, empathy, or even humanity? From all we can see in the actions and inactions of these officers, it appears George Floyd’s life didn’t matter.
Breonna Taylor’s horrible death, an invasion of her home, a mistaken identity, a cold-blooded killing, and the eventual description of her death as a “botched raid?” To the Louisville police and to the officers who shot her eight times in her sleep, it feels like her life did not matter.
Ahmaud Arbery’s story would never have been known had a New York Times journalist not heard about it by chance. For months, his death was swept under the administrative rug of the Brunswick judicial system. Local law enforcement knew the two white men who stalked and killed him. Their motives seemed to raise no concerns beyond the African-American community in Brunswick. Their vigilante style of chase and execution was defended by many, and even seemed celebrated by quite a few. They were not arrested or even thoroughly questioned until the story began to be heard beyond Brunswick’s tight-knit law enforcement community. The terrifying nature of the hunt that terrorized him, the almost execution style of the shotgun blasts that killed him, and the apparent cover-up that followed, like with George Floyd and Breonna Taylor, feels like, looks like and seems like Ahmaud Arbery’s life didn’t matter.
Therefore, it is time for white people to begin to say without hesitation and without qualification: Black lives do matter.
A friend of mine not long ago said:
“If white folks like me had done a better job much sooner and more thoroughly calling out racist behavior, standing for racial justice and listening more carefully to the concerns and hurts of our African-American friends, neighbors and fellow citizens, there never would have been a need for Black Lives Matter But we didn’t. Now we must.”
So let us, together, do what is right. I know from many conversations with many of you how concerned you are and have been. I know that our beloved congregation has often been at the forefront of important social change. I know there is a great gladness of the many legacies those who have gone before us have bequeathed to our generations. For all that we can be thankful.
We also must respond redemptively now, and move with the current waves of deep concern for racial justice, long-overdue reforms in police departments across the nation, and the pressing need for white people to finally recognize the true reality and the widespread nature of systemic racism in our land.
A vital starting point for us all is to simply say with conviction, love and commitment to doing the work of God:
Black lives matter.
Let us say it. But even more, let us live it, practice it and allow God to use us to heal our world. Let’s get to work!
Anti-Racism Explanation and Resources
Several very important books and articles and tools are available to help us all be more educated on exactly what this means and why it is so important for churches like ours to understand more fully our role. This is especially true regarding “Anti-Racism.”
It is no longer enough to “not be racist.” As Christians, we are called to be totally and unequivocally against racism; we are called to be “anti-racist.” Here is why.
We have been unwittingly part of a broader system that has unfairly slanted the playing field in the favor of one group of people over another. Please see the extensive list of excellent reading our staff has compiled (Anti-Racism Resources). Also, be aware of additional resources to help all of us understand what we mean and need to understand when we use the term “systemic racism.”
Three quick examples:
1) The GI Bill
As a pastor to numerous veterans over the years, especially WWII veterans, I have been honored to hear incredible stories of their trials, fears, tribulations, and traumas.
I’ve also heard virtually every one of them talk about coming from their very poor backgrounds. How being a soldier changed their lives. And especially, how when they returned to civilian life, they were given the incredible chance to attend college for free through the GI Bill.
Without exception, I can think of at least thirty men in my churches over the years who got their college degrees and went on to thrill their families with excellent jobs, homes financed through government assistance, and low-cost loans for veterans and futures that exceeded any dream of their parents. They acquired wealth and capital, got equity in their homes, and ultimately were able to pass along significant inheritances on to their children.
They were universal in their praise of the GI Bill. They were grateful to their government. They were patriotic and incredibly thankful for all they knew they had benefitted from. I loved hearing their stories and sharing in their gratitude. These were all exclusively white men.
2) The GI Bill and African-Americans
For the African-American members of my congregations, many of them also served in the military. They were equally at risk; many actually fought and were injured in battles. They all had equally compelling stories of loss, fear, loneliness, and traumas. They, too, were thankful to have served their country. They, too, spoke of pride, comradery, and heroism.
But when they returned to the U.S. and went back to their homes, because of the laws at the time, they were not allowed to receive the same benefits or recognition as their white counterparts.
They returned wearing the same uniforms as the white soldiers, but they were barred from low-cost loans, denied affordable housing, and were ineligible for any part of the GI Bill, because of the color of their skin. The financial impact of these simple exclusions is enormous.
Added to the monetary repercussions for their children and subsequent generations, the tragedy of ongoing discrimination, and the increased toll of discriminatory Jim Crow laws in the south and north, African-American families lost out on the incalculable benefits, financial, social and emotional accrued by whites.
3) The Legacy of Red Lining
In The Color of Law, Richard Rothstein goes into excruciating detail about the extent to which African-Americans were systematically traumatized by forced removal from some neighborhoods, many of which they had lived in for decades, the legal exclusion from other neighborhoods, and the inability to acquire loans to buy their own homes in any neighborhood.
Again, the incalculable generational damage financially, socially, and emotionally is hard to fathom.
These are just a few of countless illustrations of why the term systemic racism is appropriate to describe the wide extent of suffering and exclusion African-Americans have experienced for generations.
Please read further and study any and all of these helpful and very important resources for the vital time in which we are living. Truly, God’s call to us to act is now. Let us be ready, willing, strong, courageous, and most of all, loving.
[1] I have run throughout and around the communities where I have lived. I have also allowed my curiosity to get the better of me. I, too, have wandered through construction sites wondering what studded, unfinished rooms still open to the outside were going to be when completed. As a white guy, it never occurred to me either could be dangerous or viewed with suspicion.
David Jordan, Senior Pastor, First Baptist Church of Decatur