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books & things COVID-19 five things on a friday life lately politics & leadership racial reconciliation

Five things on a Friday: the links I send these days.

No matter where we live, or who our friends are, our conversations tend to drift to the same topics these days, don’t they? Here are the articles I’ve been keeping in my phone’s notes app, due to my repeated have you seen this or funny you should mention that conversations.

  1. The Unlikely Connection Between Wellness Influencers and the Pro-Trump Rioters, Cosmopolitan. This was the first time I heard the phrase pastel QAnon, and good gracious, does it hit the nail on the head. I’ve already written on this, but I’m now comfortable enough to say that I was radicalized years ago by the natural family community online. I still have much fondness for the community and the science behind natural wellness, but this article hit home. The author did a great job linking topics that have felt chaotically connected over the last year. How on earth does a pandemic relate to race in America, and how are those two things connected to election fraud? Watch and see. This piece was wild, but clarifying.
  2. Under the Influence podcast, Jo Piazza. Whenever I share this series with a friend, I use the same words to describe how it makes me feel – exposed, seen, convicted, relieved, rescued. Having spent the last fifteen years on the internet, I have both watched and participated in influencer culture online. I’ve seen it benefit and bless, and I’ve seen it corrupt and destroy. The internet seems to be one of the only vices in life where the danger is scientifically proven and widely accepted, and yet we seem to continue on our merry way. I appreciate Jo’s approach because she offers no clear answers, and she maintains her love for social media throughout her journey.
  3. The Roman Road from Insurrection, Russell Moore. I hesitate to use phrases like spiritual father, or giant of the faith, but Russell is a hero. He has repeatedly walked the tightrope between divided groups, trying to lead well and point to Jesus. He has worked for years at the center of perhaps the most inflammatory denomination in the Christian faith, refusing to walk away and also refusing to stay quiet. His piece on the January insurrection was one I referred to often, as I grieved and lamented and asked the same questions over and over. How did we get here? How do we move forward? Dr. Moore’s words help answer both of these for me.
  4. The Spiritual Problem at the Heart of Christian Vaccine Refusal, David French. Along with stark and discouraging statistics about the white evangelical role in anti-vaccine messaging, David does an excellent job of educating the reader on the complex, and often sinister, layers beneath this wave of Christian refusal of COVID-19 vaccination. I don’t trust the research really means I’m choosing to trust a different voice. There is also a clear call to gentle and patient communication with folks on the other side of the table. Nobody ever changed their mind by being bullied or berated. Speaking of trusted voices, David is certainly one. I appreciate his moderate and straightforward approach to covering hot-button issues, especially as they relate to his/my people – the Church.
  5. Christian Nationalism & the Good Life, The Holy Post podcast + Derwin Gray. More great content from brave-but-gentle people I trust. The guest on this episode is my former pastor, and who doesn’t want to listen to a podcast from a former VeggieTales creator and star? I learned a lot about both the roots and the fruit of today’s iteration of white nationalism. The bad news is that it’s been doing its best to destroy for hundreds of years, and it’s become normal and even celebrated through modern Church leaders and politicians. The good news is that we’re able to call it out and combat it using Scripture and thought leaders like these experts. I’m grateful.
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life lately racial reconciliation the whole & simple gospel

I’m taking back my language.

Anyone else find themselves regularly tempted to water down their words? Me! Me! Me!

When I first started hanging out online, I was fearless. I remember waiting the endless seconds and minutes for our dial-up internet to connect, and then it was off to the races. I wrote about my feelings. I wrote about people. I wrote about my day. I wrote about topics on which I had no business presenting myself as an expert, but I didn’t care. The world wide web was my oyster. What changed?

Over the years, I have been corrected about my words both privately and publicly. I have been snarked about on anonymous forums, and I’ve faced pushback in my comment sections. But I have also been a recipient of well-meaning tweets and direct messages and emails. I have pulled my words when they harmed. I have edited my words when they didn’t translate like I’d hoped. Although I don’t agree with the permanent exclusivity and shunning associated with today’s cancel culture, I very much appreciate the long-overdue attention needed to careless and damaging words and actions. For me, the problem lies in the temptation to censor myself. This is what I call the watering down.

There is beauty to correction and knowing better so one can do better, but there is danger in allowing one’s self to get lost or tucked away or hidden for good. There is power in wisdom and discernment and council, but there is also strength in courage to speak. From opinions to pleas to vulnerability, we must hold space for our words and the words of others. As a Jesus follower, I believe the enemy of my soul wants nothing more than to shut me up for good.

When I say something, it’s usually because I very much mean it. I’m also quite comfortable changing my mind along the way. Sometimes the safest place to be is in the uncertainty of something. These things, meaning what we say and changing our minds, are normal behaviors. It’s time to behave as though they are. I will stay careful forever, but I’m ready to be done second-guessing everything I say and write. I want to take back my language, both online and in face-to-face interactions.

Busy is defined as having a great deal to do. Sometimes, I’m busy. To be indulgent is to be overly generous or lenient. I hope I’m indulgent to myself and others when it matters. Black lives matter is a theologically true and sound statement. Woke is now defined as being alert to injustice. I certainly want to care about the things God cares about.

When I allow words to become hijacked by culture, even Christian culture, I allow the enemy to sideline me. And my short life here on earth is far too precious for that.

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politics & leadership racial reconciliation the whole & simple gospel

Fumbling for hope.

Last week’s events have left me in an utterly sad place. I’m not black, I don’t have family in law enforcement, and I’ve never lost a relative to gun violence. It’s tempting to feel as if it’s not my place to mourn in such a way that feels like I can’t catch my breath and my heart might fall out of my body.

But that’s the way it feels. This is my country, too. These are my people. And I’m trained for it. I know how to hurt with the hurting. I’m not easily shocked or rattled by tragedy. And more than all of that, this is the burden God’s given me.

I don’t get riled up about every issue that comes across my screen, and I’m usually unwilling to engage in dialogue on subjects that make Christians famous – or infamous. It’s not that I feel disdain for people passionate about all of the things, but it just doesn’t feel effective. I can’t afford to get distracted. Love God, love people. Love God, love people.

But racial reconciliation? This is a flag I’ll wave even when my arms get tired. This is a hill upon which I’m willing to die. This is a legacy I’d like to leave my children, a fiery torch I hope to pass. This is one of many ways I want to love God, and love people. And so on I’ll trudge. One day at a time. Slowly, surely, intentionally, and prayerfully.

I am grateful for a church willing to wade into the mess this morning, helping me fumble for hope and throwing me a lifeline in 2 Corinthians 1. He HAS delivered us, and He WILL delivered us. I am relieved at the idea of a God who is never surprised, a God who still holds the world in his hands while it bleeds.

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life lately racial reconciliation

What I can do – a day in the life of a white woman with privilege.

How do you tell people one of your 2016 goals is to see more racial reconciliation? How do you quantify unity and healing when people ask about your aspirations for the year? How do you put words to something like that, and keep it from looking hollow and trite when it’s written down on the same piece of paper as “read thirty books?”

I don’t know. I don’t have answers for avoiding the discomfort of the discussion, just like I don’t have answers to the problem of racial inequality in America as a whole. But I do know that I want to be part of the solution. I do want to hold this whole thing up to Jesus. I do want to lock arms with a generation that ends racism once and for all, by standing on the shoulders of the generations who have fought the good fight before us.

So how do I respond when people ask why Beyonce and Kendrick Lamar made me weep this month? How on earth can I encourage other people with my baby steps? A day in the life snapshot, perhaps? A day in the life of a thirty year-old white woman with privilege who longs for racial reconciliation in her community and beyond? You want a bullet point list? Because that’s all I’ve got these days.

I can talk about race on a regular basis, with my friends and family. I can address phrases and lingo and headlines head-on with my children around the dinner table. Yes, all lives matter. And they’ll matter even more when black lives matter.

I can cross the tracks. I can literally drive my truck across the railroad tracks one town over and frequent a barber shop where we’re the only white people. I can sit in that uncomfortable feeling, exchanging side-eye and shy smiles, and realize that it’s what my black neighbors endure every day of their lives, depending on the situation. I’m just here for a haircut.

I can use emojis with diverse skin tones on my iPhone. Because black is beautiful and nobody’s actually that bright shade of yellow and those little brown fists were a long time coming.

I can open my home to people who don’t look like me. I can cook for my neighbors and ask them to get a little awkward with me because I’m doing my best and I just don’t want to live in a bubble forever.

I can pray. I can pray for hearts to be healed. I can pray for eyes to be opened. I can pray for a renewal of our justice system, redemption of relationships and restored reputations of people – red and yellow black and white, for they are precious in His sight; and Lord Jesus, please make them all precious in mine.

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community politics & leadership racial reconciliation the whole & simple gospel

We must learn.

Now more than ever, I feel that Jesus followers must learn to live in the tension around us. Our generation absolutely cannot afford to get this wrong. We must learn to live in the tension in our neighborhoods, our marriages, our friendships, and especially our roles as mothers. As a living, breathing vessel of God’s presence and love, I have to get to the point where I’m okay with not having all the answers.

There are gay people attending my church, men and women who want to get to know Jesus better without leaving their old lives behind. There are women of color with whom I connect online from all over the country, women who carry a painfully different perspective on community and justice than I do. There are days I swear up and down my husband would be a little more like Jesus if he’d just listen to me, but he doesn’t. And there are days I look at my kids like they are aliens and I can’t figure out why God gave them to me and I wonder if we will all make it out alive.

And that’s just it. That’s the gospel. Jesus gave me his life so that I don’t have to have mine all figured out. Not only that, Jesus gave me his life so that I can tell others that they don’t have to have theirs all figured out either. I can make disciples of people without fixing all of their problems. And that is good news.

So back to this idea of living in tension, the concept that has completely derailed me recently. I am a huge, HUGE fan of the grace versus works tension and I want to hang out here for a minute. I’ve always been a hard worker and I grew up in the church, so naturally I lean towards this idea that idle hands are sinful and we all need to be doing our part all of the time. Recently, I even went so far as to pick a fight with my husband about when I feel it is the appropriate time of day to sit on the couch – after the kids go to bed. And yet, I’m quick to swing hard into the idea of grace and the simplicity of salvation when it applies to my own mess.

I believe that Jesus died on the cross and rose from the dead so that I could have life and life abundantly. I believe that he did it because he loved me, that my name was on his lips when he hung on the cross and when he walked out of the tomb. I know that all I have to do is believe with my mouth that Jesus is Lord and confess with my tongue that God raised him from the dead. I believe that I could sit on that truth for the rest of my life and do nothing about it, and that I’d still see him someday in heaven, smiling at me. And therefore, I’m thankful for grace.

But I also believe that faith without works is dead. I believe that the gospel compels. I believe that once we become Jesus followers, we’re left with a task of bringing heaven down to earth. That sounds like a beautifully heavy task, but a very clearly defined command. I believe that my entire life should be about the Great Commission, and going out into all the world to make disciples is an active charge. I believe God created me to be a hard worker, someone who loves moving and achieving and pressing forward. And therefore, I’m thankful for works.

So which is it? Grace or works? Where does this tension leave me? Can I find the sweet spot in the middle? And the answer, I think, is that there doesn’t have to be an answer. There doesn’t have to be a sweet spot. God is still good. He doesn’t need a sweet spot. He is the sweet spot. He is the answer. So I learn to live in the tension. And I can call it good, because He is good.

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racial reconciliation

What I’ve learned about being white.

I’ve been sitting on this idea for awhile, feeling a bit hesitant to write about it. There’s so much out there right now, with Ferguson and other stories captivating our nation’s attention. A lot of it is such good stuff, and I don’t want to add to the noise unless I have something to say. If you read this post, or you follow me on Twitter, you know that I’ve been watching closely. I can’t look away. This is too important for my generation, and the one coming after it. But then I saw this last week, and I knew it was time to speak up. I couldn’t even read the entire piece because it made me sick to my stomach. This was me, you guys.

I grew up at a privileged, Christian school with a solid and consistent group of black friends. It was a K-12 school, so I literally went through life with the same people for over a decade. Like all kids do, we’d get hung up on certain trends and jokes. There was the Why does it have to be a color thing? response whenever the word black was used in any sort of context in the classroom. There were comments about oreo cookies when we’d line up for photos at parties. I put a Confederate flag sticker on my truck when I turned sixteen, and nobody ever said a word to me about it. I even watched as two of my black friends made a joke about watermelon when picking out candy one time.

I assumed it was all in good fun, until the day I made one of those comments to them. They were so gracious with me, but they absolutely put me in my place. You don’t get to make those jokes, Rach. About that same time, I noticed someone had scratched f*** you through the Confederate flag sticker on my truck. I asked one of my black friends if he was offended by it, and he spoke such wisdom to me. If you have to ask, why have it up there at all?

I’m grateful I didn’t make it out of high school without such valuable lessons. I quickly learned a thing about being a white girl with black friends. I quickly learned a thing about being white in general. I’m a spectator to a culture and background that is not my own. It’s an honor to be a part of it, sure. I’m grateful to get in the mix and learn about it and bring value to it. But their story is not my story. Their past is not my past. The jokes and the comments and the flags were never pointed at me. These weren’t my feelings at stake. Thank God my friends of color were gracious and gentle with me. I’ve kept up with them throughout the years and repeated the sentiments over and over. I’m sorry. I’m grateful. I’m listening.

Of course, this can go beyond race. I could get much broader and talk about respect in general. Just because your friend jokes about his nose doesn’t give you freedom to poke fun. Just because your coworker complains about the burden of a special-needs child doesn’t give you license to join her. But let’s stay on race today, for just a minute. It’s incredibly tender and difficult to stay on a topic like this because it makes people uncomfortable. So let’s get uncomfortable and stay there.

I have the freedom to feel however I want. I can laugh at jokes and make comments and put flags in places. That’s my right. However, I do not have the right to assume that people feel the way I do or understand my heart. I do not have the right to explain or defend my way into living a lifestyle that devalues people. My intentions will never speak louder than my actions. As a white person, I don’t think I have the right to feel any sort of way about how people of color should feel or should think.

When you want to learn something, get out of your story and into someone else’s. Go to where the wisdom is. It’s exactly what I did, and I was humbled in the most beautiful and painful of ways. Once I saw life through a new lens, I could no longer defend a Confederate flag sticker on my car. I could no longer laugh at watermelon jokes.

I decided never again did I want to have a conversation like the one in high school. Never again did I want to watch someone I loved tell me how much I’d hurt them with my ignorance. So I just stopped, right then and there. I repented. I stayed in the mix, but with new eyes and new ears and a new mouth and a new heart. I saw the jokes and comments and flags for how hurtful and and degrading and divisive they were, and suddenly my intentions didn’t matter anymore. I began striving for a life of reconciliation. I wanted a lifestyle that removes all barriers.

These days, that lifestyle looks like a lot of listening. A lot of asking questions. A lot of reading. A lot of conversations with my kids. There’s a revolution happening in front of our eyes, people. I’m doing my best to arm the next generation to join it, by bringing value and peace to every person they encounter.

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politics & leadership racial reconciliation the whole & simple gospel

I’m not looking away.

APTOPIX Police Shooti_Schu(3)

source

Thing have been and will continue to be quiet around here out of respect for what’s happening in #Ferguson. The longer the violence drags on, the deeper my heart sinks. I don’t have a lot of wisdom on the subject, but I wanted to jot down some of my thoughts while I’m hot and bothered.

I want to be known for listening more than I talk. This means I’m watching, reading, and soaking up pretty much everything you send my way about race in America. I know this goes far beyond a shooting and police work. I’ve spent the last several years coming to terms with my white privilege, filtering things through a new worldview, and making amends with people I probably failed as a young woman.

Feelings are real. Therefore, feelings are facts. Whether you’re a wounded person of color or a wounded member of law enforcement or a wounded person of privilege or a combination of those things, I’m here. If you’re angry, if you’re hurt, I want you to know that I see you. I hear you. I’m listening. And I’m on your team.

I love my country and its people too much to let this go. I love truth and justice too much to wait this out. Regardless of where we stand and where the fallout lies, we cannot look away from this. We cannot turn our children’s faces from it. And if you’re a follower of Jesus, if you’re a walking, breathing extension of the Church, your voice is especially powerful right now. So I’m speaking up to say that I’m listening. And that I’m not looking away.

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