Healing the Wounds of Racism

     I had quite an experience over this last week. I met with some youth from both the Fall River and the Marshall Congregations for an overnight Confirmation retreat.  First off I have to say that the retreat went very well! I was impressed with the youth’s willingness and ability to express the intimate details of their lives, their thoughts and their beliefs.

      I learned quite a bit about their family background and history as we shared our stories over pizza, popcorn and other such snacks. Sadly, I wasn't surprised to discover there were some who had already been through a lot of trauma. Others who hadn’t experienced much turbulence, also  shared their understanding of life and family. It turned out to be a uniting of hearts in which everyone found support in and through our differences.

      More specifically, on the second day, as we talked about compassion and justice, (a couple of ways we follow Christ), someone brought up Trayvon Martin. It was as if a wildfire started and everyone began to voice their concern and their thoughts about the death of Trayvon Martin and the obvious racial implications connected with it. They talked about the injustice of the situation. How wrong it was that a young man, seventeen years old, had been shot simply for being browns skinned...for "looking dangerous."  Our conversation quickly turned to racism and the outh began telling specific ways they'd seen or experienced racism. I have to say that these children all live in small towns in rural WI. They are all Caucasian, and have not had first hand experience with what it feels like to be judged by the color of their skin. Yet they had  much to contribute. They had heard friends  and family say things. Some of them admitted having said things themselves. 

      Probably the most intense and emotional conversation for the group was when one young woman shared that her grandmother, mother, father and brother (all of whom are members of the church) refer to African American people as “niggers,” and have a generally low opinion of them. She let the group know, in speaking directly with me, that part of the reason they had stopped coming regularly to church is because I’m an African American woman.

     While this wasn’t something that was surprising, it was unexpectedly personal and was deeply painful to hear. It was, and is, sad. To simply say I had an emotional reaction isn't just. What happened as I listened to her story...is that I realized that once again I was being rejected, judged, shunned, laughed at, scorned and despised. I felt, not rage, shame, hatred, or spite as I had many times before...but grief. I simply grieved. I grieved for the fact that we, humanity, thousands of years after our creation are still imprisoned by fear. It was an ancient experience....bubbling up from somewhere inside of my DNA. It smelled like the inside of the Dashur pyramids...dusty, dry, acrid, yet so permanent...so aged. Something inside of me shifted. And all at once it was like the dam that had been holding all of the tears of my ancestors broke. We have all grieved the loss of love, community, freedom and acceptance. Some of us grieved even as we fought, died, pushed on...tears coming from this deep, old fount of memory began to fall. It was more than sad... it was tragic.

    
     I allowed myself a moment, but what I needed was a million moments. How could I contain the flowing river pouring itself through my eyes? I won't say I didn't try, but I will say it didn't work. I couldn't stop weeping. Even after the tears stopped...my soul still cried.
     What I was most grateful for, though, was the opportunity to air out the old wounds. Although it grieved me, I understood that the way to healing is through the dirt, the pain, the smelly and ugly wound that racism is. I understand that if we don't acknowledge this we will continue to suffer. She felt quite bad, (I believe they all did) about what she shared. I was able to let them know that despite the difficulty and sadness in discussing racism, that I was glad that she had shared that with me and the group. It takes a lot of courage to talk about our experiences with oppression of any sort whether oppressor or oppressed. We took a liberty that morning and talked about it. We stood up that day and began washing the wound. 

     There's so much more to be said on this. I want to share my journey after the retreat too (that's another post...or a book), but for today I'll let go by saying, the meeting over the weekend has helped me to understand that although we as human beings struggle on either end of all sorts of oppression, such as racism, that we are all victims. I understood that as much right as I have to seek revenge, retribution, or to retaliate in some way, there's a greater obligation to seek opportunities for growth and healing for our human race. In doing this we foster, nurture and give way to the gift of healing through reconciliation and love. 

     I am in no way saying that I don’t believe in confronting or calling out oppression when I see it. I am committed, in fact, to speaking the truth of what my experience is in love. I am committed to educating and uncovering the truth to and with those who are insistent that racism no longer plagues our world, country, churches, schools, and communities. Yet, in the depth of my being,  I believe that if racism is ever to be healed. That it requires us to, in acknowledging its presence, face it and to work together, supporting one another in airing out the wounds it has caused. This means having conversations in which we are vulnerable, transparent, willing and open to sharing and learning from our stories. Ultimately, for me, it means  making the choice at the end of the day to love regardless of how difficult or painful that may be. 

Prayer for the Journey:

As we continue to work toward becoming a more loving race, I pray that we would each find peace in distress, comfort in our grieving and courage in the face of fear.