Racism, Hope, and Barack Obama

I believe in all three.

Yesterday, I got into a discussion with a coworker friend of mine about politics. He's got very strong views, and as many of my friends and family know, I like to have heavy conversations. The conversation was couched in a week or so of conversations about race. My friend, Lee, is a black man, originally from Jamaica, but raised in Philly. We've been discussing Michael Vick, OJ, the Jena Six, and many other current events that have racial overtones, and Lee has been giving me lots of perspective on how he responds to these issues. Mostly, I've been listening, as I have little to no voice as one raised in majority culture to pass judgement on his views. And he's a pretty smart guy.

But yesterday, I asked the question, "Would your perspective change if Barack Obama were elected president?" Lee's response caught me off guard. He wouldn't even discuss the viability of Obama winning because, as he put it, "The country will never elect a black man." That led us into a discussion about racism, and Lee to state that it was one of those things that will just always be there. You can't change it, it's just the way it is. He called it realism. And I got mad. Not at racism, but at Lee.

And I started to think about why that made me so angry. I completely agree, which surprised Lee, that racism is still rampant in America, and that Obama's chances of getting the presidency are slimmer due to that fact. But what leapt to mind were the Christians who take Scriptures like "The poor you will have with you always," and use them to jettison responsibility to serve and intercede on behalf of the needy. "Poverty is just one of those things that will always be there. You can't change it." There is, in the words of Christ there, an acknowledgement of evil, but not an acceptance of it. And further, there is a bizarre invitation, if not a mandate, to wade into that evil and start fighting, despite what may seem to be overwhelming evidence that you're battle is a lost cause.

What Lee called realism struck me as defeatism. And I understand that I haven't been in that fight my whole life like Lee has. And I understand that I can't hold it against him for feeling the way he does. But I realized yesterday that there is something I have that would seem to be foolishness to those who are wise. Hope. I believe that Christ is resurrected. And I believe he is renewing all things. I believe the apostles lay hands and the sick are healed. I believe the church is a body that sees Christ in our differences of race and culture. And I can understand why, when I expressed that sentiment, (in much fewer words) Lee didn't understand, even thought me naive. Because what evidence does he have to believe otherwise? There will still be racism tomorrow when he wakes up. But what I fear for him is that his "realism" will keep him from letting a light shine in the darkness. "The poor you will have with you always." So you can stand around and complain, or you can roll up your sleeves and start bringing some resurrection.

All that to say, I'm voting for Barack Obama.

And you should too.

Just kidding.

And a Quick Poem

"To A Certain Cantatrice"

Here, take this gift!
I was reserving it for some hero, speaker, or General,
One who should serve the good old cause, the great Idea, the progress and freedom of the race;
Some brave confronter of despots - some daring rebel;
- But I see that what I was reserving, belongs to you just as much as any.

Walt Whitman, "Leaves of Grass"

Oh, and Since It's the 11th...

... a thought about forgiveness.

I remember being shook from sleep on 9/11/01 by Roger Chagnon. "Dude, two planes have crashed into the World Trade Center, and one into the Pentagon." We stayed in front of the TV for the rest of the day. Classes were cancelled, but we weren't going to them anyway. Prayer services were organized, but I wasn't ready for that. And then George W. Bush, the man who I stayed up late to root for just a year earlier, draped his arm around a firefighter and said "I hear you. The world hears you. And soon, the people who knocked these towers down will hear all of us." And my heart surged. Why? What did I really want? Prayer services? No. Community? I'd rather not. Justice? Absolutely. I want it in spades. And so did everyone else.

I wanted it to mean something. I wanted to know that someone was to blame and that that someone was going to be found. I remeber feeling that way and I remember feeling the way I feel now, but I don't remember when it changed. Afghanistan seemed like the right thing. Saddam was behind it? Bring it on. He's been due anyways. He's got weapons? Even more reason. I remember watching CSPAN for what might have been the first time ever to watch Colin Powell present to the UN his proof for WMDs in Iraq. I think I finally started to think differently when the reports came that the searches were coming up empty. No weapons? But that was... And then I started to think about what I first felt when the towers were hit. It was anger, with a bit of rage, and a taste for vengeance.

And now I think about a cross. I think about Christ crucified and suffering the most gross of injustices, and all the while, "Father forgive them." I think of Stephen speaking truth and suffering injustice, and his prayer, " Lord, do not hold this against them."

And I think, much of what we as a nation did in those days was motivated by a lack of forgiveness. Where was my voice when the towers were struck, "Father, don't hold this against them. I don't. Father, forgive them." What would the actions of the last six years have looked like if our first inclination would be to forgive rather than to look for someone to punish? Even moreso, what would it have looked like if we had considered the log in our own eyes? Not that what happened on that day was a speck, but perhaps a consideration of that terrible attack as a reaction rather an action would have been wise. Maybe we would have been more blessed if we had been meek and merciful.

But the nation's policies are something for us to debate over coffee sometime. This September 11th, though, I want to remember the lack of forgiveness I felt six years ago. I want to repent of the ways I have held others in unforgiveness, and be the first who, in the face of gross injustices, says, "Father, forgive." I want to root out the places in my soul that desire vengeance and trust a God who loves justice and just loves. I don't want to be that person again, the person I was on 9/11/01. I want to mourn, that I might be comforted. I want to be merciful, that I might be shown mercy. I want to be pure in heart, that I might see God.

One Month In and the Blisters to Prove It

It's been one month since we arrived here in the City of Fileo. There are moments where it seems like we just got here, but more often, it feels like a new normal of sorts. So we've found our new haunts, habits, and hopes. There's just so much worth doing here that it can be overwhelming. Lots of art, lots of music, lots of things to do and see. Now it's up to us to actually get out and experience it.

I've been working now for two weeks, one of training and one of serving at Bertucci's Brick-Oven Ristorante in Byrn Mawr, PA. It's an Italian restuarant with upscale pizzas and pasta dishes. I applied basically on a whim on the way to a different interview, and was basically hired on the spot. Kinda odd, but they needed people and I needed to start making income. So I'm now "Jim, and I'll be serving you tonight. What can I get you to drink? Water? Water? Water? Diet and Water? I'll be right back after I punch something." Fascinating how much you learn about a new field on the other side of the table. No offense to you water drinkers out there. I'm one of them, but it's a little frustrating when your income is based on how much your table spends. Just bear that in mind and be gentle, please.

So my feet hurt. But it's getting better. And I'm working alot, but it's ok. And the people I'm working with are showing me the things I felt God calling me to remember. Not everyone has a religious frame of reference. In fact, I'm probably the only person in the restaurant to whom religious things even matter. It's not even on their radar. I need to be reminded that I can't just pick up and talk about Dallas Willard or Erwin McManus to every person I meet. What these people want to talk about is how they're pregnant and don't get along with the baby's father, or how they decided to stop working in a crack house when they saw a couple bring in their four year old to pick up a stash, or how they're breaking up with their girlfriend because she's cheating again. And I don't think any of them own Purpose Driven Life. (Maybe 7 Steps to Your... nevermind.) So, as my dear friend Suze would say, I'm just trying to let the Jesus in me speak to the Jesus in them. I'm listening. I'm going out for smoke breaks just to sit on the curb. I'm walking back over to the strange man who came in to ask for an application (after I walked away once because he creeped me out), only to learn that he was shot in the head several years ago and is trying to get back on his feet. And to look at these people, and the world they inhabit, with no perception of the mysterious, and to know that God sees and loves them too, it's birthing things in me.

This month has awoken a lot of things in me, and I'm ready for this season of life. Ready for this job and the people I get to love, ready to keep writing music now that I've started, ready to pursue God, because my walk with Him isn't gift-wrapped. And I'm ready for that every-changing, ever-ambiguous what's next. And as Rich Mullins said, "I'll sing His song in the land of my sojourn."

Peace.