Ferguson

Review: Under Our Skin

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Under Our Skin

Under Our Skin, Benjamin Watson with Ken Petersen. Carol Stream: Tyndale Momentum, 2015.

Summary: Watson posted a series of thoughts on his Facebook page after the grand jury decision in the Ferguson case. As a result of the viral response, he wrote this book to expand on his reactions as a black man to this decision.

Benjamin Watson is a tight end who plays for the New Orleans Saints and participates on the executive committee of the NFL Players Association. He is an African American and also deeply committed Christian. On Monday, November 24, 2014, he was playing against the Baltimore Ravens in a Monday night game when the grand jury decision was announced that found no probable cause to indict Officer Darren Wilson in the shooting of Michael Brown.

The following day, he wrote a post on his Facebook account headed by the following “I’m…” statements (you can read the full post here):

  • I’M ANGRY
  • I’M FRUSTRATED
  • I’M FEARFUL
  • I’M EMBARRASSED
  • I’M SAD
  • I’M SYMPATHETIC
  • I’M OFFENDED
  • I’M CONFUSED
  • I’M INTROSPECTIVE
  • I’M HOPELESS
  • I’M HOPEFUL
  • I’M ENCOURAGED

It went viral and was “liked” more than 800,000 times and opened conversation on his team, in churches, and the media. As a result, Watson wrote this book to expand on this post and promote a wider dialogue, rooted in honesty. The book follows the outline of the original post with a concluding chapter titled “I’m Empowered.”

What impressed me about this book was both Watson’s candor and his willingness to wade into the complexities and tensions that often get lost in sound bites. He speaks bluntly about how angry he is with continuing segregation in society and in the church. Yet in the same chapter he argues for a both-and approach to the complexities of Ferguson. For example he says, “I believe that Michael Brown committed a theft and ran away from Darren Wilson. And I believe that if a white man had committed the same theft and acted in the same way, he’d probably still be alive today.” He goes on to say, “That’s why the problem of black and white in our world is not a black-and-white issue.” (pp. 16-17).

He talks about his own estrangement from a white friend when told he had no hope with a white girl he had a crush on, because he was not white. He talks with admiration of the heroes and heroines of Selma and his embarrassment at violence, however justified the anger behind it is. He expresses his frustration with hip-hop, at once a music of anger and protest and urban poetry that also celebrates drugs, violence and misogyny.

In the chapter “I am fearful and confused” he describes yet another incident of a black being stopped by police, in this case himself and his wife as he is driving her to the hospital at 3 a.m. to give birth. No explanations, nor offers of assistance. And no probable cause. Yet he calls on blacks to obey, even when police do what they think unjust, to live another day.

He speaks bluntly of the offensiveness of the N-word and the Confederate flag and of the feelings of hopelessness in the continued presence of racialization and outright hate groups. Yet he also speaks of the hope he finds in his faith, in the realization that all that differentiates him from others is a skin pigment, but that underneath, we all deal with a common condition called “sin” and have the hope of a common redemption. He concludes with the empowerment that may come as the people of God turn to prayer, and as black and white take intentional steps toward each other.

What was striking to me in this book is that this is someone who is athletically and financially successful, educated, and articulate. And yet he speaks of experiences that are an enduring part of his world that are painful, and only the consequence of the pigment of his skin, hence the title of his book. My hunch is that some whites will be repulsed by the anger and bluntness. And some blacks might think he concedes too much. What stands out to me is that this is someone, who out of his Christian faith, wants an honest dialogue, and honest dialogue partners.

I could see this book being used in a discussion group of whites and blacks in a college or athletes fellowship or multi-ethnic Bible study. There is a credibility and winsomeness in the way Watson raises issues that lays the groundwork for the whites to re-examine their preconceptions and ask their black conversation partners, “tell me more.” Likewise, Watson’s personal stories open the door to share other stories. There is a willingness to acknowledge the complexities of the issues that models not settling for easy, and often polarizing, answers but encourages us to sit with the complexity, to struggle and question and pray. And when we do this together, as black and white, perhaps then there is hope that we might begin to heal the deep wounds between us.

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Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255 : “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

Crying Out Day and Night For Justice

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I never saw this before.

This past Sunday, I preached on the Parable of the Persistent Widow in Luke 18:1-8. I’ve often heard others preach, and have myself taught the message of this parable that we should “always pray and not give up” (v. 1). I’ve thought in terms of things like seeing people come to faith, praying for the sick, praying about needs related to our work and our lives. I don’t think that is wrong, but as I studied this parable I was struck by the fact that the widow was seeking justice from the unjust judge (v. 3). Furthermore, in Jesus’s own application of the parable verse 7 says, “will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night?” Verse 8 reinforces this theme: “I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly.”

One of the basic things I learned about Bible study years ago was to pay attention to repeated words. They are a clue to what the writer or speaker considers important. Clearly in this passage, one of the things Jesus considers important is justice, and praying for it.

In recent months and weeks, we’ve been inundated with news stories about the death of a young black man in Ferguson, a black youth in Cleveland, and an older black man in New York City. In two of these cases, local grand juries refused to charge police with any wrongful death and there has been a great outcry in the press and in social media either decrying the injustice of these decisions and the deaths that occurred at the hands of police, or in defending the police officers, who often put themselves at risk in protecting public safety and have to make split second decisions that, if wrong, may cost them their lives or the lives of others.

While I personally have decided that it is fruitless to raise my voice on one “side” of this discussion or the other in social media, I will say a couple things. One is there is something wrong with this pattern with so many dying in the streets, some at the hands of police. It is clear to me that we still are a racially divided society. If nothing, the vehemence in the outcries on both sides of the discussion reveal we are a long way from what Martin Luther King, Jr. envisioned as “the beloved community.”

It seems to me that in the predominantly white church community (the one I know best) we either resort to attempts at personal justification (“I’m not racist” or “I’m personally colorblind”). Or we attempt to join and justify one side of the outcry, and, from what I can see, simply perpetuate and deepen the divisions in our society.

None of this is to say that the bereaved and their communities shouldn’t pursue justice nor that police shouldn’t be supported in their hard work. In fact, in a society where the rule of law is upheld, our legal system should be the place where these things are adjudicated, and it is right for those who believe that justice is denied to continue to pursue it via legal means. It’s not a perfect system, but the best we humans can devise in a fallen world.

But the parable (remember the parable!) also exhorts us to prayer to God for justice as well. For those of us who are Christ-followers, obedience to Jesus means that we keep praying for justice. Our first work in these matters is to seek the Lord. But the parable also says it is to be our persisting work. And this is where I fall down. I see advances in civil rights. I see a president of African-American descent in the White House. I mistake progress toward King’s “dream” with fulfillment. And I stop praying.

What the succession of events in Ferguson, Cleveland, and New York do is challenge me to renew my efforts in prayer and become aware that this is an area where persistence is vital. As I look for God’s answers, such praying can also change me. Praying helps me listen both for God’s invitations to join him in pursuit of the “beloved community” and opens my ears and my heart to listen to other voices than simply the ones that most resonate with me, voices that need to be heard if real reconciliation and not simply self-justification are to occur.

I’ve concluded that I need to persist in crying out to the Lord to bring justice (all that that means) into the racial divides in our country. I pray the Lord’s prayer each morning and night. As I pray, “Thy kingdom come” I will include in my prayers the coming of Jesus’s just rule into our racially divided land. It occurs to me that I could be praying that the rest of my life. I hope not, but Martin Luther King, Jr. was fond of saying, “The arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice.” What sustains our persistence over that “long arc” is the promise of a God who will grant justice, who will bring a kingdom of shalom.

Going Deeper question: For what do you believe God wants you to persist in prayer? How is a concern for justice a part of that?

This post also appears on my church’s Going Deeper blog for this week.

From Lament to Thanksgiving

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I’m already seeing them. The status posts and blogs for “what I am thankful for at Thanksgiving.” It seem that lots of these have to do with food, friends, family, and freedom. In truth, I experience many of these blessings as well and am thankful for these. But it seems that we are in the midst of a season of heaviness in our land and to write of thanksgiving without acknowledging these realities feels insular and trite to me. How is it possible to engage in thanksgiving in a time of lament?

Jeremiah Lamenting the Destruction of Jerusalem --Rembrandt

Jeremiah Lamenting the Destruction of Jerusalem –Rembrandt

Indeed there is much to lament:

  • Whatever we think of Michael Brown and Darren Wilson, we lament that one family faces Thanksgiving without a son and another with a promising career shattered because of a tragic encounter.
  • We lament a community torn by a hundred year history of racial conflict that is a microcosm for our nation’s continuing struggle with and accommodation to racial divides.
  • We lament for the people of West Africa whose families and societies have been decimated by a lethal virus.
  • We lament the continuing clash between Islam and the West represented most recently in the atrocities of ISIS, but also at times in Western policies extending back to World War I and before that are more concerned with self-interest (or even payback) than the flourishing of the people from whom ISIS recruits.
  • We lament the breakdown in society from neighborhoods where one’s children could play and roam safely and one’s doors could be left unlocked to cities with security systems, GPS tracking of our children, surveillance cameras everywhere, and a proliferation of guns and the need to protect ourselves.

I could go on but the question remains, is thanksgiving even possible in such lamentable times? Or are our thanksgiving rituals simply temporary ventures in escapism?

For me it begins with the idea that there is One who hears laments and who will one day “wipe away every tear” (Revelation 21:4). I hang on to the hope that my laments are not simply futile exercises that reach no further than the ceiling or simply an emotional release. I believe in One who heard the cries of Israel in bondage and who sent Moses to lead them out of Egypt (Exodus 3:7-8). It also is striking to me that while my hope is in the One who hears and acts, I see that this One acts through his people. For me this is where thanksgiving begins:

  • I’m thankful for all the leaders both black and white, many who never make the news, who are pursuing the hard work of justice and reconciliation, believing that the status quo is not the best we can do in our cities, states and nation.
  • I’m thankful for the courageous doctors and aid workers from Doctors without Borders and Samaritan’s Purse and other agencies who have risked their lives to bring comfort, care, and where possible, healing in West Africa.
  • While I am thankful for those in our own military services who put themselves in harm’s way to restrain the evil of groups like ISIS, I am also thankful for the peacemakers in places like the Palestinian territories and for every instance where someone, often in a persecuted minority, chooses to return love for hatred.
  • I’m thankful for those who engage in the hard work of “re-neighboring”, who move into blighted communities and rehabilitate homes and form neighborhood associations and block watches believing it possible to restore the fabric of community in a place.

Most of us are not on the front lines of such efforts. Most of these efforts are far removed from our thanksgiving tables. But I know how conversations can go at these gatherings and how easily we may degenerate into conversations that blame this or that group, find fault with this or that party or organization, or even demonize this or that group of people. Why not agree to leave this to our prayerful laments where God can be the judge of these things? Rather, if we say anything about these matters on this day of Thanksgiving, might it be better to give thanks for those acting with grace and courage and humility on the front lines of these great challenges? Might it be better this day to light the candle of thanksgiving for them rather than curse the darkness?

Blessed Are The Peacemakers — When We Can Find Them

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It seems that it is difficult to get away from the tragic events in Ferguson if you are at all on the media. It probably says something about the range of people I call friends that some are posting about the terrible wrong to the young man who died, and some defending the police officer and his actions.  This post will not go there, although I do hope that a full, fair, and transparent investigation considering all the eyewitness testimony will take place to determine what happened at this scene and what charges or other action, if any, are warranted.

In our individualistic culture, it seems very easy to take sides in judging the actions of the individuals involved in these events, and to be sure Michael Brown and Darren Wilson each acted in ways for which they are responsible that led to the tragic outcome of a dead young man on the pavement. It seems to me that this is only the tip of a very tragic iceberg of issues. Phrases like “walking (or driving) while black”, books like The New Jim Crow, and the incongruity of a mostly white police force in a mostly Black community all remind us that race is far from a settled issue in our country and help account for the anger of a community that still sees itself as far from the realization of Dr. King’s dream. So when such a community sees a young, unarmed man dead in the streets shot by a white police officer, you have to be living in la-la land not to think a community will be angry.

I also wrestle with what police are being asked to do in many of our communities. Between liberal gun laws and illegally obtained weapons, our cities are lethal killing zones. As of today, for example, there have been 229 murders in Chicago. In Columbus, a much smaller city, we have had 63 murders. Nearly all of these deaths in both communities are shootings. Many of our communities want police presence to prevent some of these crimes and to get the perpetrators of crimes against people and property off the streets. The reality every police officer lives with is that every call and every traffic stop can place him or her at risk, often in a context where he or she is outgunned. While “militarizing” your police force may create an adversarial atmosphere as it seems to have in Ferguson, you have to be living in la-la land not to think the police would want to do all they could to protect themselves.

Meanwhile we have this media frenzy whipping up emotions among blacks and whites, playing upon the sense of grievance in each community. We have lawless elements looting the businesses in their own community because they have the chance to do so. And if a story in today’s Washington Post is to be believed, you also have militants from other cities who think it is time to get justice and are willing to use violence.

All these things move me to pray for the peace of Ferguson. It seems to me that given the volatile mix in this situation, this is a “not by might, not by power, but by my Spirit” time. Might and power have simply beget more violence. We need to pray for the peacemakers, as well as pray about our own roles in not feeding the inflammatory rhetoric around the death of Michael Brown and the larger tragedy of Ferguson.

They are there, whether they are passing out water and food to protesters, cleaning up after each night’s demonstrations, or going through the streets pleading for restraint and the use of nonviolent means to press for the justice and respect needed in this community. Perhaps it would help if the press helped their voices be heard above the clamor.

But real peace, biblical shalom isn’t simply about restoring and maintaining order. It is about promoting flourishing and justice and mutual respect throughout the Ferguson community.  It is not about containing the anger but rather turning it to the constructive ends of substantive shalom. It might mean white police officials asking for the help of Ferguson community leaders in increasing the pool of black officers, and in developing policing strategies that address the crime concerns of the community, that show respect for residents while recognizing the safety concerns of officers. It might mean community leaders asking for the help of police, judges, and other community resources to develop strategies to keep youth in their community out of trouble and not be saddled with a criminal record–which is a one strike and you are out kind of thing.

Perhaps such efforts have been made. Perhaps they have failed or had limited success. These are hard conversations that are dealing with hard realities. Being able to hear the concerns of the other over the clamor of one’s own grievances is very hard. Laying aside one’s own concerns to hear the grievance of the other is perhaps harder. And moving from grievance to collaboration for a different future is perhaps hardest of all. Perhaps this is why Jesus said “blessed are the peacemakers” because it is perhaps some of the hardest work human beings can do with each other, whether it is in Ferguson or Israel/Palestine, or your home town or mine. Perhaps the first step beyond prayer is simply refusing to join those who inflame the rhetoric, to choose to understand rather than react and to choose to want for the other, what we want for ourselves.