Race, Politics & the Church – Obama Style

If you haven’t already heard – on multiple news stations and websites – Obama recently gave a moving speech addressing race in America in response to mounting critiques being leveled on his former pastor, Rev. Jeremiah Wright (of the mega-church on Chicago’s southside, Trinity). I LOVED this speech, as it is full of authentic, intelligent, courageous and faithful prose – but even more, I found myself feeling jerked to attention as I read Obama’s words. More then political rhetoric or a call to understand the political/social ramifications of a particular pastor and this particular candidate – more than a passionate review of why race, and class, and faith DO matter – I was reminded that these issues are always actively shaping, pulling, building and eroding our nation. Issues like anger, resentment, racism, prejudice, fear, stereotypes and not telling the truth about our national history. Issues like how the church has been complicit in racial oppression – sometimes actively leading it, sometimes being the source of the only people with the strength to fight racism’s evils. I almost forgot that many Americans – especially the white population – probably don’t “get” black churches; and many African-Americans remain in all-black enclaves with their own sets of prejudices; and many people of color across the spectrum are still not heard or understood in the national conversation.

And I found myself thinking – again – that the church must be a place where these issues are lifted up and talked about. A place where truth and forgiveness and reconciliation and rightesouness can be protected and grow. Where people intentionally choose to connect their own well-being to the flourishing of others. Where we can think about things that are complex, emotionally-loaded, and profoundly important in the context of relationships and with hope for the future. It reminds me that we in the church – every color church – have a lot of work to do!

Here is one (of the many) excerpt(s) from Obama’s recent speech that got me thinking about all this again:   * Full text of this speech, along with video, can be found here. *

  

“In my first book, Dreams From My Father, I described the experience of my first service at Trinity:

‘People began to shout, to rise from their seats and clap and cry out, a forceful wind carrying the reverend’s voice up into the rafters….And in that single note – hope! – I heard something else; at the foot of that cross, inside the thousands of churches across the city, I imagined the stories of ordinary black people merging with the stories of David and Goliath, Moses and Pharaoh, the Christians in the lion’s den, Ezekiel’s field of dry bones. Those stories – of survival, and freedom, and hope – became our story, my story; the blood that had spilled was our blood, the tears our tears; until this black church, on this bright day, seemed once more a vessel carrying the story of a people into future generations and into a larger world. Our trials and triumphs became at once unique and universal, black and more than black; in chronicling our journey, the stories and songs gave us a means to reclaim memories that we didn’t need to feel shame about…memories that all people might study and cherish – and with which we could start to rebuild.”

That has been my experience at Trinity. Like other predominantly black churches across the country, Trinity embodies the black community in its entirety – the doctor and the welfare mom, the model student and the former gang-banger. Like other black churches, Trinity’s services are full of raucous laughter and sometimes bawdy humor. They are full of dancing, clapping, screaming and shouting that may seem jarring to the untrained ear. The church contains in full the kindness and cruelty, the fierce intelligence and the shocking ignorance, the struggles and successes, the love and yes, the bitterness and bias that make up the black experience in America.

And this helps explain, perhaps, my relationship with Reverend Wright. As imperfect as he may be, he has been like family to me. He strengthened my faith, officiated my wedding, and baptized my children. Not once in my conversations with him have I heard him talk about any ethnic group in derogatory terms, or treat whites with whom he interacted with anything but courtesy and respect. He contains within him the contradictions – the good and the bad – of the community that he has served diligently for so many years.

I can no more disown him than I can disown the black community. I can no more disown him than I can my white grandmother – a woman who helped raise me, a woman who sacrificed again and again for me, a woman who loves me as much as she loves anything in this world, but a woman who once confessed her fear of black men who passed by her on the street, and who on more than one occasion has uttered racial or ethnic stereotypes that made me cringe.

These people are a part of me. And they are a part of America, this country that I love.”