Being a White Christian when Black Lives Matter

Black Lives Matter! All lives matter! Which is it? Why is there a difference?

Drew Brees apologized to Black America, saying he misunderstood the reasons behind NFL players’ kneeling during the National Anthem and President Trump Tweeted his disagreement. Katy Perry lambasted her Twitter followers who argued that all lives matter during Blackout Tuesday[1]. Carl Lentz, pastor at Hillsong Church in New York City rejected the notion that All Lives Matter is a viable retort when someone shouts that Black Lives Matter. He quoted Matthew 18 and the Parable of the Lost Sheep. Of course all lives matter, but the Shepherd left the 99 to find the 1: Today in America black lives are the 1.

Growing up in rural West Virginia I never guessed that I would visit five continents, meet and become friends with people of all colors, cultures, and creeds, and get to see and understand their plights. We call America the “land of opportunity,” but for me there was no real reason to expect much more than my parents’ experiences. We are a product of our environment, right? I was born poor, the son of a wounded Marine Corps Vietnam veteran and eventual Christian preacher father and a mother who lost her parents before she was a teenager. My parents clawed tooth and nail to raise me and my brother better than they had and managed to fight into the lower middle class. We suffered a few hiccups along the way in the form of medical bills we couldn’t pay and a bankruptcy I didn’t understand as a kid. So, I had no reason to believe I would fare any better.

As I near fifty, I think back on my first paycheck. I made $250 before taxes for a full 80 hours of work. Back then a gallon of milk was $2.78 and a gallon of gas was $1.15, so a young WV family could live (not comfortably – but live nonetheless) on $1,000 a month. We didn’t have much nor did we expect much from life. So, when I enlisted in the Marine Corps for the promise of $785.70 a month, a career in military intelligence, and a guaranteed roof for my family, I was following in my father’s “do things the hard way” footsteps. In 1991, my bunkmate was Italian, my squad leader and my scribe were black, and my fireteam leader was Hispanic. My Senior Drill Instructor was a strong, loud, very imposing black man. The “Heavy” was 4 feet 9 inches of pain with a Hispanic heritage and a very unpleasant demeanor. We had two other Drill Instructors – a white kid with a middle-American accent and a black kid who could have been from anywhere, really.

I say “kid” with all the respect of a middle-aged Marine remembering the 22-year-old gods who ruled my days and nights for 13 weeks. I walked into that squad bay for the first time a middle-class white boy from WV surrounded by Asians, Hispanics, Blacks, Jews, Christians and Atheists. Thirteen weeks later, the local 7-11 owner and the university professor alike saw a bunch of Hispanic, Black, Asian, and Caucasian kids dressed in similar uniforms. We only saw Marines and the only skin color was green. We no longer cared what was on the outside or where that Marine had come from. What mattered is that we would take a bullet for him and he would do the same for us. What mattered to us is what was on the inside, not what we saw on the outside.

Fast forward almost thirty years and I still live by the lessons taught by Senior Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant Demars and “Heavy” Drill Instructor Sergeant Bovo. Judging a man by his skin color is a fool’s errand. In combat, judging a man by what’s on his outside will likely lead to seeing firsthand what’s on your inside. (Hint: it’s red, warm and gooey) Unfortunately not everyone can be a Marine (and if I’m honest not every Marine is colorblind) nor does everyone live by Marine doctrine.

So, where does that leave us? Where does that leave me, a white Christian in an America where Black Lives Matter and any other perspective is insensitive, disrespectful, and racist?

It leaves me exactly where God wants me to be, leaving the 99 to find the 1. Of course, all lives matter. The majority of black Americans and their supporters have never said any different. Just because the battle cry today is a subset of the human race does not mean it ignores or diminishes the importance of the remaining subsets. But it does mean black Americans need our empathy, our activism, right now in this point in time in history.

Jesus said, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” (Matt 5:9, NIV)

Have you ever been in a fight, or witnessed one? Have you ever seen a fight broken up or been the one to separate two combatants? What is the role of the peacemaker? Is he silent, standing on the sidelines, watching and waiting for the fight to wane?

No – the peacemaker gets in the middle of it. He puts himself in harm’s way to avoid greater harm to the combatants. That’s where Jesus wants us, Christians. That’s where Jesus calls me – a white Christian – to be today. Peacemakers in America stand between the black community and police and help each side understand the other. The peacemaker doesn’t throw punches and doesn’t toss around blame. The peacemaker doesn’t become a combatant when he takes a stray punch on the jaw, either.

So, where do I stand as a white Christian when Black Lives Matter?

I stand in the middle. I take punches and forgive the aggressor. I don’t kneel. I don’t join in the fracas. And I don’t point fingers or throw accusations around a problem I’m not living every day. I become the mediator, the one who sees only human.

I don’t take sides, either. Black Americans aren’t right or wrong – they are angry and tired of suffering at the hands of a few bad actors. Police aren’t right or wrong, they also are tired of suffering at the hands of a few bad actors. America is a land of the people, by the people and for the people. Be American.

What is my role as a white Christian in an America where Black Lives Matter?

I am a Peacemaker.

(Photo: marcorsyscom.marines.mil)

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blackout_Tuesday