A Call to Confession

I grew up as a child of privilege. My parents, both of whom were children of immigrants, were living the post-World War II dream of upward mobility.  They bought a large house in the suburbs populated with other families escaping the crowds - and diversity - of the city. When our schools were integrated during the Civil Rights era, many of our neighbors put their kids in private schools. Mine did not. But I lived amid contradictions of which I was not really aware.

Like many of my neighbors, my family had a domestic helper, in part necessitated by the demands of having a profoundly disabled younger sister. But our maid and nanny was not just an employee; to me she was a friend. To my five year old mind, the fact that she was African American and was named "Willie Mae" associated her with the great baseball player Willie Mays - and my life was all about baseball at that age.

At the time, I considered this situation normal. But when I entered school, I began encountering the contradictions I lived. I remember distinctly my first awareness of privilege and race. I had become friends with one of the African American kids in my class. And I started putting things together. So I asked Willie Mae one day after school if she had any children. I don't know why this thought hadn't occurred to me in the several years I had known her. She indicated that she did, that she had a little boy. I asked who watched him when she came to watch me and my siblings, and she said her aunt did. And it struck me as somehow unfair that I was enjoying Willie Mae's time and attention whereas her own son could not. And I imagined that maybe my friend at school might have been her son, or someone like him.  I felt sad and a bit ashamed.

It wasn't for years - more like decades - that I was able to put together that experience, and probably hundreds more, into a more complete understanding of race, privilege, and society.  And I am still learning.

The events of last week - when our nation experienced three tragedies in three successive days dealing with race and law enforcement - have brought to even greater awareness the divisions that exist within our nation. The deaths of Alton Sterling in Louisiana and Philando Castile in Minnesota at the hands of white police officers, and the deaths of five Dallas police officers protecting a peaceful demonstration by a deranged black gunman have summoned deep-seated fears and prejudices, but have also provided an opportunity for conversation, confession, understanding, and reconciliation.

Our new General Assembly co-moderators - one African-American and one Euro-American - have issued a call to confession in our denomination about race and privilege. Confession is never easy; it requires seeing oneself through the eyes of another - God's eyes, yes, but also the eyes of the people we have sinned against. And confession requires taking responsibility: owning up to our own sins and the sinful institutions and systems from which we have benefitted.

So following the lead and invitation of our General Assembly co-moderators, this is my attempt at confession.

These are just some of the sins I have and continue to commit, even despite myself, and for which I have insufficiently repented. I ask the forgiveness of God, and of all those whom I have offended. While the problem of racism is larger than just me, my own commitment to address the problem must begin with me, as it must for each of us.

But I hope it doesn't end there. As Christ's church, we are called to a community as diverse as God's family and a love that is as welcoming as God's heart. But for those of us who have lived with privilege, change means adopting a posture of humility, openness, self-awareness, and respect. It will be a long journey, but it will be made easier by the friends we make on the way.

I don't know what became of Willie Mae, or her son I never met. My family's fortune took a downward turn, we let her go, and we moved away. But I wonder sometimes. And I pray for her and my "brother from another mother," and I think of them every time I read of yet another Trayvon Martin or Michael Brown or Alton Sterling or Philando Castile. There is too much grieving and too little healing. But thanks be to God, who in Jesus Christ embraces us, welcomes us, offers healing and redemption, and hope for a new way.