Be the Bridge: Pursuing God's Heart for Racial Reconciliation

by LaTasha Morrison

A racial disconnect and a surprising level of ignorance about the divisions between our cultures were deeply rooted in the way they did church, and the more I encountered this, the more broken my heart became. Church leaders were slow to acknowledge, let alone lament, the continuing racism in our country. They didn’t have any understanding of the prevalence of police brutality against brown bodies in our country or how so many of my Black brothers are pulled over simply for being Black in a White neighborhood. They equated working hard with success, and they dismissed the reality of systemic issues that create barriers for people of color.

The typology of Black people is a racial reality in America. As a Black person in a majority-White culture, I observed people looking at me, trying to determine whether I was more assimilated to White culture or whether I was too Black for their comfort. They’d prejudge me by how I spoke and dressed and whether I allowed micro-aggressions to pass without comment. If they judged me more assimilated, more controlled by the majority-culture narrative, I was more accepted. But if I pushed back with my own cultural stories, with more factual recitations of the truth, and if I wore my hair natural or enunciated words a certain way, I’d be judged according to their racial bias and prejudice. The more I embraced my ethnic identity, the greater the chance I’d be rejected by those White parents—seen as unsafe, angry, and likely to make trouble.

That there are these two perceived types of minorities—assimilated or non-assimilated—has caused so much division in communities, among other races, and within the majority culture. These perceptions create internalized racism, colorism, and our own racial prejudice against other groups and one another. They often determine whether a person is hired or fired and what opportunities are open to that individual in the current social construct.

“Love,” I said, “brings freedom, and slaves didn’t have freedom or choice. Family doesn’t leave family in bondage.”

Truth has always been evaluated from various perspectives, depending on whether one is the teller or the listener, the winner or the loser, the dominant party or the marginalized. When the teller has an agenda, especially if the teller holds power, lies often are told to distort the truth. Eventually, those lies permeate our culture, our very way of thinking.

The truth is that each ethnicity reflects a unique aspect of God’s image. No one tribe or group of people can adequately display the fullness of God. The truth is that it takes every tribe, tongue, and nation to reflect the image of God in his fullness. The truth is that race is a social construct, one that has divided and set one group over the other from the earliest days of humanity.

This does not mean that we take a color-blind approach to community. Too many Christians believe that the ultimate goal should be seeing the world without color, and some even pretend to already be in this “holy” place. But Paul wasn’t suggesting that aspects of our gender or racial identity aren’t important, that we should all meld together into one indistinguishable throng. In fact, Paul emphasized that unity can be found in diversity. We all have been given different gifts; we all are different parts of the same body.4 In the love of the family of God, we must become color brave, color caring, color honoring, and not color blind. We have to recognize the image of God in one another. We have to love despite, and even because of, our differences.

If we avoid hard truths to preserve personal comfort or to fashion a facade of peace, our division will only widen. Jesus can make beauty from ashes, but the family of God must first see and acknowledge the ashes.

By becoming aware of the realities of racial division, she could grow in empathy, and empathy is the first step toward racial solidarity. Empathy would allow her to sit in someone else’s pain.

Historical truths play an important role in our understanding of how we arrived in our current racial tension. Without looking back, without understanding the truth of our history, it’s difficult to move forward in healthy ways. And even though it might be painful to recount our history as a country, denying it leads us nowhere. Truth is the foundation of awareness, and awareness is the first step in the process of reconciliation.

If there’s one thing non-White students know, it’s that the school cafeteria is the second-most-segregated place in our country, behind only church.

Acknowledging racism, both explicit and systemic, can lead us to experience shame and guilt, even if we haven’t acted in overtly racist ways ourselves. In fact, it can make those who were oppressed feel shame and guilt too. Why? Because so many of us connect slavery to weakness, inferiority, and a lack of humanity. This shame and guilt—the shame and guilt of both White and non-White people—can keep us from reckoning with the truth.

Ninety-two-point-five percent of churches in the United States are racially segregated.8 Still, there hasn’t been a major movement to desegregate church. Very few White churches have admitted their roles in slavery or the perpetuation of Jim Crow laws that led to segregation. Very few have called Black pastors into leadership positions. You don’t see many White people attending churches of color or ethnically diverse churches as bridge builders. Why? Maybe it’s because seeking ethnically diverse churches would highlight their complicity in structures of racism, and that complicity would bring so much shame and guilt. I’m here to say it clearly: let’s not hide from the communal shame and guilt of racism; let’s acknowledge it and step from its shadow and into the light. Own whatever history you or your church may have with racism, painful as it might be. And if you’re a person of color, please don’t be ashamed or feel guilty for the color of your skin, for the ways your ancestors were subjugated or for the ways you’ve been treated by the systems of power. There’s no shame in wanting to be treated equally, no guilt in using your voice to shine a light on the history of racism. You can step out of the shadows. You can speak truth to power. The church will not be a leading example in racial healing until we feel the weight of communal guilt and shame and then allow it to push us into the truth. We won’t be agents of reconciliation until, like Ezra and Daniel, we take on the gui...

It turns out it’s one thing to have a Constitution and another thing entirely to make sure its guarantee of equal protection is applied justly for all image bearers.

The answer to white supremacy isn’t black supremacy. The answer to colorism within the majority systems is not corresponding colorism among non-White groups. Any supremacy, any colorism, should be acknowledged and confessed if we’re to find hope of healing. In fact, all forms of racism and bigotry—using racist slang, laughing at racist jokes, entertaining the privileges of color—must be confessed before we can move together toward lasting reconciliation.

That’s how I came to understand the surprising truth: forgiveness wasn’t a gift to those who’d hurt me; it was a gift to myself.

In his “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” Dr. King responded directly to those clergymen. Bemoaning the lack of support from the White moderates of Birmingham, moderates represented by the clergymen, King wrote, I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season.” Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.5 King’s letter unapologetically voiced the frustrations of so many African Americans who were fighting for civil rights. Despite their espoused Christian values, those moderates had never given genuine support to the civil rights leaders. In fact, many of those White moderate Christians spoke out against the fight for racial equality.

time and time again, conversations about reconciliation stall when the topic of righting the wrongs comes up. Terms such as reparations, affirmative action, white privilege, and Black Lives Matter are nonstarters for so many folks, in part because they disrupt the listener. They remind him or her that making things right costs something, often power, position, or money. If we are going to move forward in this country, if we’re going to make things right, it’s time to go beyond simply raising awareness. Yes, awareness is a wonderful first step, but as Christ followers, as people called to mend and mediate broken relationships, it’s our job to do better. The abuse and marginalization that permeate our history have created wounds, triggered mistrust, given rise to anger, and prompted whitewashing that has perpetuated more and more abuse. It’s time we stop pretending that the past doesn’t shape our present and start making reparations for this abuse and marginalization. After all, reparations aren’t a modern construct. Repairing what’s broken is a distinctly biblical concept, which is why as people of faith we should be leading the way into redemption, restoration, and reconciliation.

It’s important to remember that in our practice of restorative justice, reparation is not punitive. Reparation is not about punishing anyone. It’s not about paying a fine for a wrong committed or assuaging a guilty conscience. Instead, reparation acknowledges that through historical injustice, some communities were denied (or had deliberately stolen from them) opportunities, possessions, property, wealth, and safety so that other communities could obtain more of those things. Reparation is about repaying or returning those things so as to restore equity.

The aim of reconciliation, whether marital or racial, is the restoration of relationship. And I don’t just mean individual relationships; I also mean healing of communal relationships and societal connections fractured by government abuses, systems of oppression, and systems of structural privilege.

Yes, Christ is with us, and he’s given us his power to participate in bringing his kingdom to earth. He’s given us power to invite others to experience liberation from sin. He’s given us power to teach, train, and baptize others into the reconciliation of the gospel, which redeems us from sin and draws us to the kingdom work of justice, righteousness, and bridge building in every area of life, including our relationships with one another. This sort of reproduction isn’t oriented toward meeting church-growth plans or scaling our organization or receiving individual recognition. We disciple others in the way of truth because it’s God’s means and method of drawing the world to Jesus. It’s his way to bring the kingdom to earth.

reconciliation work is difficult. It’s challenging. It’s painful. That is why so few sign up for it, why so many people of color remain silent, and why our White friends hold back instead of coming alongside us. It’s messy. It requires vulnerability, humility, and courage. For many people, this kind of work represents death to the belief systems they’ve held since childhood. For others, it feels like an inward uprooting, a deconstructing. For some, the history of their own oppression brings shame. I understand the difficulty. I know the sacrifices this work requires. I know that with every word I speak in this highly charged racial environment, I run the risk of becoming “that girl” or, worse yet, “that angry Black girl.” As a result of my commitment to truth and reconciliation, I have dealt with people, family members, and associates who have rejected me. Many of my White brothers and sisters have also felt the sting of others’ pushback against their bridge building. They’ve entered into the hard work of acknowledging their own systemic privileges, repenting of them, righting wrongs, and moving into restorative reconciliation. In doing so, they’ve taken heat from their White friends. They’ve been called names. They’ve been told there’s no reason to repent from wrongs so far back in history, no reason to stir up the past. Their churches have labeled them “liberal” or “leftist” or “snowflakes.” Still, they’ve continued to press into the work and become strong allies. They h...

If this book serves to highlight just one truth, I hope it’s that real beauty can come from the ashes of our country’s history with racism. So we continue to spread the message. As the apostle Paul declared, “Because we understand our fearful responsibility to the Lord, we work hard to persuade others.”4 We keep inviting people into the work because we’ve come to know that race is a social and political construct that has no place in the kingdom of God.

Bridges are built not with passivity or avoidance but with the deep, hard work of seeking to understand. The deep, hard work of fighting for justice for all. Love is always a fight worth taking on. I know because in my own life I’ve seen it and continue to fight for it to be true.