A Crisis in Our Country

A Crisis in Our Country

“There’s a crisis in our country” a guest at Manna House said as he shook his head, his voice filled with pain. We were talking about the murder of nine African Americans last night at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church. A white man, known for his racist hatred, has been identified as the shooter. All of the victims were shot during a Wednesday evening Bible study at the church.

This church is known as “Mother Emanuel” for its important role in the African American church. One of the church’s founders was Denmark Vesey who sought a slave uprising in 1821. In the 1960’s, during the Civil Rights Movement, Dr. King and other leaders frequented the church. The church has a long history of involvement in work for racial justice. 

“There’s too much hate and I refuse to hate,” said another guest with quiet conviction. “This has to stop. The police are killing us and now this.”

“Why do white people hate us?” a guest asked, “What have we done to be so hated?”

“Too many hateful white people,” said another, “too many.”

I listened as a white man to these African American guests at Manna House. All I could do was express my horror and sorrow at these reprehensible murders.  “There’s a sickness in white America,” I said, “something wrong deep in the white soul. Will South Carolina get rid of its racist state flag now? Will white people stop telling racist jokes? Will white people address the way racism infects our politics, our economics, our culture?”

“Good questions,” a guest responded, “But I’m doubtful.”

We had prayed when Manna House opened this morning.  We prayed for the people who were killed, for their friends and family and fellow congregants, and for justice. We stood together, holding hands, white and black, people from the streets and people who are housed, a variety of faiths. We prayed to have the grace to welcome each other to this place, and throughout the morning we shared that grace of hospitality.

A just society looks something like what we experience at Manna House each day. We share goods. We share our lives in stories, laughter, and sorrow. We recognize and respect each other in our differences. We are a small house of hospitality, barely even a mustard seed for God’s Kingdom.

We share a theology at Manna House. Our God is life-giving, loving, and liberating. Our God stands with peacemakers and justice seekers. Our God is thoroughly known in Jesus who identified with the poor, the hungry, the thirsty, the naked, the sick, and the imprisoned, and who taught his disciples to love their enemies. This is a God whose blackness rejects white supremacy and what the Reverend Earl Fisher has called “its soul mate white theology.” This is a God who seeks to create and sustain the “Beloved Community.” In the Beloved Community difference is never the basis for domination. Instead, we delight in diversity as it reflects the beauty of God.

One gift Manna House offers is to be a place where white people can listen and learn from those who are African American. At this time of crisis in our country, this is what we who are white must do. We must go and listen, listen to our African American brothers and sisters. Listen to their pain and suffering. Listen to them tell of the violence and the injustice that this white supremacy system is doing to them.  And as we listen we must ask of ourselves, “What can we who are complicit in this white supremacy system do to dismantle that system and end the horrors of white supremacy?”  In the language of Christian faith, we must both repent and do penance. We must face some hard truths. This killer is one of us. He comes from us. He learned his racist hatred from us. We must stop the killing.