“Facebook: The place where white supremacists masquerading as Christians take off their hood.” A Response.

“My brother, why do these white pastors see me as less than a man? . . . . I'm so tired of being humanized as their ‘black friend’ only when it suits their agenda?” He said to me.

“I’m just so angry,” she said. “I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. There’s a collective trauma trapped inside of our bodies that white Christians continue to deny even exists… and even worse they call me crazy for believing it does! . . . . My pain isn’t make believe!”

“The hood of white supremacy has been peeled back for all to see. The problem is, no one wants to see it because it looks like them.”

“I feel like I’m a missionary to my own faith tradition.” He said.

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These are small snippets from only four of the conversations I’ve had with friends of color this past week. I could add more.

It’s true that the white church has yet to confront the color line, we’ve simply allowed the infection to fester. And with each passing day that line digs in deeper and deeper, unchecked, souring the bride of Christ in the United States. 

And yes, we could have a robust conversation about this, a conversation that exposes the infection, that peels back “the hood of white supremacy. . . for all to see.” But that wasn’t the point of the post, as some have insinuated.

I spend my time in ever widening circles on Facebook, doing my best to push against the algorithmic echo chamber that seeks to hold me in its clutches. I am a part of atheist and agnostic groups, ex-evangelical groups, groups of people who have been hurt and traumatized by churches and pastors, racial reconciliation groups, local pastor groups, area wide pastor groups, nation wide pastor groups, the list goes on and on. Groups full of individuals with diverse perspectives and experiences, some of whom have even befriended me in this online realm, and I listen.

At first I lurked. I just read through the posts and the responses, getting a feel for what I was walking through, but then I stopped and engaged. I listened to the pain and frustration and began the work of pastoring the pastor-less in this online space, as a common refrain cycled on repeat:

“Why are white Christians so racist? Do they even see it?”

And so as one of my favorite professors in college would often say, “Listen and learn broadly but always come back home;” I return home as one who often feels like he’s crying out in the wilderness. I speak up and speak out as “a missionary to my own faith tradition” exposing the hypocrisy of our lives and words in action. 

And sure, as so often is the case, people quickly slide into my DM’s with threats, 

“You’d better be quiet. I’d hate for something to happen to you.” 

“You’re a false prophet and a fake pastor!” (Still one of my favorites.)

“That’s a nice house you’ve got there… I’d hate to see something happen to it!” (If only I could afford a house in Seattle!)

Threats, by the way, that always come from white, male, “Christians.”

I’ve been threatened more times than I can count and not nearly enough to make a difference. Perhaps its because as a 27-year old pastor, I lived through a season in which my life was being threatened on the daily, or that when I broached the 40-year old mark I stopped caring as much about what people think of me. Or perhaps it’s because it’s the right thing to do, to call out evil in our midst and shed light on a truth and a pain that affects so many of our brothers and sisters. Racism in all of its forms is an insidious evil that is eating away at our very souls and endangering the lives, families, and communities of Black, Brown, Indigenous, People of Color.

And sure, you might be thinking, “my black friend never tells me this stuff.” Have you paused to consider that maybe your black friend doesn’t feel safe talking to you about this? “But we’ve been friends since childhood?” Have you ever thought that maybe he’s holding onto a lifetime of evidence for how you’ve talked about and reacted to things that make him feel unsafe talking about this stuff with you?

These are unbelievably difficult and sensitive times for our black brothers and sisters and yet over and over on Facebook they see Christians devalue the black experience, the black body. They see pastors and Christian leaders victim-shame Breonna Taylor with phrases like “well, we just don’t know what she did to cause those police officers to shoot her. She could’ve been on drugs! We haven’t seen all of the evidence.” 

They see Christians blame 12-year old Tamir Rice for being shot by police officers while playing in a park with a toy gun—“he shouldn’t have been there.” They see Christians justify shooting Jacob Blake in the back seven times, without seeing any evidence… or Philando Castile, or Walter Scott, or Eric Garner, or… or… or… 

They see Christians posting “BLUE LIVES MATTER” imagery and memes in response to the unarmed killing of Black men, women and children and Christian pastors and leaders posting articles and thoughts in their own words that minimize their trauma and experience.

Did you know that Black people can remember where they were and who they were with when the jury read the verdict acquitting George Zimmerman of murdering Trayvon Martin?

Did you know that People of Color can remember where they were and who they were with when the Grand Jury decided not to indict Darren Wilson for the murder of Michael Brown.

Did you know that our brothers and sisters of color are in a deep state of lament right now because the drywall of the white people’s apartment received more justice than the drywall of the Black people’s apartment for wanton endangerment. . . more even than for the murder of Breonna Taylor. 

“Because we can’t be owned anymore, we’re no longer as valuable as property.” Was the deep, lament-laden, gut-punch of a statement my friend shared with me.

But you won’t see statements like this on Facebook. Many Black brothers and sisters engage in code-speak while online. Silencing these truths, softening their reality to be more palatable to their white brothers and sisters, all as a means of protecting themselves from more trauma, hatred, and vitriol from white supremacists masquerading as Christians. 

I don’t pretend to speak for Black people. Rather, I am trying to convey to you, my white brothers and sisters, a fraction of stories that have been shared with me—and yet an even smaller portion of the trauma held within the black body. I am certain that I am not strong enough to hold the trauma and the pain they carry with them every single day. A pain which we inflict knowingly or unknowingly.

My friend Hannah shared a term with me by Russell Jacoby: “amputation of sight.” I’ve been stunned by this phrase, finding this idea from 1975 apropos of today’s unwillingness to see the pain, trauma, and racism in our midst. We fail to see the white supremacy in our circles, in our Facebook feeds because we have chosen not to see it, or we’ve curated a nice and cozy little echo chamber . We have gouged out our own eyes blinding ourselves to the evil around us.

There is no cure for gouged out eyes. But we still have ears.

And if we have ears, we can still listen. We can crawl outside of our cozy little echo chambers and hear their voices of pain, trauma, and lament crying out for us to cross the color line and join them in the struggle.