Mr. Phil
I heard about the killing of Philando Castile mid-day. Driving with the lead pastor (my new boss) to a Bible study, he asked me to review the prayer list for Sunday. On the paper I saw the name Philando Castile, and prayers for his family and our community and state leaders to receive God's guidance. I was stunned as the lead pastor filled me in.
I have been a closet supporter of the Black Lives Matter movement. I completely believe we have systemic racism baked right in all institutions of our society. I think this unknowingly comes out in our personal decisions. And it appears this systemic and personal racism becomes really obvious in policing because it's about life or death. At a distance, I've admired how the Black Lives Matter movement insists systemic racism is intolerable and been in awe of their resiliency when facing critics and backlash over their methods. I am not extremely close to the organization and don't want to pretend I know more than I do, but these folks are well-organized and well-versed in the history of protest and community organizing as change agents in society. I've watched both friends and acquaintances participate in the movement.
But I have remained in the closet for two reasons: 1) I have relatives who often make disparaging comments about the movement and sometimes these comments feel racist to me. Unfortunately, I'm one of those people who wants to be liked by everyone, so it's easier just not to be open about my support. 2) As a public educator, I have a deep respect for public servants. I don't want my support of #blacklivesmatter to be taken personally by good police officers who are in service to society to protect us. This is a hard job. And although this isn't an either-or issue for me, I know it can be perceived that way.
At about 4:30 today, sitting at Noodles and Company in Stillwater, God absolutely convicted me to be more open about my understanding of systemic racism--not just with my students but in my social circles too.
I was scrolling though FB, trying to let myself feel the grief of friends of color. Someone posted something like, "White friends, stop being scared of our anger and grief. Show up. Say something." Moments later, another friend tagged me on a post that called all clergy to wear their stoles or collars to a vigil and march for Philandro at JJ Hill School in St. Paul at 5:00.
I was going to ignore it, but I found myself driving towards St. Paul knowing I'd be late, worried I wouldn't find anyone I knew, and concerned witnessing public grief would be overwhelming and move me to tears. When I felt like turning around, I reminded myself I was going to a school, and I thought about my friends who teach in the St. Paul schools. I didn't think they'd necessarily be there, but I knew they were hurting at this moment.
Yes, my own white privilege and anxiety was at play here. Bad combination. What is wrong with me?! Why can't I support what I believe is right? Why can't I stand in solidarity with my friends of color and fellow educators who are in absolute grief? I wanted to go; I didn't want to go. Because I'm white, I know I had the choice to care or not.
As I tried to find a parking spot, I was reminded of the Bible study I was heading to when I first heard the news of Philando. During the Bible study, I suggested that Paul is trying to work out his own crud in Romans 7. The law is good. The law is bad. I love myself. I hate myself. I want to be new in Christ. I also suggested that we all are trying to work out our crud at different times... and here I was doing it on my way to St. Paul. The push and pull: I'm working on it.
I'm sharing this because I know I'm not the only white person at this juncture. And instead of pretending I'm all enlightened or ignoring it, I want to encourage others to also go on this journey, figuring out what is up with us. For those who claim the name "Christian," our faith calls us deeper and deeper into this.
For we know that the law is spiritual, but I am of the flesh, sold under sin. For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. Romans 7:14-15
Sounds like the systemic racism we participate in to me.
As an educator, I want to end with some things I heard about Mr. Phil, what Philando was called by the faculty, staff, parents, and students of the school he worked at. It was absolutely inspiring:
This was a man who clearly made a positive impact on the lives of children. As a food service supervisor, he knew the children by name, went out of his way to connect with them, and could make them feel valued and cared for, not only through nutrition but by his presence. The shadow he caste was something I could have only dreamed about in the work I did in schools. He was clearly a light for that educational community, a light that was extinguished far too early.
I have been a closet supporter of the Black Lives Matter movement. I completely believe we have systemic racism baked right in all institutions of our society. I think this unknowingly comes out in our personal decisions. And it appears this systemic and personal racism becomes really obvious in policing because it's about life or death. At a distance, I've admired how the Black Lives Matter movement insists systemic racism is intolerable and been in awe of their resiliency when facing critics and backlash over their methods. I am not extremely close to the organization and don't want to pretend I know more than I do, but these folks are well-organized and well-versed in the history of protest and community organizing as change agents in society. I've watched both friends and acquaintances participate in the movement.
But I have remained in the closet for two reasons: 1) I have relatives who often make disparaging comments about the movement and sometimes these comments feel racist to me. Unfortunately, I'm one of those people who wants to be liked by everyone, so it's easier just not to be open about my support. 2) As a public educator, I have a deep respect for public servants. I don't want my support of #blacklivesmatter to be taken personally by good police officers who are in service to society to protect us. This is a hard job. And although this isn't an either-or issue for me, I know it can be perceived that way.
At about 4:30 today, sitting at Noodles and Company in Stillwater, God absolutely convicted me to be more open about my understanding of systemic racism--not just with my students but in my social circles too.
I was scrolling though FB, trying to let myself feel the grief of friends of color. Someone posted something like, "White friends, stop being scared of our anger and grief. Show up. Say something." Moments later, another friend tagged me on a post that called all clergy to wear their stoles or collars to a vigil and march for Philandro at JJ Hill School in St. Paul at 5:00.
I was going to ignore it, but I found myself driving towards St. Paul knowing I'd be late, worried I wouldn't find anyone I knew, and concerned witnessing public grief would be overwhelming and move me to tears. When I felt like turning around, I reminded myself I was going to a school, and I thought about my friends who teach in the St. Paul schools. I didn't think they'd necessarily be there, but I knew they were hurting at this moment.
Yes, my own white privilege and anxiety was at play here. Bad combination. What is wrong with me?! Why can't I support what I believe is right? Why can't I stand in solidarity with my friends of color and fellow educators who are in absolute grief? I wanted to go; I didn't want to go. Because I'm white, I know I had the choice to care or not.
As I tried to find a parking spot, I was reminded of the Bible study I was heading to when I first heard the news of Philando. During the Bible study, I suggested that Paul is trying to work out his own crud in Romans 7. The law is good. The law is bad. I love myself. I hate myself. I want to be new in Christ. I also suggested that we all are trying to work out our crud at different times... and here I was doing it on my way to St. Paul. The push and pull: I'm working on it.
I'm sharing this because I know I'm not the only white person at this juncture. And instead of pretending I'm all enlightened or ignoring it, I want to encourage others to also go on this journey, figuring out what is up with us. For those who claim the name "Christian," our faith calls us deeper and deeper into this.
For we know that the law is spiritual, but I am of the flesh, sold under sin. For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. Romans 7:14-15
Sounds like the systemic racism we participate in to me.
As an educator, I want to end with some things I heard about Mr. Phil, what Philando was called by the faculty, staff, parents, and students of the school he worked at. It was absolutely inspiring:
This was a man who clearly made a positive impact on the lives of children. As a food service supervisor, he knew the children by name, went out of his way to connect with them, and could make them feel valued and cared for, not only through nutrition but by his presence. The shadow he caste was something I could have only dreamed about in the work I did in schools. He was clearly a light for that educational community, a light that was extinguished far too early.
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