Tag Archives: racism

Left Over Corners, The Sin of White Supremacy, and The Doctrine of the Trinity

GOSPEL: Matthew 28:16-20
16Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. 17When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. 18And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. 19Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, 20and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

The high school I attended in Edmonton was one of the biggest senior high schools in Canada, with a diverse population of 2500 students. A 60s building experiment with no windows, it looked like the mixture between a shopping mall and a bunker. In the middle of the school was a large square sunken-in indoor courtyard called the rotunda. On the four sides were the main office, the cafeteria, the doors to the school theatre, and the the wall of trophies. 

With so many students, it was often crowded in the hallways. The rotunda was a place that students naturally congregated during breaks. One particular memory I have is how student separated themselves into groups. In the four corners of the rotunda, groups would gather often according to the colour of their skin. In one corner the black students, another the Asian students, another the students from southeast Asia and the other the Middle-Eastern students.

And in the hustle bustle of breaks and lunch, these groups would throw pennies and mock others students walking by. Yet whenI walked by, these corner groups left me alone. Even as every students walking in front of me had a penny thrown at them, I wouldn’t. I always passed by unbothered.

I always assumed it was because I was a football player, often wearing my jersey or football jacket. I thought was big and tough, too risky to bother. 

It wasn’t until relatively recently that it dawned on that me that this wasn’t the whole story. I was left alone because I was a white kid. A white football player. They knew that if I reacted and fought back they would get in trouble, a phone call home, a detention or a suspension. While I would only get a slap on the wrist. 

When I finally realized this truth year later, I then wondered why these students were harassing people in the first place.

To answer that question, you need to first ask where all white students were. And the answer is everywhere. The white students filled the tables and chairs in the cafeteria, they sat along the walls of the rotunda to each lunch, they were on the steps down, they were in the middle where you could sit on the ground. But the corners, the corners were the worst place to be. They were busy intersections where you couldn’t sit and eat without being tripped over, where you had to stand and hug the wall. 

The white students took up all the good space, and left the scraps to the racialized students. 

This is what white privilege looks like. This is white supremacy. My prominent memory was of the students in the corners, grouped according to their skin colour but not the fact that the white kids took up all the good spaces. For years, I conveniently overlooked the white students taking up all the good space while being annoyed and offended by students of colour occupying leftovers. 

And even though I try to be aware of my biases, this makes me I realize that I need to go back and review the ways in which I am regularly participating in the systems and structures that privilege my white body over the the bodies of people of colour.

As protests in Minneapolis, across the United States, here in Canada and around the whole world continue night after night, the reality of the inequalities and suffering of black people, of indigenous people and people of colour all around us have been brought to our attention.Our blissfully oblivious world as white people has been rocked this week by the cries for justice of our sibblings of colour. We can no longer pretend like we don’t know what is really happening any more. 

And so we recognize that the systems and structures and attitudes that exist in us and around us uphold white supremacy, even as we may try ourselves, as white people, to distance ourselves from it. Even as we try to be good people who don’t hold malice towards or hatred for anyone. We recognize that we benefit from a world that privileges us because of our skin, and that even though we face struggles and hardships in our lives, one of them isn’t the daily obstacles of racism and discrimination. 

So today, we name White Supremacy as sinful. 

But not sinful in the sense that it is something that gets you on Santa’s naughty list… rather something deeper. White Supremacy is a sin in how it separates and divides us, how it is a distortion of our relationship with God, with others, with creation and with ourselves. We recognize and then confess that white supremacy is a sin because it elevates some people above other people for arbitrary reasons. It attempts to claim that some (white people) are more fully human, while others (people of colour) are less human.

Now you might be asking by this point why the pastor is talking about racism, white supremacy, and the protests for Black Lives Matter and George Floyd on Trinity Sunday. What do they have to do with the Trinity?

Well… they are in fact deeply interconnected. 

Trinity Sunday is often filled with cute, yet borderline heretical examples and descriptions of the Trinity such as: God is like an apple pie, or God is like the three states of water.  

Yet, the doctrine of the trinity is ultimately about relationships. The trinity is a doctrine of community. 

The Trinity is a community, three persons, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, one God, one Body, one Community. 

At a time when the divisions and separations, the community splitting realities of racism and white supremacy are being revealed to us daily… the Trinity both models to us  relationships and community as they ought to be. 

Relationships of mutuality and sacrifice, relationships of give and take. In the the Trinity, the 3 persons are co-equal, and yet there are times when on member steps forward while the others step back. It is the Father’s voice that speaks in creation. It is the Son that is the Word of God enfleshed. It is the Holy Spirit’s breath that blows through the disciples and into the world at Pentecost. 

And so this week, as the Pentecost spirit lifts up the voices of Black Indigenous People of Colour, it is our turn as mostly white siblings in faith to listen.  

It is our turn to step back, to make room for voices that have been relegated to the left over corners of the world. To wonder why we have been content to stand by as our brothers, sisters and siblings of colour have pushed to margins to suffer. 

And then it is our turn to follow our siblings of colour into the work of justice.  

And yet…

And yet on this Trinity Sunday, we are also reminded that our world will not be fixed by our own power. And we are reminded that it is our imperfections, our flawed humanity that got us here, and so our flawed humanity will not save us. 

But rather, this Triune God – whom has been revealed to us in the Word passed on from generation to generation – that this Triune God is already at work among us transforming us and the world in ways we could never imagine on our own. 

That on this Trinity Sunday during the middle of a pandemic, 
surrounded by protests for justice and change,
we are reminded that this triune God, 
this community God, 
this God of relationships… 
that THIS God is the One 
who will work in us the new thing 
that will bring the world to right. 

That the God, 
who died as a brown human body on a cross,
is the one who is ushering in a new creation, 
new life revealed in the same brown human body 
that walked out of the tomb 3 days later.

We are reminded today, that God will do and is already doing what we cannot, breaking hearts open for the sake of our brothers, sisters and siblings who are suffering. 

Opening our eyes to truly see our neighbour calling for justice, 
opening our ears to hear the pleas of voices so long silenced by our indifference. 

No, we cannot fix this broken world on our own. 
No we cannot bring justice and peace by our own power. 

Yet, the God who walks with those on the margins, 
the God who makes room for the other 
rather than taking up all the space, 
the God who has suffered with humanity in human flesh…. 

The Trinity will do 
in and through us 
that which we cannot do by our own power. 
The triune God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, 
will extend the loving community 
of the divine three-in-one to all creation, 
and especially to those most forgotten and excluded. 

The Trinitarian God revealed to us again today,
will bring us to new life, 
new resurrected life, 
new resurrected life found in the One Body, 
the One Community, 
the One family of the divine one-in-three. 

And so, on this Trinity Sunday, on this day when our suffering world cries out again and again for justice… we are reminded that God the Trinity is bringing to life in us the very thing we have failed to be…

yet, the thing that the Trinity is preparing us to become – the Kingdom, Community and Body of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.  
The Body of Christ.

Amen.

The Heresy of the Charleston Shooter: Racism and Lutherans

The Charleston shooting is still heavy on our hearts and issues around race boiling over and over on social media. Here in Canada, we have been dealing with issues related to our (predominantly white and Christian) government’s relationship with indigenous peoples. Just this week, the premier of Manitoba apologized for the “60s Scoop” where thousands of aboriginal children were taken from their homes and given up for adoption to white families, often in other countries.

As a white Canadian, I am pulled to consider the role I play in passive racist systems. I have to acknowledge the privileges I enjoy because of my skin colour and the benefit of the doubt I receive because I don’t look “other.”

As a Christian, I am also moved to consider the role our faith plays in the suffering of marginalized peoples, and the ways in which the church has been tacitly and explicitly connected to racism.

However, the Charleston shooting hits particularly close to home as the suspected shooter (who I refuse to name) is a member of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA). I serve in the ELCA’s sister church of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Canada (ELCIC). It not just that the shooter was a Lutheran. Our church bodies are so interconnected that I could have been the shooter’s pastor. There are number of Americans serving ELCIC churches that I count as friends. There are Canadian friends of mine serving in the ELCA. He could have been my parishioner.

And still again, Presiding Bishop of the ELCA, Rev. Elizabeth Eaton, wrote in her pastoral letter following the shooting, “Mother Emanuel AME’s pastor, the Rev. Clementa Pinckney, was a graduate of the Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary, as was the Rev. Daniel Simmons, associate pastor at Mother Emanuel.”

This incident is first and foremost a tragedy for the victims and their families, for the African American community, for South Carolina, for the US as a whole. But further down the list, it is also a Christian and, specifically, a Lutheran tragedy. 

And as Lutherans it is particularly troubling that the shooter sought to identify himself with the racist regimes in apartheid South Africa and Rhodesia. The shooter’s twisted view of race, clearly born in a larger system of racist thought, is something that Lutherans have indeed strongly and clearly condemned for decades.

Almost certainly the shooter did not know, probably nor cared to know, that the Lutheran World Federation in fact condemned apartheid in 1977. “A statement on “Southern Africa: Confessional Integritydeclared that the racial separation of the church in compliance with apartheid in Southern Africa constitutes a “status confessionis” (a basis in faith for churches to reject apartheid publicly and unequivocally).” And while Lutherans have a complicated history when it comes to racism with Hitler using some of Martin Luther’s writings to justify his actions, Lutherans during the past few decades have sought to clearly condemn racism, as they did in 1977.

To put this in perspective, the last time Lutherans added something to their confessions (collected statements of faith) was in the 1500s. The Lutheran World Federation thought it was so important to condemn the racist regimes of apartheid, that it made the issue a matter of faith, and those who practiced apartheid would be excommunicated.

The accused shooter’s views on apartheid and race, therefore, make him a Lutheran heretic. His views and actions have put him outside of fellowship with Lutheran church.

Lutherans are a people and community born out of excommunication, and it is very odd to turn those tables around. However, I think it bears understanding just how contrary to the core of our faith as Christians, and especially as Lutherans, that the events of Charleston are.

In the wake of this tragedy, I would expect bishops and pastors closer to the situation to make pastoral statements, expressing care and concern, sorrow and sadness, while also calling for healing and pointing to our source of hope – The One who was also murdered by oppressors and those in privilege.

However, I think that it needs to be said publicly, by pastors and other faith leaders, that the actions of the shooter last Wednesday night in Charleston were just as contrary to Christian faith as denying the Trinity or the divinity of Christ or any other heretical view.

The exclusion of someone based on the colour of their skin, gender, age, sexual orientation or otherwise is contrary to the gospel. 

Here is an anecdote to explain why:

When I was doing my pastoral internship in Calgary, Alberta, it was the in the 12 months just prior to 2008 financial crisis. Oil prices were booming. Housing was soaring. Rental units were impossible to find. The economy was firing on all cylinders.

But poverty was also soaring. The population of Calgary was growing very fast and 25% of the population was comprised of visible minorities. Poverty was growing, but in a new form. The ‘working poor’ became a new term.

Housing and the cost of living had become so expensive, that people with full time jobs couldn’t find housing and were living on the street. As a winter city,  Calgary churches and other organization were scrambling to find people shelter. Our congregation participated in a program called “Inn from the Cold”, where we provided cots and food for people to have a warm place over night. Many of the clients using the program were families where both parents were employed, but who couldn’t find affordable housing.

As a pastoral intern one of my regular duties was to help serve communion. It was during that year, having the chance to regularly serve communion – the body and blood of Christ, to that congregation, at that time, opened my eyes to the reality of God’s hope for the church.

Week after week, at the communion rail, people of all different kinds knelt with hands open to receive. There were rich oil executives, teachers, doctors, blue collar oil patch workers, single parents, unemployed people and even homeless people. There were young and old, men and women, and people of all different ethnicities.

It became clear to me, just as it was in 1977 to the Lutheran World Federation, that the Body of Christ cannot be limited by human categories. Regardless of gender, class, occupation or race, we are all equal before God. We are all kneeling beggars with our hands open to receive at the railing.

And this equality at the communion rail is a fundamental characteristic of the God’s grace for us. There is nothing about us, about human beings, that earned our place at the railing. And in fact, to suggest that something like skin colour would be a disqualifying characteristic, denies the very nature of God’s grace and mercy – a divine love – given wholly and freely by God with no condition.

That is why the Charleston shooter is a heretic. That is why he is to be excommunicated. His views on race contravene the very nature of God’s unconditional love for all humanity. 

Along side heavy hearts, conversations about race relations and renewed focus on gun violence, it also needs to be said that this tragedy committed in a church by a church member against other people of faith is tragic, deplorable and ultimately, heretical.


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The (lack of) moral authority of being a white male

The past few weeks have been hard to find motivation to write. This post was supposed to be about ‘being spiritual but not religious’ (that will come later), but it seemed like a trivial topic when considering events in Baltimore, events here in Winnipeg – the city where I live – and other issues of systematic oppression of non-white people in North America.

I will be honest, I don’t think it actually helps for white, male bloggers like myself to weigh in much on these issues. As a couple of other bloggers I respect, Mark Sandlin and David R Henson, point out in their Moonshine Jesus podcast, that there is a certain irony and hypocrisy in white males talking about race issues.

Baltimore is just another in a string of incidents (Ferguson, Staten Island etc…) that has brought to public attention the systematic discrimination of African-American people at the hands of the police, the judicial system and by legislators. And while it would be easy to wag my finger from Canada at these American issues, Desmond Cole recently published a scathing editorial recounting how he has been stopped by the police in Toronto more than 50 times, simply for being black. Not too long before that, a national magazine named the city I live in – Winnipeg, Manitoba – as the most racist city in Canada. Winnipeg is at heart of the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women movement, we have recently had a serial killer (seriously!) arrested for murdering vulnerable indigenous homeless men and we have a number of incidents involving the violent assaults and deaths of young indigenous girls, some in the care of the government.

As all these issues swirl about the news cycle and water cooler, I cannot help but have the sense to let those closest to the issues (not this middle class white guy) speak to them.

And sure, it is uncomfortable because listening and learning can feel a lot like doing nothing at times.  But I also know just how important it is to refrain from speaking authoritatively about these realities (I am hoping that statement doesn’t make this whole post ironic) and instead listen and model listening for other white people like me.

It also uncomfortable to go against my social conditioning as a white male to contribute to the conversation, to make my voice heard, to speak out because my voice “counts”.

So with all my hesitation and discomfort around the issues that concern my white male privilege (ironic to say that this causes me discomfort, I get it), there have recently been a couple of things in my professional life that have forced me to operate in these systems of privilege despite my discomfort.

Now, it is has taken me a while to get to my point of writing this post, but here it is: As much as I try to escape or downplay my privilege, I cannot avoid it.

David Henson said in the Moonshine Jesus podcast that when he is asked to comment on the protests in Baltimore and the morality of “rioting”, his response is that “as a white guy who has done precious little to combat racism,” he doesn’t have the moral authority to pass judgement. I could feel the weight of that comment land on my chest as I listened to the podcast.

I couldn’t agree more – I do not have the moral authority to be the arbiter of these kinds of issues. Especially because I am a white male!

And yet, in a completely messed up way, because of the systems we live in, I am placed in that position regardless.

In the past few weeks, despite my hesitancy to comment as an “expert” or to judge as some kind of “moral authority”, our social systems push white males into these roles.

Recently, I was asked to give presentations, on two occasions, to concerned church groups about Islam and ISIS. I am no expert on the topic, other than a few religious studies classes in undergrad and a little research. Yet, for a group of concerned Christians, attempting to faithfully wrestle with these issues of the “other”, I offered the safety of being a “trustworthy” expert. Now obviously being a pastor made me trustworthy to these groups, but I am also certain being a white male contributed to my “expert” status. People are just used to trusting, following and listening to me. Yet, a muslim person would have been far better choice to speak to these issues.

And again, I was recently forced to face my complicity in systems of white middle class Christian privilege. I cannot give many details, other than to say I was responding pastoral request from someone on the margins, someone who was ethnically and religiously different from the privileged class – from me.

In that moment sitting at my desk across from the person making the request, I became incredibly aware of what it was to be put in a position of power simply because of my race and gender. I was being asked to make a moral judgement, that had little bearing on my life, but that held the balance of wellbeing for the “other”, for people on the margins, people with little social capital, people whose livelihood depended on the arbitrary decision of an un-invested white male authority figure.

To say that it was beyond uncomfortable for me misses the point. The reality is that I simply do not and cannot fully know what it is like to have to be subject to anther person’s authority simply based on their gender, and race. I cannot imagine the indignity, the sense of powerlessness, the unfairness, the frustration and rage, the resentment. I cannot know what it is like to feel that way.

As these issues of race and privilege play out in American and Canadian society, I now realize that there is something more than standing in solidarity, more than re-broadcasting the voices of the marginalized, more than listening and learning and leaving room for others to be heard that white people – white males – need to do.

We need to admit our complicity in these systems. We need to see how easily we slip into positions of power and authority without evening knowing. No, I didn’t create the system.

But I participate in it. Despite my best efforts to the contrary. 

These problems of racial, financial, religious and gender inequality will not change until those of us in the privileged class admit that we perpetuate the inequality. Changing the system will need hard work, it will require us to see the moments and acknowledge when become slip into the role of benevolent (or not) white overlords to the marginalized masses. We need to be willing to give up the part of our status that exists only through inequality. We need to admit that white  and male privilege exists even when we feel hard done by, when are struggling, when don’t “feel” privileged. We must contribute to change by being willing to admit that we do in fact participate in these unfair systems that mostly benefit us.

As Disney tells their employees about customer service,

“It is not my fault, but it is my problem.”

Racial, religious, financial and gender inequality is not my fault, but it is my problem,


Post Script:

The other day on Twitter,  Christian Blogger Jayson Bradley tweeted his frustration with another example of a white person not getting issues of race:

To which I responded:

I think the phrase some commonly used by white people “I am not a racist but…” needs to be banned from use.

Maybe we could instead start these ill-conceived ideas on issues of race with:

“Racism is not my fault, but it is my problem, so…”

I think the ending to that statement would be much different.


Have found yourself uncomfortable because of white privilege? How do you participate in systems of privilege and oppression? Share in the comments, or on the Facebook Page: The Millennial Pastor or on Twitter: @ParkerErik