Lesson No. 1: The President Takes Precedence

This is the first in a series of “Lessons Learned as a Young White Pastor in a Majority White Church Pursuing Racial Unity and Multiethnic Ministry in the Bible Belt South.”

Lesson No. 1: The President Takes Precedence

It was January, 2018. Martin Luther King, Jr. weekend. And the church I was serving was committed to preaching openly and honestly toward the gospel call of racial reconciliation specifically on this Sunday every year. At least, so I thought.

That morning, I walked us through God’s heart for all people from cover to cover in the Scriptures. And when I spoke passionately about the biblical clarity of God’s love for all people and people groups, I then paused. Collected my voice into a measured place. And contrasted the lavish love of God for all nations with the nationalistic and antagonist rhetoric spoken by leadership in our country who referred to some nations with degrading and derogatory language.

This was as clear a connection between honoring God and loving our neighbors through the Word of the Scriptures and the words of our mouths as ever there could be. And if we, as the body of Christ, could not stand up to ugliness disguised as boldness, then what was our witness to the world?

Are we not people shaped into a life of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control? And does our biblical mandate not necessitate a genuine and servant-shaped love of neighbor, even neighboring nations, that invites us into great humility and compassion?

As I preached that day, I also used the word.

The profane word that had made the rounds on media all week. I spoke it. Right then and there in that pulpit. Demanding that we reconcile with how disgusting, demeaning, and divisive a word like that sounds from a pastor on a Sunday in a sanctuary while fully accepting it from our leaders in closed rooms Monday through Friday.

As I descended the steps after the sermon, I was met by white brother and white sister alike. Each with looks of pain, confusion and deep concern frozen on their faces.

“You’re not supposed to talk like that about our president.”

“The pulpit is no place for politics.”

“Just stick to the gospel. What does any of this have to do with that?”

“Have you read Romans 13?”

The last one was just the kind of condescending question many conveniently didn’t seem too concerned with during the tenure of the previous president.

I took meeting after meeting after meeting over the next few weeks. Each time, the clear message spoken in some form or fashion: so many of my white brothers and sisters would easily allow the president to take precedence over their pastor.  Even a president who had shown no glimpses of the kind of kindness and compassion we see in Christ. Even a president they never even knew, especially compared to the pastor they’d known since before they ordained me.

I was a man they’d known since I was a boy. 20-plus years in this church. My wife and her twin-sister the first babies in this congregation 30-plus years prior. We were known and loved. Trusted and respected. Supported and cared for.

But all that goes out the window if you speak against their president. Even if you’re their pastor.

In majority white congregations, we are privileged to not have to confront politics in the pulpit. To be honest, predominantly white congregations are far more political than they realize. They simply are espousing the politics they agree with without rightly acknowledging them as “political” issues.

But in the churches I know, where leaders of color are leading the way, remaining silent on political issues is not a possibility. In fact, out of desperation and dire need, the pastor must speak into the injustices of her day. And she must do so boldly and bravely. A prophetic voice pushing back against the oppressive powers at be. A clarion call toward righteousness and shalom for all in a country that has made liberty a luxury and justice for all a justice-made-small.

My white brothers and sisters will have to make the decision in their own lives, by the guidance of God’s Word, the witness of Christ’s compassion, and the movement of the Holy Spirit, in how they speak up and stand up as well.

And for those with ears to hear: may we resist the allure of capitulating to the captivity of callousness. May we not let our hearts become hardened. May we not just take for granted vile language that is not just disrespectful and distasteful toward the marginalized, but also downright sin-shaped and hate-filled.

If we want to love our neighbors, we must listen to them. And if their cry doesn’t sound like our cry, perhaps we need to learn a new song in our spirits. One of prophetic lament in the face of ungodly injustice.

As a good doctor once said:

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.” Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

As a musician, I know that learning a new song is never easy. There are often melodies that seem unnatural to our tendencies. But let me tell you, when that new song seeps its way into your spirit, you’ll find yourself shouting out in a holy choir that bears with it a great cloud of witnesses.

Where the songs fall like rain and the stomping resounds like thunder.