Every Tribe, Tongue and Nation

“Do you know anything about this Ahmaud Arbery thing?”

I sighed. My mind began to race, thinking back to all the posts I saw on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook earlier that day. I spent my day silently trying to process all the information: the differing viewpoints, the looking at all the information, the multiple sides of the story - one of which will never be heard. I sighed, “I know it’s another death in the long line of racial tensions. I know it was the product of pride and deep-seeded entitlement simply because of the color of skin. I know that it shouldn’t have happened, that he should still be alive, and I know that I know very little in the midst of all this.”

Over the last couple of years, I’ve sat back and watched conversations take place about racism, racial reconciliation, and people of color in general. I’ve learned a lot, but I in no way have a deep understanding of the issues or my place in the healing. I’m trying, but I feel so inadequate, and I don’t have all the words I need to say. But, here’s what I know:

While Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor are the latest victims of nonsensical racial violence, they are far from the only ones. Each time one of these stories surfaces, we hear cries from all sides.

“Well, they did…"

“Actually, they had a weapon.”

“This wasn’t some ‘good kid.’ This was a thug the media is portraying as a victim.”

Y’all, it may be true that the victim wasn’t perfectly innocent. It may be true they have a record, and it may not be true. Maybe they were scared, and they were “standing their ground,” which I am an advocate of understanding the great responsibility that comes with it, but those who took the lives of these victims likely acted in haste. It was not their job to act as judge and jury, for them to determine that individual’s life was over in a second. They were never granted due process. They were never granted a chance to tell their story.

One thing I’m sure of is that this conversation is incredibly nuanced, but I’ve found one single absolute:

People of color are image bearers of our Father and creator, just as those who bear the label “white.” There is no reason to treat anyone as <less than>. They aren’t. They are truly and dearly loved.

As I think about the possibility of one day being a white woman with a black child, I can’t help but think of those who already are. How do we explain to these precious children, made in the image of God, that they are not exactly safe in a world that should be as safe for them as it is for anyone, that they need to walk cautiously in the world lest they anger the wrong person.

How do we live in world full of those who think they are better than others based on the color of their skin?  Heck, I even have some in my family who believe that logic: that they are, because of the color skin, superior.  They claim to not be racist, yet when they speak of Hispanics or other people of color, they speak of them as though they are above them, as though their only space in life is to serve others as staff members, janitors, or entertainers.  They are ok as long as they are remain in their “station.”

That is ludicrous.

It seems we as the body have fallen short in remembering the truth that we are all created in the image of God for a unique purpose. We each have different experiences, cultures, and understanding to being to the table. We need each other. We need the body to function as a body. We would do well to recognize the beauty of the collage that is every tribe, tongue, and nation, bringing together a divided world.

We can no longer say that we do not know.  We can no longer say that we were not aware that race issues were still a problem. Obviously, they are. It may be easy to deny if it isn’t happening in our own backyards. It is certainly easier to deny because, for the most part, the racial issues are a bit more subtle than they were during the Civil Rights Movement. There are no segregated movie theaters, water fountains, churches, and gather places, but there are micro aggressions in our speech, racist jokes that aren’t actually jokes, an undertone of fear, and a sense of entitlement.

This is just one in a long line of recurring of these sort of events.  When we know better, we have an obligation to do better.  And, y’all, we know better by now.

DO NOT turn a blind eye.

DO NOT be silent.

DO NOT be apathetic.

DO NOT refuse to be empathetic.

DO NOT refuse to listen and learn.

DO NOT live in fear.

Maybe for you being an advocate means simply being kind.  It means protecting those that bear an onslaught of hatred on social media or in the grocery store.  Yes, it will be risky, and it may be costly, but standing up for life always is.

I am not confident that I have the space to speak to this matter.  I am not eloquent and well versed, but I have a responsibility to be an advocate.  I have a responsibility to be a voice for the voiceless, a safe space, a beacon of hope. I know there will be backlash, and while I may not be “ready” for it, I am expectant of it.

I’ve counted the cost. Will you?