Every day when I wake up and get out of bed, I understand that—as a person of color leading a non-profit organization—I will be negotiating power. To survive and to thrive, for the ministry I serve to survive and thrive, I need to understand who the power brokers are within the various arenas in which I’m working. To do the job I was called and equipped to do, I must negotiate invisible power structures every day.

As a person of color, this isn’t anything new.

Navigating disguised, yet powerful, structures is the way that we’ve all learned to move in the world. But the ways in which this worldly system has permeated Christian non-profits is particularly wily. In Christian non-profits power is nuanced in such a way that its inequities aren’t readily evident. In fact it takes some honest hard work to dig below the surface to unearth them.

Here’s one example. At a conference or meeting, especially in evangelical circles, I’ll find myself in a room with mostly white folks. There may or may not be other people of color in the room, but we are typically in the slim minority. Even when the “leader” in the room isn’t identified by a name badge that says “leader” or isn’t holding a talking stick, most folks in the room will still give respect and authority to a white male. To be fair, they’re usually right. 85% of the time in evangelical circles a white person, male or female, is leading.

What is often less measurable is the pain that this evokes among the leaders of color in the room who are, by all measure, the organizational “equals” to those who are being formally and informally recognized as leaders. Inevitably, as I watch it unfold, I become aware of the power dynamics at work and notice the feelings it evokes in me.

1) I feel overlooked when my opinion is not sought on topics where I have more experience than white leaders in the room.

2) I feel disrespected, in my own workplace, when an employee who reports to me doesn’t ask for my sign off because he or she assumes they know more and therefore do not need my input.

3) I recognize a double standard put on me as a black male when it comes to being a visionary: regularly, I am openly criticized by white employees more than a white visionary who leads in a similar manner.

4) If I don’t have personal relationships with white folks, they won’t follow me. And yet the same folks don’t need a personal relationship—for a leader to “prove” his worth—to respect or follow a white leader.

5) Leaders of color are given little room to make mistakes. The grace given to white leaders is much greater.

6) Many senior leaders of colors—who have influence on white leaders, and play key roles in nonprofits—must at times take stands with which they do not agree for the sake of “supporting” their organizations or for fear of losing their jobs.

Though I wish I could report otherwise, the reality that our society has been socialized to see black men as “less than human” doesn’t magically evaporate because a man has been able to work his way into positions of leadership. Even I am not free of this poisonous racial bias. When I am disrespected or overlooked, I’m often tempted to doubt myself and wonder if perhaps I deserve what’s being said of me or done to me. Systemic racism is that insidious. Over the three decades I’ve been leading Christian ministries, I’ve heard similar concerns from other black men and women. Some have even privately wondered if we’d be more effective serving as second-in-charge!

Although it breaks my heart to acknowledge, disrespect toward leaders of color is actually the norm in the world of Christian nonprofits. I, and many others, face this rampant bias every day. We’re aware of subtle gestures and whispered side conversations that undermine our authority and leadership.

Behind the compelling mission statements, innovative strategic plans, dynamic videos and inspiring newsletters of Christian nonprofits is the same vicious racial bias that’s impacting every other sector of our world today. Many of us serving the church in these organizations are hurting and disillusioned.

The constant challenges are costing leaders of color our confidence, creativity and dignity. So, if #BlackLivesMatter, I encourage you to think about ways you can make that clear in your family, church, and organizational culture today. This isn’t just the responsibility of police officers. It’s something all of us need to work on.

EDITOR’S NOTE: RLC Contributor Leroy Barber, who was interviewed by Romal Tune on the Red Carpet this week, flew to Ferguson, MO, yesterday. The questions he took with him are questions for all of us in America who follow the Jesus who was lynched outside Jerusalem.

What if you were the Brown family? What if your son, who was preparing to leave home and start his college career, was approached by police for either jaywalking or stealing cigars from a store (we don’t actually know why he was approached but these are different possibilities out there)? A simple, granted stupid act, that normally wouldn’t be a big deal. Not that I’m justifying stealing, but let’s be honest, white kids do some of these same stupid things. The difference is, they don’t end up dead because of them. In fact, very few of them are even arrested or brought to court because of them. The Brown’s son ended up dead and laying in the street for more than 4 hours, as a result of his SUPPOSED stupid act.

If it was your son shot and lying dead in the street like an animal, how calm and contained would you be? How law abiding would you remain? What kind of feelings would you have towards the police? My heart sinks to even think about it.

What if you were a young man in Ferguson and sat looking at your friend lying there dead for four hours or more. Would you not be enraged? Would there be screaming? Would you insist on justice? Would you at least ask for some dignity on his behalf?

What if your child happened to be on his or her way home from school, and saw a police officer engage a man with his hands in the air… and shoot at him six times? What happens to the spirit of that innocent child just walking by that day?

What if you have black sons in college and hear this story? Do you lament? Do you ask for prayer? Do you call all of your friends–black, white, Latino, Native, Asian–and ask them to speak out with you?

What if you are a Christian? You hear all of this and wonder what to do. Do you pray? Do you blame the victim? Do you ignore, and simply chalk it up as another black man dead? Do you cry for justice? Are you silent? Why? Are your politics more important? Does your theology justify your silence?

I have so many questions as I head to Ferguson. I don’t have many answers, but the questions drive me to be present. The Brown family screaming in the streets moves my heart. My tears well up at the thought of seeing my own child dead and laying in the streets. My anger rises up, as I think about a ”public servant” feeling justified to shoot a defenseless black man,  six times.

I am crying. I am angry. I am hurt. I am unsure. I am prayerful. I need community. I can lead.  I need to march, and march I will. I need to speak up, and speak up I will.

“A time comes when silence is betrayal.”

My heart is very heavy today as I read about the eight boys who were sexually assaulted by Gerald A. Sandusky in his home and in the locker rooms of the Penn State University campus. My soul deeply grieves to think that for more than 10 years the abuse was seen and known by others and overlooked.

I made myself read the Grand Jury report about Sandusky’s alleged crimes and it was 23 pages of vile and inhuman behavior not only by the predator but by those who actually saw it, heard of it, or received reports about it across their desk.

Then to also learn that all these children were black deepens my sadness.

I am forced to ask some really hard questions.

Are black people that expendable?

Was the fact that they were black, poor and powerless the reason it was overlooked?

Is football, a school, and personal reputation so important that a 10-year-old black boy being raped in a bathroom can be covered up?

I had an idea that power was corrupt, but this is much more than simply corrupt. It is pure evil.

Last week, I watched Penn State students , upset over the firing of their beloved football Coach Joe Paterno, trash a campus with scant news coverage.

If a black neighborhood or campus was behaving in this way, it would lead every news program show known to man.

That it wasn’t is further proof to the point that “Joe Pa” was bigger than life on that campus. The fact that he didn’t ask questions, that it never came up again as a concern for him or that he simply turned his head away, is a travesty.

I keep hearing that Joe Paterno did what was legally correct. Yet there was nothing morally correct about his actions and silence.

Another question that I have is this: What is the difference between what Gerald Sandusky, Joe Paterno, Joe Miller, a wrestling coach who walked in on him on the floor with a boy, Tim Curley, Gary Shultz, and Graham Spanier did from sex trafficking?

Would a business that allows kids to be trafficked in its back room get shut down and its owner be prosecuted?

Penn State allowed this shady business to happen in its “store” and it’s no different, is it? Oh yeah, it’s millions and millions of dollars and 61 years of coaching football versus only a few black boys.

If any African American man you know was seen in the shower naked with a 10-year-old white boy, it would not take more than 15 minutes for him to be arrested.

Yet Sandusky’s abuse — a white man sexually assaulting lack children — reportedly went on for 15 years.

If any black man you know was talking to a white woman about being in the shower with her son and admitting to “lathering him up and giving him a bear hug” he would be in prison faster than you can say “prosecute.”

I am afraid to know what else goes unspoken and covered up by the powerful white men in our world who hold extreme power and influence.

What is covered up and who is expendable when money and power are threatened?

I am saddened today to know what can happen in our world.

I am saddened as well to see these families so victimized and the same laws that are supposed to protect them being used to protect people such as Paterno from being prosecuted.

Sandusky was arrested and charged, but his co-conspirators (and they surely are that) will go free to live their lives protected by the rule of Law.

And the victims?

Well, there is no moral law so I guess they just lose.

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Leroy Barber is President of Mission Year, a national urban initiative introducing 18-29 year olds to missional and communal living for one year of their lives, and is CEO of FCS Urban Ministries.  He is co-pastor of Community Life Church, and on the boards of CCDA and Word Made Flesh.  Leroy is the author of New Neighbor: An Invitation to Join Beloved Community and Everyday Missions: How Ordinary People Can Change the World and was also chosen as a contributor to the groundbreaking book UnChristian. Leroy is married to Donna and together they have five children.

This post is shared via our partnership with Sojourners

These remarks put words to a long-standing ideology that one needs a “black card” to show you are black enough. The card that allows you to connect more with black people because of where you grew up, how many times you have been arrested, or how many kids you have out of wedlock — to name a few of the so-called marks that apparently make you legitimately black.

Donovan McNabb, who grew up in the suburbs of Chicago and was raised with both parents, has often been criticized for not being black enough. He has managed to be a great leader in the NFL who has not been surrounded by run-ins with the police. The fact that he has been a gentleman most of the time denies him a legitimate “black card” according to this ideology, while Hopkins, who grew up in a tough urban neighborhood in North Philadelphia, has committed numerous crimes and served jail time, is “legitimately black.”

This kind of misguided thinking has long caused many young black men to make decisions early in life that hinder personal growth and progress for all African Americans because they want to gain the respect of black people. This is one black man (and I am sure I speak for many) who thinks this is totally delusional. Any black person who believes they are more culturally connected to the black community based on their amount of dysfunction is absurd.

I live and work in the urban context today and the things you hear from children — like “reading is for white people, ” “getting married is for white people, ” “going to college is for white people, ” “owning a house is for white people” — are literally tearing our communities apart. Bernard Hopkins’ remarks are very irresponsible and foster death and destruction to our communities.

I am an African American man who has been married to one woman for the past 26 years. I am president of a nonprofit organization. I have three biological children, all born within marriage, and two adopted children. We own our home and have no credit card debt or car debt. I think it’s time we associate being black with character and success rather than moral failure. That is the only way we will honor all the black people who went before us and died so we could be free.

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Leroy Barber is President of Mission Year, a national urban initiative introducing 18-29 year olds to missional and communal living for one year of their lives, and is CEO of FCS Urban Ministries.  He is co-pastor of Community Life Church, and on the boards of CCDA and Word Made Flesh.  Leroy is the author of New Neighbor: An Invitation to Join Beloved Community and Everyday Missions: How Ordinary People Can Change the World and was also chosen as a contributor to the groundbreaking book UnChristian. Leroy is married to Donna and together they have five children.

This post is shared via our partnership with Sojourners

My first encounter with white folks was not a good one — full of fear and uncertainty — because I could only go by what I had heard from older adults or seen on television. Archie Bunker and Fred Sanford were the references I could draw on mostly. I went into my high school situation full of stereotypes, you know, like white people can’t jump, and the all time favorite: White people have no rhythm and can’t dance. What happens when you meet a person that fits the stereotypes? When Fred Sanford is right? When you meet the white person that cannot dance?

The problem with stereotypes is that they are generalities used as descriptors of categories of people. When these generalities are used as descriptors outside of relationship — and sometimes within — they form our opinions about groups of people that may or may not be true about individuals within that demographic (e.g., white people have no rhythm.) This leads to relational breakdown and causes a lot of pain (e.g, all Asians know karate.)

I met a white man who could not dance or play basketball, and it solidified what I thought I knew of white people. Oh yeah, and I was poor and from the city — weren’t all black people? Our relationships will go nowhere if we let our misinformed stereotypes dictate them.

We now live in a world where stereotypes are less and less true, but we still have Archie Bunker and Fred Sanford type of relationships. (Google them if you’re too young to know the reference.) The city is for poor black people, restaurants or dry cleaners for Chinese, 7-Eleven for Indians, construction for Mexicans, reservations for Native Americans, and though white people can’t dance, they are all rich. These all sound absurd and yet we live as though they are true for everyone. Our stereotypes are falling every day – will we be able to relate outside of them?

The possibilities are different today as we watch a person of color lead our nation. We see corporations, Supreme Court justices, and writers of color emerging past the stereotypes. Can we relate differently? Can we see each other as equals, as human people with various cultural differences that make us beautiful? Our stereotypes have fallen, and I hope we can get up.

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Leroy Barber is president of Mission Year, a national urban initiative introducing 18- to 29-year-olds to missional and communal living in city centers for one year of their lives. He is also the pastor of Community Fellowships Church in Atlanta, Georgia and author of New Neighbor.

This opening to the Declaration of Independence is a very powerful statement that gives me goose bumps when I read it.  Many of us have heard this statement at least once in our lives — most of us, countless times.  This is the statement upon which our country was built.  Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. In fact, about 100 years after these statements were adopted into our Declaration of Independence, we decided that black Americans should be included in this dream as well.  And then, 100 years after that, we adopted the Civil Rights Act that grants even more equality.  All of this progress is personified today in our black president, whose example suggests that we live in a country that treats us all the same and that anyone can become whatever he or she wants to be with enough hard work.

Am I living the dream?  I have been happily married for 25 years.  I own my home in a neighborhood of my choosing, as well as a car and a truck for transportation.  We have a modest savings account, take vacations, go to sporting events, and dine out when we choose.  We have five children, one who is in college and another headed there in a year.  We’re members of the local YMCA.  And I have satisfying work.  My parents worked hard for me to live the life I am living.  My grandparents and great grandparents suffered incredibly in order for me to experience this life.  I am living what they dreamed — yet I am unsettled.

Walking through my neighborhood, there are so many things to celebrate, and I take every opportunity to admire the beauty.  There are also many aspects of my community that disturb me.  I can’t shake the feeling that something is not right.  I can’t help but wonder about the children around me that have no choice but to attend the local public school, which seems to be lacking in so many ways.  Predatory lenders, slumlords, and pimps dominate the landscape.  Trash and chemicals from the dumps and plants far out number the libraries, parks, and jobs.  Convenience stores profiting from lottery tickets and malt liquor sales far outnumber grocery stores providing fruits and vegetables.  The evidence suggests that things are far from equal.  In fact, rather than “self-evident equality, ” I would offer that injustice is self-evident.  I cannot rest.  Life, liberty, and happiness have eluded large populations of our country.

I am on the road to the dream, but am certainly not living it.  The dream is fulfilled when each person has equal opportunity.  The dream is underway as evidenced in my own life, but it is surely not accomplished.

This post is shared via our partnership with Sojourners

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Leroy Barber is president of Mission Year, a national urban initiative introducing 18- to 29-year-olds to missional and communal living in city centers for one year of their lives. He is also the pastor of Community Fellowships Church in Atlanta, Georgia and author of New Neighbor.