What has the North American church gotten itself into? Known more for infighting, schisms and splits, the focus has largely been on doctrinal beliefs and buildings. But what about the church as the very real body of Christ, as baptized believers?

There are 215 somebodies buried in shallow graves behind a Jackson, Mississippi jail and nearly 30,000 Palestinian somebodies in mass graves or rotting under buildings, a number that far exceeds even the Old Testament exchange rate of “an eye for an eye” in response to Hamas’ attack on October 7th. There were 1,243 somebodies killed by police in 2023, which was the deadliest year for police- involved homicides in over a decade. 

Does it trouble our conscience that asylum-seeking somebodies are used in political stunts, that indigenous women and girl’s bodies are missing and murdered? That LGBTQIA bodies are not safe, that bodies racialized as black are not free, that Jewish bodies are being physically assaulted? That 1 in 3 Asian and Pacific Islander bodies face racial abuse? 

Where are the ripple effects of our shared baptism, this womb water for the born again? Why don’t we rise from it screaming our heads off that we belong to each other, that we are members of one another? Where is the proof that we are “new creatures in Christ” as Paul expressed to the members at Corinth and the evidence that we are connected to each other (Second Corinthians 5:17)?

How did we “wade in the water” of baptism without it troubling us that the North American church is still segregated? Why don’t we feel compelled to explain why we racialize Jesus’ gospel? 

How long are you going to keep those idolatrous paintings in your homes and sanctuaries? It’s just a question. You don’t have to answer it but just as a reminder, it breaks the second commandment.

Why don’t we quote the Apostle Paul at least three times a day to keep racism away from our neighbor and our prejudices at bay: “For not all flesh is the same, but there is one kind for humans, another for animals, another for birds, and another for fish” (First Corinthians 15:31)? Yes, there is only one kind of skin for humans—no matter what race tries to slip or stuff under it.

For some, my inquiries are just asking for trouble. But isn’t that the point? 

Jesus was always getting into trouble, under the Pharisees’ surveillance, dodging stones, getting run out of town and was even nearly thrown off a cliff. Some would say, “He was asking for it.” 

To be sure, the call is to “to find a way to get in trouble. Good trouble, necessary trouble” like the late Congressman John Lewis said—not with committees or councils but in community for the sake of shared belovedness. 

“Good trouble” is a necessary distinction. And since it is not clearly marked in places of privilege, some of us must “find a way to get in trouble.” It will require that we get in the way, that we put our bodies, our livelihoods, our names on the line, that we call it like Jesus sees it instead of looking away. 

This clarification regarding “good trouble” is so important for Christians because the image of goodness is so often blonde haired and blue-eyed. Goodness is often color-coded, racialized, embodied and located in planned and gated communities, which are in good neighborhoods with good schools. 

Goodness is viewed as “white” and located solely in socially colored white bodies. I, for one, believe that the church should faithfully question that designation since we’re all God’s children and God has no favorites (Romans 2:11).

W.E. B. DuBois calls it “the religion of whiteness” and writes in 1920 from his book Darkwater: Voices from Within the Veil in a chapter titled “The Souls of White Folk”:

“This assumption that of all the hues of God, whiteness alone is inherently and obviously better than brownness or tan leads to curious acts; even the sweeter souls of the dominant world as they discourse with me on weather, weal and woe are continually playing above their actual words an obligato of tune and tone saying:

‘My poor unwhite thing! Weep not nor rage.   know, too well, that the curse of God lies heavy on you. Why? That is not for me to say, but be brave! Do your work in your lowly sphere, praying the good Lord that into heaven above, where all is love, you may, one day, be born—white!’

I do not laugh. I am quite straight- faced as I ask soberly: ‘But what on earth is whiteness that one should so desire it?’ 

Then always, somehow, some way, silently but clearly, I am given to understand that whiteness is the ownership of all the earth forever and ever, Amen!”

Whiteness is about possession then, about conquest, colonialism, and sovereignty. Because white is not a country but a color and a useful one in a color-coded capitalist pyramid scheme. 

Professor Cheryl Harris calls whiteness “property.” But the social perks, privileges and prejudices packed in this box should’ve been ruined during our baptism.

Baptized believers should get out of the water asking themselves, “What have I gotten myself into?” Because the water should trouble our allegiances, alliances, and ascribed attributes. And if not, then I have a few questions.

I came to the Christian faith after my twelve-year-old self was presented the choice of holiness or hell. As an adult, this practice of faith in God that requires we see the devil in others continues to trouble me.

There was no mention of grace and seemingly no need for it as the leaders appeared to have it together. They presented a tidy God who was stuck with the mess of creation.

Jesus and the Holy Spirit came to earth as a kind of clean- up crew. This neat freak theology meant there was no room for error.

Once saved, it was life on the straight and narrow. One misstep would mean I was out of line and out of step with Jesus. Jesus may have been my Savior yesterday but if I sinned today, he was not.

For these church leaders, I hadn’t merely lost my footing. No, I had lost Jesus completely. My actions had sent Jesus packing.

Ironically, Jesus was not outside of the door of my heart, knocking to be let back in. Lauren Winner would later remind me that a sinless Jesus stood in John’s baptism line.

But, for those religious leaders, I had lost my place and needed to get back in line. I had to work my way back up and into the good graces of God and I couldn’t show my face in church unless I was.

There was a crack in between holiness and hell, and I had fallen through it.

I wrestle with the mysteries of our godliness, of the changing standards by which we are rendered holy and in right-standing with God. God may be looking at our hearts, but our external appearance remains the mark of righteousness for many Christians.

And I now struggle against a faith that attempts to racialize God—because “white is right.” I push away from a faith that suggests that it is the social coloring of Christ’s skin—not his work and witness— that gives him relevance and me a reason to believe in him.

Because Jesus as elder brother reminds me that I am a child of God. Also, faith in Jesus is not about being the right “color.” That’s what race is about and white is the only answer.

And if Jesus’ gospel can be racialized, then I was created in opposition, predestined to never get it right, to fall between the cracks of society and God’s hands. Consequently, I decline the invitation to participate in a colonized version of the “kin-dom” of God.

This faith in skin, this continued deification and worship of flesh suggests that color is my creator and that God can be colored in. It is but another expression of a binary tradition: white versus black or white versus people of color, in the world but not of it, secular and sacred, liberal and conservative, Democrat and Republican.

There will never be a middle ground for this way of thinking. And if we believe that this is all there is to existing, then let’s end the search for common ground now.

This is why we can treat Jesus as a middleman. Dependent upon our causes, we can be for or against him. Oddly enough, Jesus could be with me yesterday and against me today— based on my actions, your judgments and the political season.

Surely, this is not the Jesus of the resurrection, who can overcome death, hell and the grave but not election cycles, church business meetings and deep- pocketed members who claim to run his church. Who is this Jesus?

He is the one we have room for. There was only room for him in a manger and on a cross.

It would explain why Christmas and Easter are the most popular times to attend church. We just don’t have time for the life and ministry of Jesus.

We appreciate his ministry and what he has to say but some of us are waiting for Jesus to do something new and exciting. Because that was yesterday, Jesus.