NEW YORK – LIVE FREE USA joins The Quincy Institute and Red Letter Christians to host: “55 Years Later: Can the Church Study War No More?”

The event comes amid a harrowing war in Ukraine, violent crime spikes in US cities and continued economic distress in communities of color across the country.  This FREE forum will invite people of faith and good will to reflect and commemorate the life and legacy of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s Beyond Vietnam speech where he calls on all people to defeat the “triplets of evil: militarism, racism and poverty.” National leaders will gather to re-read the historic speech, followed by a panel conversation featuring Rev. Dr. Bernice A. King. Special musical guests Brian Courtney Wilson, Aaron Niequist, and Common Hymnal will perform.

“Violence abroad and violence at home require the active engagement of the church if we are to be agents of peace and justice in these times. We cannot allow our tax dollars to be a slush fund for military contractors abroad or militarization in US cities.” says Pastor Mike McBride.

Adds Shane Claiborne “the prophets call people of God to study war no more! We intend to amplify this call among faith leaders and congregations with an aim to resurrect a faith driven anti-war movement which encompasses the foreign and domestic expressions of state violence: international military actions in Ukraine, Yemen, Somalia and Israel/Palestine; police and state violence including the death penalty; and community gun violence in black and brown communities”.

Executive Director of Quincy Institute Lora Lumps says, “The importance of the faith community, in partnership with bi-partisan policymakers, advocating for peaceful resolutions to violent conflicts at home and abroad has never been more critical. As the Biden administration and this Congress adds close to $100B to already bloated military budgets and private contracts, poor people in the United States and underdeveloped countries around the world are met with death and needless suffering. We cannot not be so committed to funding violence and strength through might.”

This event is April 2 from 4:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m. at Riverside Church, the location where Dr. King gave this historic speech. The event is free and open to the press.

Proof of vaccination or negative PCR test (within 72 hours of event) and masks are required for entry to Riverside Church. 

WHO: Rev. Dr. Bernice A. King, and RLC Leaders, Shane Claiborne, Rev. Michael McBride, Rev. Traci Blackmon, Rev. Todd Yeary (RLC Board Chair), Lisa Sharon Harper (RLC Board Member), Rev. Dr. Liz Theoharis, Jemar Tisby, Sharon Risher,  Michael W. Waters, Erich Kussman, Carlos Rodriguez, Diana Oestreich, Common Hymnal, and Aaron Niequist.

WHAT: MLK Beyond Vietnam 55 Years Later: Can the Church Study War No More

WHEN: Doors open at 3:30 ET on Saturday, April 2; the event will run from (approx.) 4-6 ET.

WHERE: The Riverside Church, 490 Riverside Dr, New York, NY. Live stream can also be viewed on RLC’s Facebook, YouTube, or website.

RSVP: bit.ly/mlkvietnamspeech2022

CONTACT: Katie Kirkpatrick, sc@redletterchristians.org, (856) 477-3277

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One of the most common questions I get — once people have moved past denial — is, “What do we do now?”

Often this question is understandably accompanied by a great amount of anguish, stress and a sense of being overwhelmed — feelings I myself encountered while researching and writing the book.

The recognition of the longevity and enormity of the problem in white Christianity can often lead to a kind of paralysis that inhibits meaningful action.

In “White Too Long,” I shared a powerful exchange that occurred in a meeting between the two First Baptist Churches in Macon, Georgia — one predominately white and one predominately Black — who had begun a journey together to talk openly about racism for the first time in their shared histories:

If we get past denial, if we get past the magical thinking that time will settle our moral obligations for us, the next challenge for white Christians today is to deal with the paralyzing notion that the weight of this history is so enormous that meaningful action is impossible.

At one early meeting between the white and black members of the two First Baptist Churches in Macon, a white member confessed that she was simply overwhelmed and didn’t know what to do. After a painful pause, an African American woman responded calmly, “Of course you are.” This reply was a palpable moment of compassion and accountability. While giving the white woman permission to feel overwhelmed, the African American woman’s response also gently affirmed that this discomfort was not an excuse for inaction.

I recently wrote that the first step toward recovery from the distortions of white supremacy is “to separate being white from being Christian.” This is the heart of the matter. But given how long the assumption that white lives matter more than others has been with us, and how deeply it is embedded in our architecture, histories, liturgy, hymnody and theology, this is no simple task.

Faced with this formidable past, I’m convinced that the most important thing white Christians can do is to simply start somewhere. And to start somewhere local. The following suggestions are intended to be prompts to generate thinking. There is no boilerplate 10-step program or magic formula, just the courageous work to begin where we are, to see what we have been unable to see and to change what we have been unwilling to change.

WATCH the Faith Forum on White Discomfort

Here are seven places to start.

1. Take a walk around the church building and grounds. In what ways does the physical embodiment of your church communicate whiteness? If you have stained-glass windows, do they depict a white Jesus or other biblical characters who are presented as white? During Advent and Christmas celebrations that include a nativity scene, are Mary, Joseph and Jesus white? What about the paintings and bulletin boards that adorn the walls — are the images of people all white? And who uses the church facilities during the week? If only predominately white groups meet there, why is that?
2. Examine the church website and social media sites. These days, potential new members are as likely to see the digital footprint of the church long before they encounter the sign out in the front lawn. On shoestring budgets, it’s easy to grab unreflectively stock images featuring white people for landing pages and events. Do these images reflect the body of Christ? And is there anything communicating a commitment to be in solidarity with Black and Brown congregations and people in your community?
3. Review the children’s educational materials. One reader recently wrote to me that she was appalled to find how many 1950s-era materials that depicted only white people were still on the preschool library and classroom shelves. And what about those pictorial children’s Bibles, with all the characters depicted as white?
   One way not to pass along white supremacist assumptions (and to communicate a more accurate history of what characters from the Middle East and Africa would look like!) is to correct the materials we use to teach the next generation about our faith.
4. Tell a truer history of ourselves. Most churches that have been around for more than a generation have commissioned an official history that tells the story of the founding and early growth of the church. But these glossy accounts sitting in the church library or on tables in the foyer are typically incomplete at best. They, by design, are like a resume, usually written with a commitment to telling the most flattering, impressive story of the congregation.
   Here’s one practical proposal. Pull together a group to write a more honest church history that begins with this simple question: Why is our church physically located where it is? Why is it in this part of our community and not another one? In nearly all cases this question will quickly lead to issues of racially segregated neighborhoods, white flight from cities to suburbs and land grabs from Native Americans, to name just a few. And other questions will flow from this beginning: Has the church ever had a policy or practice of prohibiting non-white members? Where was the voice of the church during past and present movements for civil rights? How different would a history of your church be if it were written by non-white members of your community?
5. Evaluate the hymns and other songs being sung in worship. The imagery — associated whiteness with purity and goodness and blackness with sin and evil — performs powerful moral and theology work, often below the level of consciousness. Are we still unreflectively singing 19th-century hymns with lyrics like, “Whiter than snow, yes, whiter than snow/Now wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow”? Or the militant, Crusade-invoking “Onward, Christian Soldiers, Marching as to War”?
6. Assess what’s being addressed from the pulpit and other church-wide educational events. To give just one example from the Roman Catholic context: After 25 years of regular proclamations from the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops on the importance of addressing racial justice, a 2004 survey found that 64% of Catholics had not heard a single sermon on racism or racial justice during the entire three-year cycle of the lectionary. Even in the midst of the effervescence last fall, following months of nationwide Black Lives Matter protests, a recent Pew study found that only 40% of congregations heard sermons that even mentioned race or racism. Was this widespread silence from the pulpit the witness of your church? Historically, white pastors have heard a loud cacophony of voices warning them from speaking out against white supremacy. Does your pastor know there are congregants longing for leadership on issues of racial justice?
7. Read your church budget as a document expressing its moral and spiritual priorities. This one is straightforward but vital if white congregations are going to move authentically from confession and truth-telling to the work of repentance and repair. We have it on good authority that “where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” Given the history and complicity of white Christian churches with white supremacy, every white Christian church should make a commitment to support a predominately non-white church or nonprofit that primarily serves non-white people in their community, with three stipulations: a) The support should be significant, an expression of confession and repair; b) The support should not just consist of a one-time offering but be incorporated as a multi-year commitment reflected in a regular line in the church budget; and c) The support should be in the form of “no strings attached” general operating funds rather than to a specific project. Relinquishing control is an important spiritual practice for white Christians.

READ: The Sacred Work of White Discomfort

Starting somewhere and starting local will mean you may perhaps be the first person to voice these issues in your congregation, but you are likely not the only person on this spiritual and moral journey of transformation. And there are other churches engaged in this work who have found it enlivening and life-giving.

One sure sign of the continued presence of white supremacy is the outright resistance you will inevitably encounter from some and the protests of discomfort from others. But this is also evidence of the importance of the work.

This piece first appeared at Religion News Services.

For more from Robert P. Jones, watch RLC’s Faith Forum on White Discomfort on YouTube. 

For many Americans, though, the opposition to Russia’s invasion isn’t rooted in the immorality of war or imperialism but rather opposition to Russia and support of the West. Unsurprisingly, Putin’s poorly calculated war has resulted in more Western unity and the possibility of NATO growing.

What this showcases is that opposition here is more political than ethical. Our outrage against war is too often rooted in who is doing the invading and where they are invading.

Former Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice displayed this blatant hypocrisy when she declared invading a sovereign nation violated international law and order. My jaw dropped when I heard a key proponent and apologist for the U.S. wars in Iraq and Afghanistan claiming that such invasions were unlawful. I was stunned but also deeply saddened, both by the American exceptionalism of her claim and by the Western and white supremacy in it.

And this kind of incident is not isolated to FOX News broadcasts or an architect of the Global War on Terror.

CBS News correspondent Charlie D’Agata made revealing comparisons of Ukraine to Iraq and Afghanistan, describing Kyiv as a “relatively civilized,” “relatively European” city, whereas Iraq and Afghanistan are places that have had “conflict raging for decades.” D’Agata apologized, but his comment is emblematic of deeply rooted racism and Western bias and how that influences perceptions of non-white countries. Think of it as akin to saying violence in cities is less concerning than violence in the suburbs because violence is “the norm” in cities.

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These comparisons break my heart, as an Arab-American, the son of Egyptian immigrants. Why is the world united in its opposition to the invasion of a white country? And why did so many Americans find unity in their support of the invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan, especially at the outset of those conflicts?

There are many reasons for this, but the most personal to me is that brown nations are seen as less human, less worthy of dignity, and less deserving of peace. Further, this line of thinking implies that brown people are less capable of self-determination and need to be rescued by white saviors. It is dehumanizing, like the world is saying, we are not worthy of life, and we are not capable of our own liberation.

These poorly conceived wars – fought on false pretenses in the case of Iraq – did wane in popularity over the decades. But, it wasn’t how the U.S. ripped the countries apart that spurred Americans’ disdain; most Americans just didn’t want American soldiers making those sacrifices any longer.

I am grateful for their opposition, but it still did not have to do with my dignity, with our dignity. In fact, President Biden’s haphazard withdrawal from Afghanistan showcased as much as Afghans were left defenseless. Even more sickening is how many more Americans say they would support bringing Ukrainian refugees to the U.S – 74% were in favor in one recent poll. Compare that to the portion of Americans who supported allowing Afghan refugees, other than those who helped the U.S. government, seek haven from the Taliban in this country. An Associated Press poll published in October found that only 42% of people were in favor of allowing that category of refugees to come to the United States, even after they had passed security checks.

Not only is this hypocritical, it is racist.

The dehumanization of brown people wasn’t limited to those living in Iraq or Afghanistan. I felt it at home, too. I grew up in a predominantly white town in exurban Pennsylvania and witnessed the attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon as a sophomore in high school. The wars with Afghanistan and Iraq that followed profiled me and my family as enemies of the United States.

REGISTER: Faith Forum on White Discomfort – March 17th at 7pm EDT

We were forced to assimilate, to wear American flag pins, to demonstrate our patriotism conspicuously to try to evade racialized harassment. I remember the names classmates called me; one of them even likened my appearance to that of Osama bin Laden. The racism I experienced is exactly why it was so easy to justify the invasions at the time – the people the U.S. was bombing didn’t look like white Americans.

The vile propaganda that furthered the racism I experienced galvanized support for the wars. And it is not dissimilar to the propaganda that Putin is selling to support his own unlawful wars. In both cases, the warring nations are creating an enemy to convince their own populations to support an immoral invasion. In the case of the U.S., much of that enemy was already created by Western media, TV, and cinema. Brown people, specifically Arabs, have been the bad guys for a long time in our media.

In Ukraine, Putin is commanding Russian soldiers to kill and fight people that look like them, that sometimes speak the same language. The kinship that Russians and Ukrainians share makes the actions of the conflict apparently evil. There is nothing wrong with that on its face. It is clearly wrong to kill family. But I long for a world where people who look like me are seen as siblings in that family, where it is equally unconscionable to invade our countries. I long for a world where we are bold in our opposition to armed conflict, and not only when it serves our national interests or when its victims look like us.

This article was originally posted by PhillyVoice.com.  

I am beyond excited to share this with you.

Several years ago, some of the men on Tennessee’s death row embarked on an ambitious collaborative project. They decided to create original paintings of the “Stations of the Cross.”

The Stations of the Cross are a series of images portraying the crucifixion of Jesus Christ and the events leading up to his execution. For hundreds of years, Christians have reflected on images like these, especially during Lent and Easter. These particular images are compelling because they were painted by men who have also been condemned to die.

As we release these publicly, we hope that you will use them and share them. You are free to post and print them, but the artists have asked that they not be sold or reproduced commercially.

May these paintings open our hearts up to the profound depth of God’s love, and may they stir in us a passion for extending that love and grace to others. It is our hope that contemplating the execution of Jesus does something to us, in us. We pray that as we reflect on the love of God, it transforms us into people who are merciful and who are committed to ending the death penalty.

Here is a quote from one of the men who helped create these images:

This piece of art is a commentary on the continuing battle for our collective moral worldview. It is a collaborative effort with several of my fellow artists, all of whom reside on Tennessee’s death row. Not all are Christians or even religious. Several chose to be anonymous. I asked my fellow community members to help create this project to begin a conversation about what Justice looks like. 

When Jesus was executed, Justice looked different than it does today. However, Justice today has some of the same components as it did back then. The guilty, as are the innocent, are subjected to this state-sanctioned process. As we understand it, state-sanctioned means that “We the People” — collectively speaking — uphold this system of Justice. So, based upon our support, this system of Justice reflects our community’s sense of morals and values. 

One of the biggest issues my sense of the “Christian” world has is dealing with the fact Jesus was not caucasian. This is also true here on death row, a microcosm of the larger “free-world” community. So we decided not to limit one another’s understanding of Jesus’ death or appearance. 

During the two-plus months it took to complete this project, we accepted criticism and positive critique from other non-participating community members. Some were fellow prisoners. Some were religious and secular volunteers. Some were correctional officers. It turned into a true community project. 

I do not know how many opinions we changed inside during this project, but the dialogue was open and honest, beyond what even I imagined. Safe, open dialogue is a prerequisite for the community model created on this death row. We invite dialogue from anyone on how to change the paradigms of our collective lives with those that promote healing and reconciliation within our diverse communities. 

In the Spirit of Love, Mercy, and Forgiveness,

Derrick Quintero 

If you are interested in hosting an exhibit of the Stations of the Cross, please complete this form. We will follow up with more details!

On Sunday, April 17th from 1pm-5pm, we will meet in Nashville to protest the death penalty and scheduled execution of Oscar Smith. Join us for the March4Mercy and special Easter service at the state capitol.

Melissa has been on death row for fifteen years for the alleged murder of her two-year-old daughter, Mariah, who fell down a flight of stairs and died of brain injuries two days later. In January 2021, Melissa received her execution date. Melissa’s lawyers believe in her innocence and are working against the odds to get a fresh look at the evidence. The only evidence against Melissa is her confession, which was given under duress after seven hours of police interrogation in the middle of the night. Melissa was pregnant with twins, and instead of being able to grieve her daughter’s death, she was accused of a crime.

The hope is to advocate for a new trial. Last year, a panel of judges on the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals unanimously overturned her conviction and death sentence, which should have resulted in a new trial. Instead, the State of Texas appealed to all 17 judges on that court, which voted 10-7 to reverse the order, reinstating the conviction and death sentence. The U.S. Supreme Court has declined to hear the case.  

LISTEN: RLC’s Faith Forum on the Death Penalty

As the lawyers try everything they can, the only option left is the court of public opinion, which is how Melissa’s son, sisters, mother, cousins, and others came to be sitting in our church. We provided a space to screen a film about the case, The State of Texas vs. Melissa, and Sabrina Van Tassel, the film’s director, led a conversation about the current situation. 

The death penalty is complicated. I get that, and many Christians either have really hardened views on the topic or avoid it completely. But we as Christians need to address the topic of the death penalty and have deeply nuanced approaches to it because Scripture takes it seriously. On the one hand, the Bible does speak on capital punishment (Gen 9:6). On the other hand, it says a great deal about the certainty of guilt (Deut 17:6; Num. 35:30), intent (Numbers 35:22-24), and due process (Numbers 35; Deut 17). We cannot just wholesale argue that Scripture permits or prohibits the death penalty. Instead of having a heavy hand bent toward capital punishment, we must weigh the factors of each incident and respond accordingly. 

Capital punishment is a decision that should not be taken lightly. When someone on death row pleads their innocence, we should pay attention and not simply give the system the benefit of the doubt. We should investigate, research, and get involved, especially if it’s a case in our state. Yes, many folks on death row say they’re innocent, but some of them really are. Over 1500 people have been killed on death row since 1976, and at least 186 people who had been wrongly convicted and sentenced to death in the U.S. have now been exonerated and freed. That’s approximately 12%!

READ: Buddy Stouffer’s Execution Was the Last of 2021. Will It Be the Last to Be Proved an Error?

Church, we cannot be silent if an innocent person’s life is at risk. We must raise our voice to demand due process and indisputable evidence of guilt and intent. There are times when we must fight for retrials and new trials. We must be sure. These are image-bearers we’re talking about.

You can sign Death Penalty Action’s petition asking the Texas Board of Pardons and Paroles and Governor Greg Abbott to watch the film, The State of Texas vs. Melissa (available on Hulu and Amazon Prime). You can also call the Texas Board of Pardons and Paroles at 512-404-5852 and Governor Greg Abbott at 512-463-2000 with the message: “Please watch ‘The State of Texas vs. Melissa” and grant her clemency.” 

We are still learning about Melissa’s case. But I encourage you to go to FreeMelissaLucio.org and learn too. Then pray. Pray for God’s justice to be done and for TRUTH to be made clear. God has created the church to be an institution for social good, so we must also put our faith into action while we pray. To advance God’s kingdom on earth and pursue his vision of holistic shalom means we cannot avoid what’s happening on death row. 

Visit FreeMelissaLucio.org to rent the film, host a screening, sign the petition, print fliers to share, and contact the Texas authorities who can halt this injustice. An in-person screening sponsored by Hope Community Church & Death Penalty Action, will be held at 7pm CST on Tuesday, March 8th, at Memorial UMC, 6100 Berkman Dr. in Austin, TX. In honor of International Women’s Day, the film may also be seen for free at FreeMelissaLucio.org on March 7th & 8th.

The collective grief and trauma is compounded for many of us. It doesn’t feel right to normalize it, but here we are. Another Uber Eats gift card. Another prayer request. Another casserole. Another bouquet of condolence flowers. None of it feels like enough.

Today as I write this, I’m doing something else I’ve normalized. Today, my 9-year-old is getting her 11th MRI. She was born with a rare form of spina bifida and has lived with a cone-shaped tumor called a syrinx tangled in her spinal cord nerves for her whole life. She is disabled. So here I am, tuning out the ridiculously loud hum of this ominous-looking machine encapsulating my child. I’m pretending it’s totally normal that she’s lying there with weights on her legs, watching Ice Age through a mirror.

But every once in a while, a thought will cross my mind, and my eyes will notice something- and tears come out of nowhere. I swear they weren’t there just a minute ago. I swear I was fine. But am I? Ever so often, she will break eye contact with the movie and look at me, so I try to make sure I’m smiling. I mouth encouragement with my lips to stay still while the doctors get the pictures they need. I give a thumbs up and a silent clap. I pretend I’m brushing hair out of my eyes instead of wiping away tears.

This is what it’s like to live with caregiver trauma every day. This is what it’s like to have to normalize living in a way that’s not sustainable long term—fighting through a million of those invisible moments, over and over. As my tears fell, I wondered what my daughter’s future would look like, and I felt the bitterness creep back in. It’s a constant battle to reject anger and trade it for mercy. For humility. For love. Sometimes I’m more successful than others.

As I sat in that MRI room, I remembered a day a few weeks earlier. On the way home from school, my 8-year-old with asthma asked out of the blue, “I know we wear masks to protect other people because we love people, but when someone doesn’t wear a mask around me, does it mean they don’t love me?” Again, she’s 8. And those words broke my heart.

Caroline has been hospitalized in the PICU multiple times over the last two years for asthma-related complications. Part of me wants to say yes because I have wondered the same thing. But as a parent, I know I can’t say that. And as my child sat waiting for my response, I had to figure out why really fast. So we talked about how Christ on the cross suffered after doing nothing wrong. We talked about how he prayed to forgive the people that put him there because “they knew not what they did.” We wondered about the crucifixion out loud together. Those people knew they were mocking and murdering Jesus as well as the robbers flanking him, but he forgave them still.

READ: Finding Jesus in Rural America

It occurred to me that maybe Jesus wasn’t suggesting that He was the exception, as in “forgive them, Father, for murdering me.” “Forgive them for they know not what they do” is actually very different. To this day, theologians and scholars still debate what actually happened on the cross. Maybe this is because the mystery of Christ on the cross is still much more radical and powerful than any of us could ever fully wrap our brains around. What if Jesus was asking his Heavenly Father to forgive how humanity’s obsession with murder, power, and violence had led him to that moment? What if Christ’s forgiveness is much larger than we could ever possibly imagine? What if his grace is? What if ours could be too?

So as my daughter and I pulled into the driveway, I reminded my child how fully loved she is. I reminded her how spreading love, forgiveness, and grace when it is hard is exactly how Jesus chose to reveal his authority and mercy on the cross. So even when we feel unloved, we choose to forgive and extend mercy anyway, like Jesus.

Caring for medically fragile children in a pandemic is at times an invisible load. Often we’ve had to minimize it greatly for the comfort of many of our healthier and more able-bodied friends. Just like so often, the experiences of BIPOC people are systematically erased in favor of a white narrative; the experience of medically fragile families and image-bearers with disabilities has largely been forced to the margins too.

When I think about the church leaders that have regularly boasted about how they disdain mask-wearing, distrust doctors, oppose health care reform, and refuse vaccines that will keep their most vulnerable congregants safe, I think about how unwelcoming places like that have been to families like mine. If these sanctuaries refuse to prioritize belonging for the least among us, then where do the least of these among us find sanctuary? Does a consistent pro-life ethic include the vulnerable in our midst? How much does the sanctity of their lives matter?

Our family has been blessed to be a part of churches that partner with us so well. They go out of their way to show our kids love in many thoughtful and intentional ways. They listen. They join us in solidarity. They truly care. But largely, when I talk to other parents of disabled children and adults with disabilities, their experience isn’t like mine. Those families are regularly excluded, overlooked, and ignored in many evangelical circles.

WATCH: RLC Book Club Kids and Youth Edition

Church institutions will cite their insurance policies as the reason they can’t accommodate a child with a particular disability in their upscale environment. Volunteers will feel inconvenienced and scared of liability. So then who will invite that child into belonging? Who will invite that parent? Or do we find ourselves standing as gatekeepers between medically fragile families and the table of Jesus?

Thankfully this is never the case as Jesus is always on the other side with the vulnerable – but that’s a sobering reminder as well. Exactly what kind of table are the gatekeepers protecting? And who will show up to make that child feel safe and that family feel seen?

The church has had a unique opportunity in the pandemic to participate in the grand reversal as it relates to children with disabilities. One of the simplest ways to participate is to simply join disabled families in friendship, advocacy, and the everyday work of bearing one another’s burdens.

I’m not talking about inspiration porn. I’m talking about friendship, belonging, and interdependent community. As a church, throughout this pandemic, how did we measure up? If we asked our disabled, chronically ill, and caregiving neighbors, would they feel safe enough to even tell us the truth? Would they feel safe enough to admit that, at times, the obsession with freedom and individual rights fueled by Christian Nationalism has led them to feel invisible and unloved by the church? Because there are times I don’t feel safe enough to admit that many church leaders’ public positions on healthcare reform, masks, and vaccines, have directly made my family feel unloved by the church institutions they represent.

While the disability experience is not a monolith, by & large caregivers and disabled people are familiar with the feeling of being excluded from environments that seemingly welcome their presence but not their belonging. And I have to wonder if our churches are not fully FOR the least among them first, then who are they really for?

As we continue towards whatever else 2022 holds, may we allow ourselves to be angered at the way medically fragile children have silently endured a different kind of pandemic trauma than their healthy peers. May we repent for all the times our actions and inaction made someone with a disability feel invisible and alone. And may we be willing to change how we pursue the cruciform love of Jesus towards the medically vulnerable so that those image bearers truly know how loved they are.

One of the most perplexing realities of January 6th for me as a Christian minister was that many protestors proudly identified as followers of Jesus Christ. When I read about the life and teachings of Jesus in the New Testament, I learn of a radical, renegade Rabbi who resisted corruption not through violent insurrection but through grassroots organizing, through empowering individuals and communities to create a more just world through subversive acts of justice in their own daily lives. The Jesus I sought to follow was fundamentally different from whatever Jesus the insurrectionists had pledged their allegiance to. 

As I reflected on the insurrection and the entire Trump Presidency, it became clear that what was driving this violent behavior by white Christians was a deep-seated fear of losing their place of power and privilege in our country. As the national conversation around racial justice has progressed, as the disease of white supremacy continues to be exposed, and as the population of white people is surpassed by the multi-cultural array of diverse peoples that make up modern America, many white Christians are seeing the “promise” of a “Christian nation,” which really means a white, conservative, Christian nation vaporize before their eyes. 

READ: “Nothing New Under the Sun”: Opposing Racism Today

And yet, as a white Christian pastor myself, I have a strange feeling that losing privilege and power may be precisely what is required to save the souls of white Christians. After all, one of the central images of Jesus in the New Testament describes Christ as “emptying himself” of his own status and power to bring about redemption to the world. (Philippians 2:7) In Christian theology, Jesus rejects using his divine power for his own self-interest but leverages it only for the good of those around him. Following this example, the early Christians believed that only through following Jesus’ example could they experience the redemption of their souls and the world at large. 

The heart of Jesus’ message in the Gospels is to “love our neighbor as ourselves.” Yet, white Christians have far too often been known for how we marginalize our neighbors of different religions, cultures, and sexualities. Jesus leveraged his power for the good of even those perceived as his “enemies,” and yet white Christians are known for spending millions to get proximity to power and secure our own self-interests. In short, white Christianity has far too often chosen to worship the idol of our own privilege and power than the one who gave it all up for the salvation of the world and calls us to do the same. 

REGISTER: Join us on February 27th at 7pm EST for a special “Race in America” event with Michael W. Waters

What white Christians have failed to see is that losing privilege and power isn’t actually a loss- instead, it means that our society will begin to function more equitably for everyone. It means that people’s ability to get ahead will not be based on the color of their skin or the religion they belong to but on their merit. It means that the Christian worldview will not be the assumed worldview in various settings throughout our pluralistic nation, but that doesn’t mean that the Christian worldview will somehow become suppressed. As the Prophet Isaiah writes, when the “valleys are exalted, and the mountains made low,” then “the glory of the Lord will be revealed, and all people will see it together.” (Isaiah 40:4-5) In other words, only when the playing field is leveled will the world experience the love and light of God together. 

The fact is that white Christian privilege will continue to be exposed and lost as our society continues to strain towards justice- this, I am confident, is the reality of our nation. The question is whether white Christians will give it up willingly, following the example of their Savior, or whether they will continue to resist and fight to preserve a world that gives them a leg up at the marginalization and oppression of everyone else. 

This is a moment of reckoning. White Christians have but two options set before us: to walk the narrow road with Jesus in the path of repentance of our exploitation of whiteness and Christian supremacy to ensure our diverse neighbors have a fair shot, or to continue walking on the broad road that exploits our privilege for our own benefit, where everyone not like us is viewed as an enemy to be marginalized so we can flourish. If we continue buy in to that lie, like the so-called Christian insurrectionists of January 6th, we can scarcely claim to be authentic followers of Jesus, and we’re sure to bring about much more destruction, indeed.  

You can hear more about Brandan’s book for youth in the RLC Book Club Children and Youth Edition.

He was an absolute legend. He was one of the kindest, grooviest people I’ve ever met (he liked the word “groovy”). We spent a lot of time together these last few years. I sure will miss him. 

He was 87 and had been battling pancreatic cancer. He also just got baptized and was so at peace with everything. I talked to him on the phone a few days before he died. He smiled as he told me he would probably be dying soon, but everything was just fine. He was fearless and such an inspiration. He sent me the original photos he took of Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King. In fact, I have a whole box of his photos here in my office. They are like gold – better than gold – and I’ll post some of them from time to time.  

One of the many memories I have is when I asked Steve curiously if he’d ever met Abbie Hoffman, one of most eccentric organizers of the anti-war movement in the 1960s, jailed along with seven others as part of the famous Chicago 8 trial. He smiled and said to me, “I photographed his wedding.” Of course he did. 

Steve died last month on Martin Luther King’s birthday, January 15. Now he is with Dr. King in glory land. My heart goes out to his family, Maura, Theophilus, and all whose lives he touched.

Here’s a little more about the life of our brother Steve Schapiro:

Steve Schapiro discovered photography at the age of nine at summer camp. Excited by the camera’s potential, Schapiro spent the next decades prowling the streets of his native New York City trying to emulate the work of French photographer Henri Cartier Bresson, whom he greatly admired. His first formal education in photography came when he studied under the photojournalist W. Eugene Smith. Smith’s influence on Schapiro was far-reaching. He taught him the technical skills he needed to succeed as a photographer but also informed his personal outlook and worldview. Schapiro’s lifelong interest in social documentary and his consistently empathetic portrayal of his subjects is an outgrowth of his days spent with Smith and the development of a concerned humanistic approach to photography.

Beginning in 1961, Schapiro worked as a freelance photojournalist. His photographs appeared internationally in the pages and on the covers of magazines, including Life, Look, Time, Newsweek, Rolling Stone, Vanity Fair, Sports Illustrated, People and Paris Match. During the decade of the 1960s in America, called the “golden age in photojournalism,” Schapiro produced photo-essays on subjects as varied as narcotics addition, Easter in Harlem, the Apollo Theater, Haight-Ashbury, political protest, the presidential campaign of Robert Kennedy, poodles and presidents. A particularly poignant story about the lives of migrant workers in Arkansas, produced in 1961 for Jubilee and picked up by the New York Times Magazine, both informed readers about the migrant workers’ difficult living conditions and brought about tangible change—the installation of electricity in their camps.

An activist as well as a documentarian, Schapiro covered many stories related to the Civil Rights movement, including the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom, the push for voter registration, and the Selma to Montgomery march. Called by Life to Memphis after Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination, Schapiro produced some of the most iconic images of that tragic event.

REGISTER: Race in America: A Conversation with Michael W. Waters on February 27th

In the 1970s, as picture magazines like Look folded, Schapiro shifted attention to film. With major motion picture companies as his clients, Schapiro produced advertising materials, publicity stills, and posters for films as varied as The Godfather, The Way We Were, Taxi Driver, Midnight Cowboy, Rambo, Risky Business, and Billy Madison. He also collaborated on projects with musicians, such as Barbra Streisand and David Bowie, for record covers and related art.

Schapiro’s photographs have been widely reproduced in magazines and books related to American cultural history from the 1960s forward, civil rights, and motion picture film. Monographs of Schapiro’s work include American Edge (2000); a book about the spirit of the turbulent decade of the 1960s in America, and Schapiro’s Heroes (2007), which offers long intimate profiles of ten iconic figures: Muhammad Ali, Andy Warhol, Martin Luther King Jr., Robert Kennedy, Ray Charles, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, James Baldwin, Samuel Beckett, Barbra Streisand and Truman Capote. Schapiro’s Heroes was the winner of an Art Directors Club Cube Award. Taschen released The Godfather Family Album: Photographs by Steve Schapiro in 2008, followed by Taxi Driver (2010), both initially in signed limited editions. This was followed by Then And Now (2012), Bliss about the changing hippie generation (2015), BOWIE (2016), Misericordia (2016), an amazing facility for people with developmental problems, and in 2017 books about Muhammad Ali and Taschen’s Lucie award-winning The Fire Next Time with James Baldwin’s text and Schapiro’s Civil Rights photos from 1963 to 1968.

Since the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s seminal 1969 exhibition, Harlem on my Mind, which included a number of his images, Schapiro’s photographs have appeared in museum and gallery exhibitions worldwide. The High Museum of Art’s Road to Freedom, which traveled widely in the United States, includes many of his photographs from the civil rights movement and Martin Luther King Jr. Recent one-man shows have been mounted in Los Angeles, London, Santa Fe, Amsterdam, Paris. And Berlin. Steve has had large museum retrospective exhibitions in the United States, Spain, Russia, and Germany.

Schapiro continues to work in a documentary vein. His recent series of photographs have been about India, music festivals, the Christian social activist Shane Claiborne, and Black Lives Matter.

In 2017, Schapiro won the Lucie Award for Achievement in Photojournalism. Schapiro’s work is represented in many private and public collections, including the Smithsonian Museum, the High Museum of Art, the New York Metropolitan Museum, and the Getty Museum.

I am grateful for Steve Schapiro – our friend and our brother. His images show us how the world is changed. They show us what courage and joy and resilience and defiant hope look like. I will miss him, but I am so thankful for every moment I have had with him. And as I think of the ear-to-ear smile he had when he told me he was dying, I am confident there is a party on the other side welcoming him home. I know he is smiling down on all of us now, alongside his friends John Lewis, Dr. King, James Baldwin, Rosa Parks, and the cloud of witnesses on whose shoulders we now stand.  

Find more information at http://steveschapiro.com. 

It should come as no surprise that the announcement of Biden’s decision to right-size the court also generated criticism among right-wing Republicans. Sen. Ted Cruz made the jaw-dropping statement that Biden’s decision to nominate a Black woman was insulting and offensive to Black women. His claims are as loud as they are wrong. But they also reveal an entitlement that is closely connected to the belief that white is supreme. Resistance is also embedded in the notion that only a white person could be qualified to serve on the Supreme Court. 

REGISTER: Race in America: A Conversation with Michael W. Waters on February 27th at 7pm EST

For context, just two Black men and five women have served on the Supreme Court. Of 115 individuals appointed to the Supreme Court, 108 have been white men. Unsurprisingly, Cruz never claimed the appointment of white and conservative males was insulting or inappropriate. He never opposed President Donald Trump’s assertion that he would nominate a woman to replace Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. The shock and awe centers around gender and race. 

Additionally, white people have always seen themselves in positions of power, so much so that there is an expectation that they belong in powerful positions. 

But Black women represent a bench of untapped talent. Election cycle after election cycle, Black women have propelled Democrats to office at all levels of the government. We are a reliable voting bloc, yet there has never been a Black woman governor. There has never been a Black woman nominated or appointed to the U.S. Supreme Court. There has never been a Black woman to serve as White House chief of staff. In fact, in all of history, there have only been 23 Black women appointed to cabinet-level positions. The lack of appointments of Black women is about one thing: the intersection of gender and race. It is not about competency or qualifications. 

READ: An Excerpt From Fortune: How Race Broke My Family and the World – And How to Repair It All

This appointment would prove that the administration sees Black women not just as workhouses but as serious minds capable of grappling with the tough issues that will come before court. Not only should Biden move forward with his plan to nominate a Black woman to the Supreme Court; he should stand by his nominee and refuse to rest until she is confirmed. 

To be clear, this appointment does not obliterate the president of his broader responsibility to the Black community. He still needs to raise the minimum wage and address housing insecurity, the climate crisis, student loan debt and voting rights. But the courts have been stacked with conservative white men for far too long. The pillars of power are calling out for progress, and this is one tangible thing the administration can do to advance justice and democracy.