Having the Privilege

I don’t want to be silent, but I don’t know what to say.

I am watching as my city and country are in turmoil today. I am watching as broken-hearted, hurt, justifiably angry people step out and stand up for the pain and injustice they are suffering. I am watching them risk their own health and safety in the middle of a pandemic to show solidarity with those treated with brutal unfairness.

I say I am watching because I have the privilege of not knowing those pains and injustices first hand. I have the privilege of being able to retreat to my suburban neighborhood and watch from a distance. I have the privilege of having the color of skin that isn’t discriminated against.

I am watching with tears in my eyes as people fight for the right to be treated with basic human decency. I am watching with tears as people fight to be respected instead of stereotyped, to be seen for their worth and not for their perceived danger. I am watching as people bind together to fight against the systemic injustice that effects our communities and the powers that keep those systems in place.

I am also watching as doctors fighting the pandemic don’t have enough protective gear to keep them safe as they save lives but police have more than enough protective riot gear to keep them safe as they stir up violence among peaceful protesters. I am watching reporters be arrested on live television because their skin is seen as a threat. I am watching stories of violent white protesters barging in and endangering peaceful protests in black communities. I am watching black local elected representatives join protests to stand with their constituents and try to deescalate situations get pepper sprayed by their own police departments.

I am watching and I am grieving.

I don’t want to be silent, but I don’t know what to say.

Of course I am upset on their behalf. Of course I want change. Of course I want mercy and justice to prevail. Of course. Of course.

But I struggle with finding my role in speaking up. I don’t want to be yet another privileged white person on the internet virtue signaling that I am against racism by posting a cute quote graphic. I don’t want my voice to detract from those that desperately need to be heard right now. I don’t want to inject myself into something I cannot speak to.

But I also don’t want to close my mouth and say nothing. I don’t want to put the onus of the revolution on the already over-burdened shoulders of those who are suffering. I don’t want to turn to someone hurting and expect them to teach me how I aided in their hurts. I don’t want them to feel unsupported or unloved in their fight.

It is on me. That is a hard truth. I am not good at speaking up. Disturbing the peace and causing conflict goes against every fiber of my being. It gives me great anxiety. But so does the anger that I feel at the unnecessary conflict and unrest put upon others, an anger that grows until it comes out as hot tears.

I don’t know what difference I can make. I’m not sure how to start. There is so much strife and I feel so overwhelmed by the enormity of it all. Of the normalcy of the injustice in our society. Of the callousness of those who hear the cries of the hurting and can only complain about the inconvenience of it. Of the hardened hearts of those in power when the victims cry out let my people go. Of the call to just be peaceful when peace wasn’t working.

But I need to do something. I’m the one with the unfair privileges. And I have the privilege of getting to use them to help those who don’t.

I’m donating to a local group today. I’m praying for safety and mercy and justice. I’m sitting in a place of holy anger and grief today alongside those who are upset and mourning. I will do what I can and I will work on being better. It’s on me. It’s on all of us.

Thoughts and Prayers and Rowboats

A fellow was stuck on his rooftop in a flood. He was praying to God for help.

Soon a man in a rowboat came by and the fellow shouted to the man on the roof, "Jump in, I can save you.” The stranded fellow shouted back, "No, it's OK, I'm praying to God and he is going to save me.” So the rowboat went on.

Then a motorboat came by. The fellow in the motorboat shouted, "Jump in, I can save you." To this the stranded man said, "No thanks, I'm praying to God and he is going to save me. I have faith.” So the motorboat went on.

Then a helicopter came by and the pilot shouted down, "Grab this rope and I will lift you to safety." To this the stranded man again replied, "No thanks, I'm praying to God and he is going to save me. I have faith.” So the helicopter reluctantly flew away.

Soon the water rose above the rooftop and the man drowned. He went to Heaven. He finally got his chance to discuss this whole situation with God, at which point he exclaimed, "I had faith in you but you didn't save me, you let me drown. I don't understand why!"

To this God replied, "I sent you a rowboat and a motorboat and a helicopter, what more did you expect?”

—

I can’t remember where I first heard this modern-day parable, it may have been in one of the many issues of Reader’s Digest magazines piled up next to my dad’s recliner, or in a copy of Chicken Soup for the Soul, or even from the pulpit of a well-meaning pastor in the 90s.

I think of this story each time another mass shooting happens and politicians start tweeting thoughts and prayers for this week’s victims, and then doing nothing.

—

Teens are shot in their classrooms. Thoughts and prayers, say the politicians.

Festival goers are shot at an outdoor event. Our hearts are with the victims and their families, say the elected officials.

Shoppers are shot at a retail store. God bless their city, says the president.

“I had faith in you but you didn’t stop the shootings. I don’t understand why!” the politicians ask God.

God replies, “I gave you the position, the power, the influence to make change and keep them from happening. Why didn’t you use it?”

—

Like the man trapped on his roof, we are drowning in mass shootings. I feel increasingly frustrated and helpless as I watch white men with assault rifles taken calmly into custody because their right to own semi-automatic weapons of mass destruction has become more important than a citizen’s right to pursue happiness, faith, or education without the threat of death.

I can vote and be vocal but can’t pass laws or enact legislation on my own, so I turn to thoughts and prayers as something valuable I can add. I won’t downplay the importance of prayer; I think that in the midst of tragedy if someone says they are appealing to the highest authority in their life for grace and comfort on behalf of others, that is a lovely and honorable thing. But I am angered by those who have the position and ability to make nationwide change only to act as if thoughts and prayers and a shrug of the shoulders is all they can do.

—

Jesus told his disciples that “…anyone who believes in me will do the same works I have done, and even greater works (John 14:12 NLT).” As Jesus was the literal hands and feet of God, the presence of God physically working among humankind, so are we: we’re the hands, the feet, the doers, the movers, the shakers, the rowers of boats going out to rescue the stranded on God’s behalf.

How can you reach out and help today? Maybe it’s calling your representative, participating in a protest, or giving blood. Maybe it’s donating to a cause, or volunteering — or simply not turning away and hoping someone else will take care of it. We can all do something. It doesn’t have to be this way.

And if truly the best you can do today is reflect and pray, by all means, do so with fervor.