I've gotta be honest about a few things regarding the police shooting African American men in Louisiana and Minnesota in the past two days:
1. I don't know that I should even be posting this...its really fresh for me. Part of me thinks that as a white Christ-following man that I just need to be quiet and "mourn with those who mourn." I have too often gone to Facebook or social media and said things before trying to empathize.
2. I am a white man. I can't imagine being an African American man and having to even consider that this nonsense is even a possibility. I can't imagine being a parent of an African American male and having to teach my son how to "safely" drive the speed limit and follow the laws or walk through a neighborhood and interact with police while having not broken the law. Not one scenario in this country exists where the current situation for African American men will ever be my situation. So I am not saying "I get it" or "That's my story too" -- it isn't and never will be.
3. While I am a white man wrestling with whether or not to say anything, I feel I do have to say something: This has to stop. My heart is breaking for our country, our people, our broken-down system of "justice." I don't know what is the fix...broadly on a systematic level or even locally (where I am thankful for our chief of police, Ken Miller, and the bridges he is seeking to build)...
4. In the scriptures, when something was broken and only God could intervene, the people put on sackcloth and dumped ashes on their head and just sat in silence and mourned and prayed. Today ought to be a day of intense mourning and crying out to God over what is broken. Just silence. (I accept that some will scream "Hypocrite!" for me writing that and throwing my voice into the conversation by calling for silence.)
5. Please, white friends, let's be careful not to soap box or grandstand and offer stupid statements that we tend to make about peripheral issues or comments that somehow "justify" the shootings. Just be quiet and pray and mourn. I'll make it simple; these should be our "talking points" this week: "I am sorry." "I don't understand." "This grieves God as much as it grieves us; it grieves him more." "I love you." "You better know I have your back" (or however you want to say that).
6. Please do not offer to pray for someone if you aren't going to pray for them. In fact, where we'd offer an "I'll pray for you," please be bold and exchange that for a "Can I please pray for you right now?" You may think, How would I even know what to say? Ask them and then pray for what they share. And beyond that, just talk to God and bless him for all people and agree that he hates violence.
7. Remember our common humanity. This isn't a white and brown issue or a cops versus citizens issue. This is the fruit of living in a broken world with an Enemy who wants to destroy people and drag their souls to hell. Find common ground. No kid should have to grow up without a dad because he was shot at a traffic stop. No wife should have to bury her husband so senselessly and tragically. No parent should have to bury their child. These are things we all agree on because these are emotions we feel as humans -- not just as white people or African Americans or whatever other race or gender or sexual preference or age or religion or whatever other label we like to slap on people to create some sense of "us" and "them." Let's build bridges of empathy rooted in our common humanity.
8. To my African American neighbors, friends, church members, brothers in ministry, and brothers and sisters in Christ, today know that I am so sorry -- profoundly sorry beyond words. Know that I know that I don't understand. I do believe that these all-too-common situations grieve our loving God. Please, please, please don't lose hope. With gracious and generous hearts, please allow white people like me, with all our sins and ignorance and inability to say the right things all the time, into your grief and teach us how to mourn with you and hope with you. Show us where and how we can serve and honor and have your back... And, finally, know that I love you.
