to the church that raised me - on racism

To the Church that raised me,

Today, I joined a peaceful protest in my city. I know it was a small scale of what is happening in the large cities around America, but it was empowering. To see people support one another and stand by the pain of the Black community was beautiful.

My plea starts here. I wanted to hear your voices for the death of George Floyd, for Amaud Arbery, for Breonna Taylor, for the countless names that were silenced because of the color of their skin. I went to my social media, longing to see you share something, anything. But I only saw millennials who are sick and tired of this bullshit. So I sought your pages out. I thought maybe your content just wasn't popping up on my feed. Instead of outrage, I saw justification. I saw blame shifting - this can't be racism. I'm not racist, you said. My heart ached.

See, you raised me to love those around me. You taught me to listen closely to the voices of everyone. You said we are all equal, black, Asian, Native American, we shouldn't see color, we are all the same.  And yet, I looked back and realized there were few black people in our Church. I looked back and saw that we traveled to other places to commune with other cultures, but never did it happen within our walls. I realized your silence on this matter spoke louder than words.

I remember you taught us to respect the Native American tribe that we went to have missions trips -- but the goal was to share our beliefs, our worldview. I remember you boasted about the inner city kids you brought into the Church for AWANA programs. I didn't see the discrepancy with this at first. I didn't see the submerged privilege in these actions.

Recently, I have begun to do the work of identifying my white privilege, my submerged racist tendencies. I have learned that being non-racist isn't enough, we must be anti-racist (Angela Davis). I am nowhere near done and have so far to come being a young white American woman. I have begun to read resources that aren't by white people, but by those of color. I have started to ask questions of my friends of different races. This is only the beginning.

So today, I went to a Black Lives Matter protest for George Floyd. And it was there that I knew Jesus was. Somehow I think we lost him in the walls of our Churches that are built to keep people in and out. So, when you see my posts about going to this protest, I hope you don't look at me and think "she's gone off the deep end." I hope you take time to see how Jesus is here, in the protesting, in the riots, in the voices that shout black lives matter.

As a young Christian millennial, I implore you to do the work of undoing racism. I want to hear you admit to your white privilege, I want to know that you are working your hardest to undo racism in your own life. I want to know that you are actively fighting for our black brothers and sisters who have been oppressed for so long. Jesus is in the work of justice and mercy (Micah 6:8), let's find him here.

Yes, I am a millennial. Please don't write our voices off. The world is too loud and the evangelicals are even louder. This isn't just a phase. The millennials were teenagers once, but now we are adults, who have gone to college, seen a lot of things, learned a lot from people who were different than us. Our voices have meaning. Please hear us out.

From,

A millennial who is unlearning, seeking and finding and desperately wants justice.