I’m Learning to listen, (at least I want to). How about you?
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- Marriage – “All marriages between a white person and a negro, or between a white person and a person of negro descent to the fourth generation inclusive, are hereby forever prohibited.” (Florida law)
- Marriage – “All marriages of white persons with Negroes, Mulattos, Mongolians, or Malaya hereafter contracted in the State of Wyoming are and shall be illegal and void.” (Wyoming law)
- Hospitalization – “The Board of Control shall see that proper and distinct apartments are arranged for said patients [in a mental hospital], so that in no cases shall Negroes and white persons be together.” (Georgia law)
- Nursing – “No person or corporation shall require any white female nurse to nurse in wards or rooms or hospitals, either public or private, where negro men are placed.” (Alabama law)
- Barbering – “No colored person shall serve as a barber [to] white women or girls.” (Georgia law)
- Toilets – “Every employer of white or negro males shall provide for such white or negro males reasonably accessible and separate toilet facilities.” (Alabama law)
- Buses – “All passenger stations in this state operated by any motor transportation company shall have separate waiting rooms or space and separate ticket windows for the white and colored races.” (Alabama law)
- Restaurants – “It shall be unlawful to conduct a restaurant or other place for the serving of food in the city, at which white and colored people are served in the same room, unless such white and colored persons are effectually separated by a solid partition extending from the floor upward to a distance of seven feet or higher, and unless a separate entrance from the street is provided for each compartment.” (Alabama law)
- Beer and Wine – “All persons licensed to conduct the business of selling beer or wine…shall serve either white people exclusively or colored people exclusively and shall not sell to two races within the same room at any time.” (Georgia law)
- Amateur Baseball – “It shall be unlawful for any amateur white baseball team to play baseball on any vacant lot or baseball diamond within two blocks of a playground devoted to the Negro race, and it shall be unlawful for any amateur colored baseball team to play baseball in any vacant lot or baseball diamond within two blocks of any playground devoted to the white race.” (Georgia law)
- Burial – “The officer in charge shall not bury, or allow to be buried, any colored persons upon ground set apart or used for the burial of white persons.” (Georgia law)
- Libraries – “The state librarian is directed to fit up and maintain a separate place for the use of the colored people who may come to the library for the purpose of reading books or periodicals.” (North Carolina law)
- Teaching – “Any instructor who shall teach in any school, college or institution where members of the white and colored races are received and enrolled as pupils for instruction shall be deemed guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction thereof, shall be fined…” (Oklahoma law)
- Schools – “Separate rooms [shall] be provided for the teaching of pupils of African descent, and [when] said rooms are provided, such pupils may not be admitted to the school rooms occupied and used by pupils of Caucasian or other descent.” (New Mexico law)
- Schools – “[The County Board of Education] shall provide schools of two kinds; those for white children and those for colored children.” (Texas law)
YourDictionary definition and usage example. Copyright © 2018 by LoveToKnow Corp
Josiah Henson, The Life of Josiah Henson (1849)
Josiah Henson was born a slave on 15th June, 1789 in Charles County, Maryland. He was sold three times before he reached the age of eighteen. By 1830, Henson had saved up $350 to purchase his freedom. After giving his master the money he was told that the price had increased to $1,000.
Cheated of his money, Henson decided to escape with his wife and four children. After reaching Canada, Henson formed a community where he taught other ex-slaves how to be successful farmers.
“We lodged in log huts, and on the bare ground. Wooden floors were an unknown luxury. In a single room were huddled, like cattle, ten or a dozen persons, men, women, and children. All ideas of refinement and decency were, of course, out of the question. We had neither bedsteads, nor furniture of any description. Our beds were collections of straw and old rags, thrown down in the corners and boxed in with boards; a single blanket the only covering. Our favourite way of sleeping, however, was on a plank, our heads raised on an old jacket and our feet toasting before the smouldering fire. The wind whistled and the rain and snow blew in through the cracks, and the damp earth soaked in the moisture till the floor was miry as a pig- sty. Such were our houses. In these wretched hovels were we penned at night, and fed by day; here were the children born and the sick – neglected.”
STORY #2
Last Friday morning I was picking up 3 of our Reading Club kids to take them to school. They have been homeless for the past few months. First they were living in cheap motels along Midlothian Tpke. Now they are staying in someone else’s apartment in a local public housing complex. The mom opened the door as the 3 boys were obviously roused by my knocking. One gets up off of his sleeping bag on the floor and the other two off of their air mattress. There is no furniture in sight. Wearing the same clothes they slept in, they throw on their shoes and follow me out the door. They slowly come to life as I cruise toward their elementary school hoping they are on time so they can eat some breakfast before class begins. As I pull to a stop, I say a quick prayer to a chorus of ‘amens’ from the back seat before they jump out and run for the front door. Just a typical day in their life…
What is the link between these 2 stories that span 2 centuries?
Here’s the question I would leave us with: While their fellow citizens, the African-Americans, were once again being enslaved through the criminal justice system, what were the followers of Jesus doing…or perhaps equally important, what are we doing?
One thing I have discovered in my journey with Jesus is that when I pay attention to what He is doing and I join Him in it, I see fruit emerge. What is He doing now? I believe He is opening eyes and hearts to the years of injustice and oppression visited upon our African-American brothers and sisters. I have had numerous people reach out to me in the last few weeks with a genuine interest in learning things that they had never really given much thought to. Could this be a precursor to an awakening here in our country? Why don’t we join Him and see? Last week I introduced this by sharing two stories that spanned 2 centuries.
STORY #1 Circa 1818 AD
Josiah Henson, The Life of Josiah Henson (1849)
Josiah Henson was born a slave on 15th June, 1789 in Charles County, Maryland. He was sold three times before he reached the age of eighteen. By 1830, Henson had saved up $350 to purchase his freedom. After giving his master the money he was told that the price had increased to $1,000. Cheated out of his money, Henson decided to escape with his wife and four children. After reaching Canada, Henson formed a community where he taught other ex-slaves how to be successful farmers.
“We lodged in log huts, and on the bare ground. Wooden floors were an unknown luxury. In a single room were huddled, like cattle, ten or a dozen persons, men, women, and children. All ideas of refinement and decency were, of course, out of the question. We had neither bedsteads, nor furniture of any description. Our beds were collections of straw and old rags, thrown down in the corners and boxed in with boards; a single blanket the only covering. Our favourite way of sleeping, however, was on a plank, our heads raised on an old jacket and our feet toasting before the smouldering fire. The wind whistled and the rain and snow blew in through the cracks, and the damp earth soaked in the moisture till the floor was miry as a pig- sty. Such were our houses. In these wretched hovels were we penned at night, and fed by day; here were the children born and the sick – neglected.”
STORY #2 2018 AD
One morning, two years ago, I was picking up 3 of our Reading Club kids to take them to school. They had been homeless for the previous few months. At first they were living in cheap motels along Midlothian Tpke. Then they were staying in someone’s apartment in a local public housing complex. On this particular morning, mom was not responding to my text that I was outside waiting on them. Finally, I climbed the stairs and began knocking on the door. Eventually, the door slowly opened as someone was obviously roused by my knocking. As I’m allowed a glimpse into the living room, I am shocked at what I see. The room is full of sleeping adolescents and teens. One is on a twin air mattress. Another is sleeping propped up on a loveseat. Six are sleeping end to end on another air mattress and one of the boys I was picking up was sound asleep in an upright chair. Who knows who was sleeping in the other rooms. Wearing the same clothes they slept in, my three boys throw on their shoes and follow me out the door. They slowly come to life as I cruise toward their elementary school hoping they are on time so they can eat some breakfast before class begins. As I pull to a stop, I say a quick prayer to a chorus of ‘amens’ from the back seat before they jump out and run for the front door. I’m left pondering what I had just witnessed.
What is the link between these 2 stories that span 2 centuries?
Over the next few posts, I will share with you a timeline that I believe links them. My purpose in this exercise is to bring a truthful, historical narrative that will help us pursue justice and righteousness in 2020. While cultural norms may change over the years, God’s definition of justice & righteousness doesn’t. May He continue to open our eyes to the injustices that exist right before us today. What I am sharing is a simple, introductory timeline of racial injustice as it relates to African-Americans in our nation. There is so much more to this story, but I want to give us a taste…albeit a bitter one. I’ll begin with the slave trade.
Slavery began as indentured servitude following the establishment of Jamestown in 1607. The newly arrived settlers had a need for laborers. The passage to the new country was expensive, so the promise of passage, room and board and land after completing 4-7 years of service was an enticing offer for many poor whites back in England. As much as one-half to three-fourths of the initial population was indentured servants. The first black Africans arrived in 1619 and were treated initially as indentured servants. Due to the desire for cheap labor, slave laws were passed in 1641 in Massachusetts and 1661 in Virginia. Soon, it became a profitable commerce and resulted in a triangle of nefarious business involving Africa, Liverpool(financing) and the Americas. Around 388,000 Africans were transported directly to the U.S. Of those brought here, typically 25% would be children. A voyage would take on average 2 months. Between 12 & 13% would not survive the trip. In 1808, the importation of slaves was constitutionally halted by Congress. However, by 1860, there were approximately 3.9 million African slaves in the U.S., comprising about 12 1/2 % of the total population. In Virginia, there were approximately 550,000 slaves making up one-third of the population. After the import ban, slaves were bred and often sold, usually when a land owner had financial hardship. Other slaves were passed on from generation to generation through inheritance. Here in Richmond, Va., many were sold and shipped down the James River and on to southern plantations. In 1860, the Richmond City directory listed 18 ‘Negro traders’, 18 ‘agents, general collecting’ and 33 ‘auctioneers’. During this time period there were nearly daily advertisements in the press that from “25-50 Negroes would be sold.” Families were broken up, fathers shipped south and children left crying for their daddy. Would you pause for a moment and consider the following question? What lasting effects (generationally) could possibly come from this inhumane treatment of human beings who were made in the image of God just like you and me?
And then there’s my 7th grade Virginia history book which told me that slaves were ‘generally happy’ . That’s called a lie at best and intentional brainwashing at worst! Or perhaps it was a way to make the unimaginable palatable. The regrettable thing is that much of the church of that day was complicit, not challenging the ‘cultural norm.’ There were notable exceptions, but they stand out in light of the norm. Here’s one more question to consider: How is the Church complicit today as it relates to race relations?
Eventually, their freedom was won through the bloody civil war of 1861-1865. However, freedom turned out to be anything but that for many! We’ll explore that topic next time…
Josiah Henson was born a slave on 15th June, 1789 in Charles County, Maryland. He was sold three times before he reached the age of eighteen. By 1830, Henson had saved up $350 to purchase his freedom. After giving his master the money he was told that the price had increased to $1,000. Cheated out of his money, Henson decided to escape with his wife and four children. After reaching Canada, Henson formed a community where he taught other ex-slaves how to be successful farmers. The following is a description of his life in slave quarters…
“We lodged in log huts, and on the bare ground. Wooden floors were an unknown luxury. In a single room were huddled, like cattle, ten or a dozen persons, men, women, and children. All ideas of refinement and decency were, of course, out of the question. We had neither bedsteads, nor furniture of any description. Our beds were collections of straw and old rags, thrown down in the corners and boxed in with boards; a single blanket the only covering. Our favorite way of sleeping, however, was on a plank, our heads raised on an old jacket and our feet toasting before the smoldering fire. The wind whistled and the rain and snow blew in through the cracks, and the damp earth soaked in the moisture till the floor was miry as a pig- sty. Such were our houses. In these wretched hovels were we penned at night, and fed by day; here were the children born and the sick – neglected.” Josiah Henson, The Life of Josiah Henson (1849)
STORY #2 2018 AD
One morning, two years ago, I was picking up 3 of our Reading Club kids to take them to school. They had been homeless for the previous few months. At first they were living in cheap motels along Midlothian Tpke. Then they were staying in someone’s apartment in a local public housing complex. On this particular morning, mom was not responding to my text that I was outside waiting on them. Finally, I climbed the stairs and began knocking on the door. Eventually, the door slowly opened as someone was obviously roused by my knocking. As I’m allowed a glimpse into the living room, I am shocked at what I see. The room is full of sleeping adolescents and teens. One is on a twin air mattress. Another is sleeping propped up on a loveseat. Six are sleeping toe to toe on another air mattress and one of the boys I was picking up was sound asleep in an upright chair. Who knows who was sleeping in the other rooms. Wearing the same clothes they slept in, my three boys throw on their shoes and follow me out the door. They slowly come to life as I cruise toward their elementary school hoping they are on time so they can eat some breakfast before class begins. As I pull to a stop, I say a quick prayer to a chorus of ‘amens’ from the back seat before they jump out and run for the front door. I’m left pondering what I had just witnessed.
What is the link between these 2 stories that span 2 centuries? Over the next few weeks, I will explore this connection. But first, let me preface the series with a few thoughts…
I will pick that up next time…
How do we make sense of the times we’re in? And, while there are SO MANY voices vying for our attention, I’ll venture to share with you some of what I’ve been prayerfully sitting with. If you choose to read the following, please do so prayerfully and with grace. I’m also seeking God’s heart and perspective on these times in which we live, understanding that this is our watch and we all have a role to play. It’s no accident that we were born for such a time as this…
We were all trying to navigate Covid-19 when suddenly an image crossed the screens and sensibilities of America. Only the most calloused heart could witness the videoed killing of George Floyd and not be affected in some way. Perhaps you chose not to view it, wanting to protect yourself from the trauma. I can understand that. I did the same thing initially. But, since then, I have seen enough of it…heard enough testimony…read enough accounts…to. say, My God! And for the past week we have witnessed the outcry here in America, with scenes of protest, some peaceful…some violent…and everything in between. Social media has been filled with tears of lament, personal stories of prejudice and racism, much anger and outrage, deep expressions of grief, calls for change and so much more. I have listened a lot this past week to my friends of color as they have shared their hearts and tears. I’ve witnessed many of my caucasian friends respond with sentiments of solidarity, well intentioned…yet sometimes sounding distant or hollow in the context of the years of struggle. I’ve seen other posts and commentary, i believe mostly motivated by fear and resentment, condemning those voicing their outrage on the streets of our city and nation. How can we make sense of this? How can we respond? What can I do to change anything? How do I reconcile my confusion over the violence and destruction I’ve witnessed, my sympathies toward George Floyd and his family along with my concern for the safety of my son-in-law who is a Richmond Police officer? I haven’t said much. I’ve been sitting with this, mostly trying to listen to people of color…and to God.
- Make the choice to listen from your heart and hear the pain, the hurt being expressed regardless of the form it takes…without judging or condemning or even commenting.
- Listen for God’s heart and get His directive for action that will facilitate His agenda. Through prayerful, unsanitized scripture reading (Matthew 5-7 is a good starting place), ask God what He would have you do…and then do it. You’ll be surprised at what opens up when you approach God with this humble willingness.
- Educate yourself on the past 400 years experienced by people of color. Don’t ask a person of color to educate you. They are tired. Let’s do the heavy lifting ourselves. Here are a couple of literary suggestions to get us started.
- The New Jim Crow (Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness) by Michelle Alexander,
- It’s the Little Things (Everyday Interactions that anger, annoy and divide the races) by Lena Williams
- Tattoos on the Heart (The Power of Boundless Compassion) by Gregory Boyle
- The Cross and the Lynching Tree by James H. Cone
- A Framework for Understanding Poverty by Ruby K. Payne
- Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson (also now available on video)
After this past weekend’s events in Charlottesville, I am left attempting to understand what exactly I witnessed and how to think rightly about it. While many are dogmatic about its origin, its meaning and what the outcome should be, I find myself trying to make some sense of it all, desiring something concrete to focus on. From a distance, there appear to be multi-faceted motivations for the expressions of bigotry and hatred and not just limited to the historical black and white divide here in America. However, with that said and understanding that ultimately it’s a heart issue, it’s my opinion this black & white divide is the overarching and reoccurring theme that continues to divide our nation…and demand our attention. Over the past several years we have witnessed events in various cities across the nation that have precipitated protests. Baltimore comes to mind. Can you name some of the others? If we’re honest with ourselves we are glad to forget & move on and we feel safer when things “settle down”, at least for a while. We put them behind us…until the next one. It’s just a matter of time before we’re facing the same issue again, possibly right here in Richmond (the former capital of the confederacy) along with the tension, emotion and confusion that comes with it. I believe events of this nature will continue until there is an honest acknowledgment of racism and prejudice that has permeated our nation for generations. I am not without hope, though. I believe we are witnessing an awakening in our country to centuries of injustices in the black community. While some in our caucasian race have been growing in this awareness and making some heroic attempts (often behind the scenes) to bring justice, there are many others who are just now having their eyes opened to the depth and scope of racial oppression and inequality. That’s a positive development.
Here’s the rub. When these events erupt on our landscape, I see several potential outcomes (or reactions). For one, it raises awareness of generational injustices and more people have their racial naivety and prejudices exposed. That’s a positive! But, what we do with that matters. And that’s a BIG ISSUE! The problem is that we don’t know what to do with it. We can post our opinions on social media, express our outrage, perhaps join the next protest (if it’s nearby and convenient) or our default is usually to just feel guilty about it and try not to think about it much.
Or…
perhaps we get outraged at the reaction of the black community or others representing them. We assuage our guilt by focusing on the seemingly overreaction by those protesting. We end up pointing the finger and saying, “See! They’re just as at fault!” And, what gets lost in this are the very real issues of racism and injustice.We get distracted from the real culprit (or perhaps by the real culprit) of pride and hatred.
Here is where I’d like to offer something that I believe will be helpful in bridging this great divide in our local context. If we’re just looking at the big picture, it’s easy to become overwhelmed. Let me give you an analogy that might be helpful. When our family moved into a predominately black neighborhood in 1997, I had a somewhat grandiose vision of bringing racial reconciliation to Richmond. It didn’t take me too long to become overwhelmed by the magnitude of the longstanding issues of racism and hatred. Can you spell Naivety? That was me with a capital ‘N’. So, what happened? God brought this 7 year old black kid named Devin to our door. He came into our life and in many ways opened our eyes to the challenges faced by people of color…and he opened our hearts to love him. Since then, we have been able to work with other kids from the neighborhood and touch other lives, but the point I’m making is that it’s crucial that we don’t get so overwhelmed by the enormity of the racial problem in America that we just duck our heads and ignore what we can do. It matters! Once, when Jesus was making a point about condemnation, he used an analogy about blindness. He said, “Why do you stare at the splinter in your neighbor’s eye, but ignore the plank in your own? How can you say to your neighbor, “Here – let me get that splinter out of your eye,” when you’ve got the plank in your own? You’re just play-acting! First take the plank out of your own eye, and then you’ll see clearly enough to take the splinter out of your neighbor’s eye”. I believe we all have a ‘plank of prejudice’ in our eye. By prejudice, I simply mean our preconceived way of seeing people of color that, while perhaps not racist in intent, was birthed in racism from years past. We see people of color differently than we see ourselves…and often not in a positive light. Perhaps, we are just accustomed to it, it’s just how we see things. It’s our normal. I contend that it’s generational, as we grew up seeing through the eyes of those who helped form and shape us to varying degrees of prejudice. And, while the size of our ‘plank of prejudice’ will vary, it’s to our detriment to ignore it. What if instead, when we witness an event like this past weekend in Cville or the next event, we see it as an invitation of sorts…an invitation to remove that ‘plank of prejudice’ from our eye and lay it down as a ‘plank of humility’ across the great divide of prejudice and racism and begin to build a bridge…at the very least a bridge of understanding and compassion. This could have the very real possibility of informing our actions in a helpful way. And…what if those possessing the biggest planks were to have an awakening? Can you imagine the progress they will make on this bridge with the sheer size of their plank! Let me leave you with something very concrete you can do to move in this direction, something that has the potential to awaken us to our own planks, to loosen them and perhaps begin to remove them from our eyes…and with humility lay them down. Here it is: Sometime this week, ask a person of color (someone that you know and hopefully trusts you a bit) what it’s been like for them as a person of color to grow up here in America…and then Just Listen! Just Listen! Put a clip on your lips if necessary and Just Listen! No justifications, no excuses, no offering of solutions, no changing the subject (no matter how uncomfortable it is)…Just Listening! I suspect you will be surprised. It has the very real potential to begin a process of healing, for both. I have been on this journey myself for the past 20 years and have thought of myself as somewhat astute when it comes to racial issues (did I mention that pride might be an issue for me? 🙂 I recently asked this question of a black friend who I felt might be vulnerable enough to go there with me (Don’t assume this). I was surprised at what this person shared with me, some of his negative experiences on his college campus and with local authorities. I’m thinking to myself, ‘are you kidding me!’ I believe it was helpful for him to share this with me, however, I’m making a big assumption with that and don’t want to presume. I know it was helpful for me! And, that is where it has to begin. You see, it’s not about us ‘fixing them’. It’s about allowing God to have His way with us. Then, we’ll see…
#thebridgerva
#blackandwhitebridge
He’s a young father who has just walked his two daughters several blocks to our Wednesday Reading Club. As he steps into the noisy, crowded foyer of our home, the first impression that hits me is his long dreadlocks and the pungent aroma of alcohol from his breath. After signing the girls in, he turns to leave and says, “This is a good thing y’all are doing. We need more of these, you feel me?” I knowingly smile! Why, yes we do!
We’ve all heard the old adage, ‘don’t judge a book by it’s cover’ because first impressions can be deceiving. This is true in this father’s case. Here’s a man who loves his children and is trying to do right by them, to give them a future. Yet, I know that if many of my caucasian friends were to pass this young father on the sidewalk there would be a sense of caution or even outright fear. There would be assumptions made and stereotypical thoughts. How do I know this? Because I’m that person too! I’d like to think I’ve moved beyond the prejudicial attitudes, that I’m an enlightened person who has severed all ties to the generational racism of my ancestors. There are times when I present myself that way. However, if I am completely honest, a more apt description would be that at best I am a recovering prejudiced person. While I still have a long way to go in this journey of recovery, I am learning a few things along the way. The following analogy has proved helpful.
In recent years, much emphasis has been placed on prenatal care for expectant mothers. The human womb is designed to be one of the safest and most nurturing environments on the planet. When a pregnant woman is instructed in prenatal care, the desired outcome is a healthy, viable child delivered at full term with the opportunity to flourish. It has been documented that mothers who take good care of themselves during pregnancy, greatly enhance these odds.
I believe this picture of the human womb as a place of physical development can be an instructive analogy in understanding and appreciating much of the civil unrest we’ve witnessed in our nation recently. We have seen a rise in the volume of racial rhetoric and the depth of our racial divide has been revealed and taken center stage. We’ve witnessed disturbing images cross our television screens of protests, both peaceful and occasionally violent. Exactly what was disturbing about the images depends on who you ask and typically, though certainly not always, falls along racial lines. What has emerged is a movement called Black Lives Matter, which has also proved to be predictably divisive. In response to this, signs go up ‘All Lives Matter’, ‘White Lives Matter’, ‘Police Lives Matter’, ‘__________ Lives Matter’, fill in the blank. It’s an understandable reaction given our country’s racial history. But, as is often the case in our racial monologues, these responses miss the point.
If we can hit the ‘pause button’ for a moment on our first impressions and visceral reactions, I believe we can begin to understand some of what is behind the anger we are witnessing and hopefully move toward more constructive dialogue and conciliation. You see, there is another womb…the womb of the inner city. This is a womb where thousands of children find themselves today. Through no choice of their own, they are growing up in a toxic environment that threatens their ability to emerge into adulthood physically, emotionally and mentally healthy. For example, they find their young lives exposed to violence on a regular basis. Some experience parental neglect & abuse. Many have incarcerated, absent or dead parents. They are often subjected to poor nutrition and even real hunger. Lack of affordable housing options results in multiple relocations by families. They are stereotyped because of color or economic class. If that isn’t enough, they are often judged on how they handle this enormous challenge. Tragically, some do not make it to adulthood at all.
Now, I know that some will look on this from a distance and say that this population has the same freedom and opportunity afforded every American citizen. It’s simply not true. Admittedly, there are also challenging issues in suburbia including the heroin epidemic, but in our inner-cities there is layer upon layer of issues that in and of themselves would be enough cause for alarm. We often affix blame on the parents and in some cases, rightly so. You might be surprised, though, at the level of love and support faithfully present in the parents of many of these children…wanting the best for them, yet working as if they have one arm tied behind their back. In my opinion, it’s only by the grace of God and an incredible tenacity and faithfulness forged in the fires of adversity that help deliver these children to adulthood and some on to success. Even if you have a hard time seeing past some of the self-inflicted situations the parents find themselves in, could you stop for a moment and consider the children. They are the ones who have no choice in their environment. They are simply recipients of another’s choice and might I add…enabled by our society’s years of turning a blind eye. I think we can rightly call this ‘The Womb of Injustice.”
What might be the crucial ingredient in helping us move toward a society where justice is a reality and not just a cliche or an unfulfilled dream? I believe it begins with seeing things rightly, seeing this ‘womb of injustice.’ It would serve us well to heed Father Gregory Boyle’s advice, “Here is what we seek: a compassion that can stand in awe at what the poor have to carry rather than stand in judgment at how they carry it.” This begs the question, ‘what does this look like practically?’ It begins with seeing rightly. The next time you cross paths with the father I mentioned at the beginning (or someone who looks like him), perhaps consider that he might be one of these children as well. He most likely grew up in this womb of injustice. You could smile, speak a word of encouragement, listen to him, or perhaps even follow a biblical adage that says, “mourn with those who mourn.” From this place of empathy, a compassion may emerge and you just may be moved to action. You may be moved to help remedy a situation, to change a life-trajectory and begin to see justice birthed…where the womb of the inner city is becoming a healthier, safer environment and its children can be born into adulthood with the opportunity to flourish. This I believe will be a birthday we can celebrate for years to come.