race and reconciliation

PC: KSB

Evangelicals embracing diversity – it’s a thing

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Live in harmony with one another…If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.  -Romans 12:16a, 18, ESV

For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. -Psalm 119:13-15, NIV

PC: KSB

PC: KSB

Norma took the stage, her voice shaking as she shared her story.

Through pauses and tears, she told the group about growing up as a migrant worker, not fitting in with her Texan friends because of her Floridian accent, and experiencing microaggressions because of her brown skin. She joined the church in Denver, thinking it a safe place, but still did not fit in. Her stories of regularly being tailed while grocery shopping, for example, are not believed.

This she shared on stage in front of the church itself. Norma pleaded to be believed and understood, said her Latina sisters there felt the same way, and called for unity. Being in a white space can be exhausting when that means people cannot relate to you, or when they question your experiences.

Our church is actually very multicultural,

especially for an evangelical church – that’s why I love it and why I want to share about it with you today. The worship team is equal parts black and white with one or two Asian or Latinx musicians completing the group. Mixed race children zigzag around the aisles after church while their parents mingle.

Yet many people in our community still feel as if they cannot fully be themselves or be known and believed.

We are working on it. We have a diversity committee. We, an evangelical church in a predominantly white denomination, are an example in our intention to be racially inclusive. Though we are still imperfect, the attempts are showing results.

The diversity committee is about two years old, and I have heard women of color say that it has been helpful. The committee is part of the reason why we recently had an untold story event where people of color were able to share some of these microaggressions they experience, and it is why we had a service dedicated to discussing racial diversity.

The space last Sunday allowed for testimony, listening, and lots of applause. The speakers were honest. The message was about unity. You can watch all of the service here. In addition to testimonies, one of the older men who leads worship explained the history of Negro spirituals and shared one.

Unity is important, but we need to dig deeper into what that means.

Harmony, too, is necessary. We do not need to put aside our differences to get along; we need to put aside our division.

A song is made stronger by its different, cohesive sounds – the harmonies. We, as disciples of Christ, need also to embrace who we are and build each other up using our unique gifts. If we try to fit in or suppress the parts of us that have caused us trouble because they stand out, we hurt ourselves and the Body of Christ. We suppress the Spirit within our bodies by suppressing how God made us to be.

Some of those gifts from God are our identity and our very appearance. We are God’s beloved children, designed according to his specifications, just as the Tabernacle was designed with physical measurements for utmost holiness and beauty. Let me share some examples of these gifts:

  • For Sho, it means her dark skin and bald head, her understanding nature and loving spirit. All of that is intentional. She is tall for a reason. She is black for a reason. She is strong, lovely, wise, and holy.
  • For Fabian, it means his ability to speak both Spanish and English, his passion to care for his students and to fight for their best interests, his athleticism and his servant’s heart. He is American for a reason. He is Hispanic for a reason. He is in Colorado for a reason. He is considerate, kind, and intelligent.
  • For Lee, it means his Dragon Ball Z-esc hair, his endless knowledge of everything that exists, and the way he interacts with people. He is Korean for a reason. He is white for a reason. He gets caught on subjects that fascinate him for a reason. He is encouraging, dedicated, and thoughtful.
  • For Djeffrey, it means his big, welcoming eyes and bright smile, his energy, his commitment, his voice, and his body that was made for dancing. He is Haitian for a reason. He is a man for a reason. He is black for a reason. Regardless of how he does his hair or how much energy he has on a particular day, he is serious about people, crazy about Jesus, compassionate, and giving.
  • For me, it means my light skin, my ability to shift between cultures and build relationships, my short stature, and my voice. I am white for a reason. I always seem to be the one who doesn’t quite fit in the crowd, and that positioning is for a reason. I am inviting, knowledgeable, hospitable, and beloved.
Lee📷
Djeffrey📷
Sho📷

David, a Korean-American man who shared his testimony last Sunday, recapped a story where a friend told him not to be “that Asian guy.” He initially agreed with his friend and then thought about it later with curiosity. A woman who shared her story told of the teen girls around her also being told not to act their race.

“Don’t act black,” or “don’t be that Asian guy” is like saying “don’t be the way God made you to be.” It is spitting in the face of God! It is also racist.

God made you in your skin and placed you with your kin for a reason. If you are black, God smiles upon you. If you are Native American, he sees you. If you are Latinx, he is proud of you. If you are Asian, he knows your innermost thoughts and desires. If you are white, he loves you too.

I am proud of my morning church for its efforts to be racially inclusive.

Some ways we can continue to improve are to incorporate Spanish songs into our worship to benefit our large Hispanic population and add some Korean, French, and Creole songs as well. We sing a little bit of Gospel and have recently learned a couple spirituals, but the majority of the worship is still CCM, aka white Christian music. As a white attender, I think we are doing pretty decently, but I know we can definitely push ourselves more for the love of our Body, who is Christ.

Although our church is multiracial and the people on stage represent that, most of the elders themselves are white, and they are all men. Adding more people of color to our leadership (and women, but I have intentionally left gender out of this because that is a different story at our church) will change the way our church is run so that we can grow more harmonious and united and reflective of Heaven.

To other Christians who may be reading this, and church leaders especially, consider taking our model as an example for how to grow your church in the glory of God, and share with me how you have harnessed the strength that comes from the diversity of God’s Kingdom!

Peace.

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PC: KSB

Why I shaved my head

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Last August, just before the solar eclipse that crossed the entire nation, I shaved my head as a sign of mourning the sins of racial and social class inequality in the United States.  I had in mind the way poor people in this country are treated on structural levels, for example.

The way black teenagers have to fear for their lives when knocking to ask for directions to school and it’s not an isolated incident or unfounded fear; the way black and white men are given vastly different court sentences; the way the KKK was allowed to riot in Charlottesville this summer, a century after the Jim Crow Era; the way low income families are ripped out of their decades-old trailer homes to make space for expensive, new developments, because the Denver owners lusted for more money; the sin of gentrification – the list goes on.

At the time, I was reading the Biblical book of Amos, which references a solar eclipse and the shaving of heads because of the nation’s sins of injustice and inequity, similar to the ones I mentioned above. God convicted me as I read this timely passage, so as a prophetic move, I went to the hairdresser and asked her to shave curly locks, which are such a part of what I perceive to be my beauty and identity.

As much as we may often be going for style, women’s hair is not merely a part of our bodies or attire; it is symbolic. From owning your afro during the Harlem Renaissance to going natural as a black woman in the American workplace today, many women can identify with this.

Today I stumbled across this article from the New York Times. It discusses the politics of hair and references gun control activist Emma Gonzalez as well as the fierce warrior women in Black Panther, both with their buzzed heads, and it’s worth a quick read. So is the book of Amos, which remains relevant to the USA.

A few passages stand out:

“There are those who hate the one who upholds justice in court
    and detest the one who tells the truth.

You levy a straw tax on the poor
    and impose a tax on their grain.
Therefore, though you have built stone mansions,
    you will not live in them;
though you have planted lush vineyards,
    you will not drink their wine.

For I know how many are your offenses
    and how great your sins.

There are those who oppress the innocent and take bribes
    and deprive the poor of justice in the courts.
Therefore the prudent keep quiet in such times,
    for the times are evil.

Seek good, not evil,
    that you may live.
Then the Lord God Almighty will be with you,
    just as you say he is.
Hate evil, love good;
    maintain justice in the courts.
Perhaps the Lord God Almighty will have mercy
    on the remnant of Joseph.”

-Amos 5:10-15, NIV

After referencing much doom and punishment, Amos 8:3-10 (NIV) continues:

 “In that day,” declares the Sovereign Lord, “the songs in the temple will turn to wailing. Many, many bodies—flung everywhere! Silence!”

Hear this, you who trample the needy
    and do away with the poor of the land,

saying,

“When will the New Moon be over
    that we may sell grain,
and the Sabbath be ended
    that we may market wheat?”—
skimping on the measure,
    boosting the price
    and cheating with dishonest scales,
buying the poor with silver
    and the needy for a pair of sandals,
    selling even the sweepings with the wheat.

The Lord has sworn by himself, the Pride of Jacob: “I will never forget anything they have done.

“Will not the land tremble for this,
    and all who live in it mourn?
The whole land will rise like the Nile;
    it will be stirred up and then sink
    like the river of Egypt.

“In that day,” declares the Sovereign Lord,

“I will make the sun go down at noon
    and darken the earth in broad daylight.
I will turn your religious festivals into mourning
    and all your singing into weeping.
I will make all of you wear sackcloth
    and shave your heads.
I will make that time like mourning for an only son
    and the end of it like a bitter day.”

Solar Eclipse, August 2017 PC: KSB

Solar Eclipse, August 2017 PC: KSB

God does leave space for repentance; the nation can change. Then there can be hope.

But since August, things have only gotten worse here: established immigrants expelled and new ones not accepted, violating God’s welcoming way of treating foreigners throughout the Old Testament; low and even middle income families in a bind with insurance (I currently have none and my family had to move to a co-op type of plan in order to maintain any); the continuation of the urban camping ban in Denver, which prevents many homeless people from covering themselves in the night; and so forth.

My curls are growing back, a sign of beauty and life. But will America also grow in righteousness (justice) or love?

 

Lawson field, PC: KSB

Confessions of a formerly racist woman

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A busload of college students preparing for summer ministries filed into the open room that evening, abandoning the Midwestern winter air. We were entering a space of lament that MLK weekend. Mostly we sat, stood, or bowed in silence, allowing God to heal us from ways we had been sinned against throughout our lives. We let ourselves grieve.

But as we did this, the Holy Spirit showed me something ugly within myself, a way I had sinned against others. It was disgusting and shameful.

I knew God could and had forgiven me, but that didn’t stop my heart from pounding and burning with a pressure that only comes when the Holy Spirit is compelling me to do something. That night as I kneeled on the carpet, God was telling me to publically confess my sin.

I stood up in the silence, shaking.

The roomful of students preparing to share the Gospel in cities across the US, hostels throughout Europe, and countries in the Global South listened as I confessed my sin aloud. I had failed to understand the Gospel I proclaimed, though I did not realize that yet.

I told them I was harboring racial prejudice.

Though not intentional and not directed towards people I knew personally, because I was able see my friends as full humans, I was prejudiced towards black people. I had internalized the belief that they were less intelligent than me, a white person. I was racist.

Four years ago last night, in the dim room at that retreat center, God turned my life around again. I’d been “born again” at age five, when God rescued me from a life stuck in sin and welcomed me into his Kingdom; baptized at ten, which was a marker in my life though not particularly life-changing; and now God was saving me again from a life of racism.

Instead of rejecting me, my peers listened with respect. Some thanked me. And when I returned to campus a few days later, I jumped into a life pursuing racial conciliation.

Through sociological education, relationships with gracious people of color, the love and conversations of the Office of Multicultural Development, events put on by Solidarity, I began to fight my ignorance and racism in order to love others better.

Where I had once been afraid of protests, I joined campus demonstrations combatting racial injustice. I began to use my writing and social influence to teach other white folks about racism, however subtle, unintentional, “innocent,” systemic, or blatant it may have been.

The focus of my life had shifted completely, all thanks to God. He helped me to love my black brothers and sisters. He saved me from the miry bog of ignorance, prejudice, racism and gave me a new song.

As a white person, I still benefit from the systems of racism in the United States. That means I am still racist in a sense. Moreover, I am still ignorant: I have years of racial understanding and conversation to catch up on, and there are things I may never fully understand because I do not experience them.

But that doesn’t stop me from striving to see things from other people’s perspectives, listen to and believe their experiences, research racial justice in order to share knowledge and support communities of color, and generally live my life in a way that esteems my friends and fellow Americans who are a different race or ethnicity than me – and not out of guilt but out of love and a sense of what is right or just.

I say none of this to glorify myself but to celebrate the way God transformed my life, saving me anew, in the hopes that he might open your eyes as well, if they are closed in the way mine were. I am forever grateful to God for this.

Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Weekend.

PC: Katelyn Skye Bennett

15 ways I experience white privilege

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White privilege: Maybe you’ve heard of it and can identify. Maybe you don’t see how it impacts your life. Regardless, I’ve made a list of just fifteen ways I experience white privilege on a regular basis. It has taken time to reach this point of realizing the ways I benefit from my whiteness since it can be difficult to identify something unless you feel the lack. But when we realize our privilege, we can be better allies to those who don’t experience the same privileges.

These are not in order of significance but rather in the order that they came to mind from my experiences. I encourage you to read to the end and consider what ones resonate or what I may have missed!

  1. Band aids match my skin almost perfectly and can be found at any corner store. In fact, that’s what inspired this blog. I cut my toe, put on a band aid, and could barely detect it through a camera. Go ahead, try to find it:

    Comment if you find the band aid. PC: Katelyn Skye Bennett

    Comment if you find the band aid. PC: Katelyn Skye Bennett

Brands like TruColour are trying to change this, but what if mainstream band aid brands took on the task as well?

  1. I am not followed or questioned when I shop, even though I wander back and forth quite a bit at grocery stores these days since I always go to a different one and do not know the layout. I have heard that others are watched more closely, however.
  2. Not being called racist slurs, ever. In all my 21 years, I cannot recall having ever experienced anyone degrading my humanity by calling me a derogatory, race-related term.
  3. I have a President (#NotMyPresident) who is my race and loves my race and prefers it over others, as do most other people in power in my country. This sounds like Nazi Germany now that I write it out, and it has a name: White Supremacy. This leads to a lot of policies in “my” favor, even though I desperately crave equity instead.
  4. Dolls with my skin color are the norm. I see a lot of young black girls in my city playing with white dolls, braiding their straight brown or blonde hair, but these children themselves are highly underrepresented. And although I have seen one or two black baby dolls in my time (eek, compared to hundreds or thousands of white ones!), I have never seen an Asian doll.
  5. White people are seen as the good ones in movies. They are generally the only ones in movies, to be honest, but when there is a person of color, s/he is usually stereotyped and put in an unflattering light. Even in Barbie movies, those with light features are the good ones who save the day and become princess, while the dark haired person or people are the villains. (Raquelle, anyone?)

    Raquelle from Barbie: Life in the Dreamhouse. Credit to DraikJack, who added it to the bio I linked above.

    Raquelle from Barbie: Life in the Dreamhouse. Credit to DraikJack, who added it to the bio I linked above.

  6. English, my first language, is the standard language that everyone else in must use to get by in the United States. Important documents are in English. Job applications and interviews are in English. Spanish is a common second language in certain neighborhoods of certain cities, but it is not accepted the way English is, and African American Vernacular English (AAVE) or Ebonics is not considered acceptable in formal environments. Moreover, immigrant languages like Swahili and Burmese are unrecognizable by most Americans, and Arabic could even cause alarm. But English, the language I was born speaking, is accepted in every American setting, and others are expected to learn my language instead of me stepping into theirs.
  7. Makeup in my color is easy to find. In my wealthy, white college town, it’s next to impossible (or actually impossible?) to find makeup if you are black or brown. Even in the city where I live now, it may depend on the neighborhood. But I have light skin and can always find foundation or powder to match my face.
  8. I have never been questioned or talked to by police. I have never been in trouble by them, and they have never had their cautious eyes on me. But I have witnessed this happen to one of my Afro-Latino friends while we walked together downtown.
  9. Barring the recent natural disasters, I can ignore most news with no consequence to my racial community, and many people would say that it is okay to do so. This attitude of “take a mental break and focus on something ‘positive’” demonstrates potential apathy towards the stories of others whose live experiences are different than my white peers, and regardless of either genuine or apathetic intent, it always demonstrates the privilege we have to step away without being directly affected by that action.
  10. “Skin color” crayons mean peach or apricot (which, oddly enough, are yellow fruits but white-skin-colored crayons) instead of brown. I have had both a white peer and a young brown, Latina friend refer to crayons in this way and have spoken up to say, “Which skin color?”

    This is what I call a queen. PC: Katelyn Skye Bennett

    This is what I call a queen. PC: Katelyn Skye Bennett

  11. Shampoos and conditioners for my hair type are cheaper than those suited for Afro-textured hair. I need something to lock in the moisture for my combination of soft and course 3A curls, but the Aussie brand does this well while being about two-thirds the price of hair products for more textured hair at Walgreens.
  12. I am not questioned if I belong anywhere I go. I have multicultural, multiracial friend circles that are welcoming. People in my African church thank me for coming as the only white person because they see it is rare and potentially difficult due to language barriers. (It’s my pleasure, honestly; it’s my church.) And in public, one of the most white settings I experience these days, I am seen as harmless. I can come and go as I please (refer to #2).
  13. My name is easy for Americans to pronounce correctly, and because my family name sounds European, I have statistically higher chances at hearing back from jobs (Bertrand and Mullainathan 2003; Pager et al 2009). Yes, I experience privilege simply because of my white-sounding name.
  14. Others want to look like me. I am reminded of this every day when I wake up to see my roommate’s lightening cream sitting on her bed. White European beauty standards reign not only in this country but around the world. I am of White European descent, so my light skin tone and my sister’s silky straight hair are traits that many others seek to attain, even if their bodies are naturally darker or their hair kinkier. (Don’t try to be me. Be you. You’re gorgeous as is.)

    My roommate's lightening cream. PC: Katelyn Skye Bennett

    My roommate’s lightening cream. PC: Katelyn Skye Bennett

 

Most of the things on this list may seem small, but they add up. This post does not delve deep into systemic issues but scrapes the surface of privilege. Once you grasp this, however, you can dig deeper to see the ways these examples form patterns that affect every aspect of a person’s life, both for white people and people of color. As white people, we just receive unearned benefits, hence the term privilege.

What are some ways YOU have experienced white privilege or seen it play out in the lives of others? Comment below, and let’s keep learning together!

DACA, the Wall, and the fall of Jericho

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I had a revelation about walls the other day, and it seems fitting to share it in light of Trump’s decision to end DACA. I have only grief regarding that decision, but the revelation that I had last week is a bit more hopeful…for some.

Denver skyline at sunset. The city. PC: Katelyn Skye Bennett

Denver skyline at sunset. The city. PC: Katelyn Skye Bennett

God broke down the walls of Jericho. He can and will break them down the physical and relational walls that Trump is helping to build in the United States, walls that have been going up for over a hundred years. God’s plan is to bring people together to worship Him: all nations, all languages, bowing and worshiping together at his feet. Dividing people by tribe, nation, or language does nothing to serve that purpose.

God also broke down Jericho’s walls without the use of force. His people used the peaceful and persistent method of marching around the city. Racial justice activists and those who stand up for immigrants in the United States follow these methods as well, and although they use only their voices, they are met with opposition and force by those who do not understand their shouts for justice, their pleas for systems and structures to be made right. But God did it for Jericho, and He can do it here.

Human violence is not necessary to accomplish God’s purposes, but faith and faithfulness are. Friends of God, be persistent in walking around the city until the walls fall. In the face of hopelessness, cry out to God and keep walking around the city doing His work.

Jericho is meant to be a metaphor here for bringing people together. A house divided cannot stand, as Jesus said in Matthew 12.

But suppose one wants to look at the story of Jericho literally instead of taking the above point to heart. So be it.

The walls were around Jericho just as this nation is building walls around itself so that newcomers may not enter and those who are not accepted must leave. The United States is Jericho. God used others to destroy the old city of Jericho, decimating everyone but Rahab, the one woman who respected Him, and her household. Hear me: The United States is also in danger of destruction.

We are bringing it upon ourselves.

In the face of this destruction, are you one of the righteous whom God will protect, or are you living in sin, disrespecting God by disrespecting the people He has made?

…People like Latinx and Black Americans who have done nothing but live and work for this country yet are daily suspected of drug dealing or violence because of their darker skin. Shot in the streets without a trial, innocent but perceived as guilty and not given a chance to defend themselves before their breath is ripped from their chests. Men imprisoned, separated from their children, called felons, and stripped of their voting rights for petty crimes. Why? Because Black and Latino men were profiled to begin with, instead of white men. Because there are quotas certain judicial departments must meet, so even police with good intentions may be put in a pinch to fulfill their jobs. Because the laws are inherently racist and very complex. And because Americans themselves are racist and unnecessarily fearful.

…People like undocumented immigrants who barely getting by because they can only land under the table jobs unless they have the right connections, because their other skills and education are not valued more than a paper calling them citizen, because it is easier to cheat and deceive people who do not have the power to fight for themselves if they do not have that magic nine-digit code called a social security number.

…People like Latinx folk who are documented Americans but are told to return to “their country,” told to speak English, or complimented on their English as if being an English speaker is both the original and superior language the United States. (Neither is true; ask a person of indigenous descent.)

…People like war- and famine-fleeing refugees who enter the United States with nothing, are given extremely little help from the government, and work low wage jobs because their credentials may not be recognized or because their English is not yet fluent enough or because they do not have the required education yet do not have the time or finances to pursue that education here. Some refugees recognize this discrimination by name and others do not. Regardless, the inequity exists. I witness it daily.

She could be a Dreamer, I suppose, with the universe before her but the tentacles of this nation's unjust policies stinging and strangling her head. I found her when returning from the Santa Fe art walk in Denver. PC: Katelyn Skye Bennett

She could be a Dreamer, I suppose, with the universe before her but the tentacles of this nation’s unjust policies stinging and strangling her head. I found her when returning from the Santa Fe art walk in Denver. PC: Katelyn Skye Bennett

I prefer the metaphorical version of Jericho that points to Heaven. It’s more joyful, harmonious, full of hope. But the literal version, which portends the destruction before God destroys the world for its sin and then makes it new again, is just as crucial.

God does not discriminate. In Amos 9:10, He told His chosen nation, “All the sinners of my people shall die by the sword, who say ‘Disaster shall not overtake or meet us’” (ESV). Yet there is hope of restoration, for forgiveness comes with repentance. (Read 1 John here and consider the story of Nineveh.) God does not change, so this is true for Americans today as well as Israelites and Ninevites of old.

Where do you stand before God and in this nation? Where does your church stand? Your city?

 

Some say refugees. I say friends.

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I spend nearly every day of the week hanging out at the houses of refugees or having them over my place. On weekends many of us attend church together, all weekend long. On weekdays others of us eat lunch together; I always look forward to 12:30. Several of us practice music together, all of us converse together and call out the ways we appreciate each other, and some of my acquaintances who are refugees open up their houses till midnight to share ugali and rice and greens and fish.

Just this Sunday, I visited a Congolese pastor’s house as a stranger and left with an invitation to return anytime. As I left, he made sure to point out his apartment number and floor so I could find it next time. Thank you, Pastor David.

I recently realized that I talk about my friends who are refugees differently than I talk about my native-born American friends, particularly those who are white or monocultural. Sometimes this lends context, but it can also be problematic if lending to an othering effect.

“Reaching out to” or “serving” our refugee neighbors or any marginalized population in order to feel good about ourselves hinders us from fully engaging with the group being “served.” When we do this, we are looking through a lens of power versus powerless. Although we may be doing good deeds and growing in our understanding of particular refugee populations, subconsciously thinking in terms of power dynamics blocks our hearts from receiving love.

We native-born Americans are not the saviors. But we can be good friends.

Here’s an idea: let’s develop deeper friendships so refugees become fully human in our eyes, fully capable of giving while still fully needy, like us native-born American humans. Let’s open our hearts to receive love from the strangers and soon-to-be-friends we seek to welcome.

While the humanity of refugees is not a question, it is important to note that the human experiences of refugees have been shaped by horrors like war and statelessness. Refugees have experienced things most native-born Americans have not. Their experiences will vary by age and country and contingency. The histories of the countries they have fled and lived in have shaped them in significant ways. The color of their skin will also impact their life chances once in the United States. We must consider the systems in place that affect their daily lives.

Refugees in the United States have overcome a lot: less than one percent of refugees worldwide are resettled, and it is common to spend almost two decades in camps or foreign cities before coming to the US, if granted status here.

Yet once they receive this status and move yet again, they come to a land that often treats them poorly.

Several of my Congolese-American friends have told me that Africans do not believe them when they say the United States is not heaven. (I witnessed this over
-admiring attitude firsthand in DRC myself.) But the truth is that when they come to the United States, they can barely make rent. Their living conditions are not necessarily significantly different. They start at the bottom of the workforce. Academic degrees do not always carry over to the American system. In short, life is still quite difficult.

Take pause today to consider these injustices. Do a little research. Sleep on what you discover. Wake up woke.

Now take pause to consider the ways refugees give to your community and the United States, the ways you have seen them serve. Thank them for their contributions. Be creative about it.

Today I stand with countless global citizens to celebrate world refugee day. It has been a truly splendid day full of energy and smiles and even a bit of dancing (see the InTandem – a Flashmob of Empathy video below from Denver’s World Refugee Day rally.) I particularly think of the ways my friends are bettering my life through their hospitality and friendship and food. The main ingredients I have noted are time, love, and ugali, given in generous portions. I am grateful for my friends who are refugees and am incredibly glad to be a part of their lives as they are in mine.

How to be a peacemaker in a war-torn world, Part 1

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To be a peacemaker is to fight.

When multiple races, tribes or countries have conflict or war with each other, peace may seem unattainable. (Re)conciliation requires faithful, patient effort and continual hope. After all, people and groups disagree with each other and are often engrained in their opinions. One side has hurt the other in a significant way that needs to be repented from before any true change can be made. In return, that hurt side may be retaliating to this injustice. Even when two parties come to the table to reconcile, it’s not easy to rebuild trust.

The battle for peace is hard-won, but it’s worth the effort. It’s worth the energy. It’s worth the pain.

Here are some tips to bring two or more parties together for peace:

Listen.

Don’t assume. Speak respectfully and demonstrate humility. Even if you disagree (and have history and statistics to prove why), when you show you care about one party’s opinion, they are more likely to engage in conversation with you. So, be respectful as you listen to another human or mediate between two parties. Given some time, this can lead to positive social change.

Be faithful.

Change probably won’t be immediate, and you may be persecuted for your efforts – even by those you thought you agreed with, since you are trying to bring them into harmony with an opposing group that they think could harm them! Recognize the fear there and don’t take it personally; keep fighting.

The fight for peace may be mundane at times. It may seem hopeless. It may exhaust you, but remember why you are fighting. Look to the peace heroes who have fought the battle before you. Their examples offer great wisdom and inspiration as you press onward.

Keep hope!

We are not fighting flesh and blood but are battling spiritual powers. These spiritual powers work through the corrupt societal structures we see, and we need to remember that prayer is effective. Yes, stand with the oppressed; in fact, God commands this. Yes, work in tangible ways for harmony and unity, shalom and reconciliation. But also pray.

Without God’s strength and his promise to make all things new, we have no hope or power to bring peace.

Gain encouragement by look at the small examples of success. Record and retell the inspiring testimonies demonstrating the fruit of your labor. Keep hope, my friends; keep hope.

 

As you labor for (re)conciliation, ask yourself why you are fighting for peace. How much are you willing to sacrifice for this battle?

It’s not easily won, but it’s worth the fight.