Doris García Rivera saw just about everything during 23 years as an American Baptist missionary serving in Latin America. And it’s a good thing, because she arrived at the helm of the Baptist Peace Fellowship of North America just in time to guide it through the COVID-19 pandemic and the massive social unrest sparked by the death of George Floyd.
Last Saturday, June 27, a paramilitary outfit of white nationalists threatened on social media to “take back” our city from the racial justice protesters occupying Injustice Park in downtown Louisville. They predicted that the encampment of largely peaceful protesters would be cleared by nightfall.
The American experiment has failed because it has been inequitable, unfair, unjust and discriminatory from the start, sanctioned by segments of a religion which propagated it while benefitting enormously from it.
My son is now raising black sons of his own. He fears for them, as I feared for him when he was a child and now fear for my grandchildren.
“Racism is the reversal of the revelation of God. Racism is not perfect love casting out fear, it is perfect fear casting out love.”
Members of my (white) generation continue to recognize the pernicious stain of racism in our politics, economics and community relations. It seems we cannot ever fully repent as we learn how systemic racism is and how it has shaped the Christian imagination.
Among the unavoidable claims of the gospel is that those following in the way of Jesus will be wounded. The Way leads to abundance, but it is not painless. A false gospel — or a half-gospel — wounds, but not in a way that brings about healing. White Jesus wounds the body and soul of everyone he encounters, but lacks either the power or the gentle touch to bind up our wounds.
The mood was incredible. I was gathered with my closest friends in the world. These were the same people I had spent 2008 with, the same people who came to my wedding earlier this year, and the same people who…
As I look at the clock I notice it is a little passed three in the morning on the day after the election and I am hopeless. In the midst of deep desperation, I metaphorically turn to paper and ink…