I'm Listening

To my black brothers and sisters:

This isn't the time for me to talk or share my thoughts about the horrifying murder of George Floyd and the ongoing racial injustice in our country and our world. It's time for me to listen. It's time for me to hear you and your stories, and the pain you are going through ... again. But there is an anguish bursting from my chest that I have to share before I can fully hear you.

I am so very sorry. Personally, I am sorrowful and sorry.

Not the sorry of some overarching, generalized white guilt I'm experiencing in the face of undeniable tragedy. Not a shallow, politically correct sorry, nor a hollow "give me a week or two and it'll wear off" sorry. And not a sorry of pity.

I am personally, deeply, achingly sorry for ignoring the depth of your pain, and the grieving burden you have been bearing while I have stood idle and ignorant. Sorry for not considering the truth, loving the truth, and opening my mouth in its defense ... in your defense. I'm sorry that I didn't take the time and attention to understand. I didn't stop and listen, and consider, and push against my own prejudices to grasp the reality of your pain, and to love you. That's the thing I'm most sorry for: I haven't loved you as Jesus has called me to do.

I have never been the only white person in a room full of black people. I have never been afraid of the police, nor have I felt compelled to tell my son what he should do if he is ever confronted by a police officer. I have never been pulled over for looking "suspicious." I have never walked into a retail store and felt someone watching me and judging me for the color of my skin. I have never been called a "honkey." I have never watched someone with a different skin color be treated better than me at a restaurant, a bank, a convenient store or anywhere I have ever gone in my entire life.

I have never heard my parents or grandparents tell stories of cruelty or injustice they have experienced at the hands of complete strangers because of the color of their skin. I have never felt that my opinion didn't matter, or that my voice would not be heard. I have never thought that my life didn't matter. I have never thought for more than a few fleeting moments about what it would be like to encounter racism against me on a daily basis.

But I have reacted to atrocities with questions like, "Why was he running from the police?" or, "Did he have a gun?" I have said things like, "More black people are killed by black people every day than are killed by police in a year." I have said, "a higher percentage of black people are racist against whites than white people against blacks." And I have been more appalled by the ruin left by riots than the misery caused by murder.

Growing up I thought that if an underprivileged black person was hard-working and determined he could pull himself out of his circumstances and any other effects that systemic racial injustice has on his life. I believed that the "American Dream" was congruent with Martin Luther King's Dream. I have thought, "I wish black people weren't so sensitive. If they were really paying attention they would see that not all white people are racist. They would see that I, for one, am not a racist. If they would just hear me out and listen, then they would see."

I was wrong. My thinking was loveless. I did not acknowledge the suffering of the black community, nor your personal pain.

I'm so sorry you haven't had my full attention before this. I'm sorry it took horrifying, obvious, unconscionable murder for me to open my eyes. I'm sorry for my ignorance, my obliviousness, and my unforgivable disregard. And it isn't just about the death of one man, although we know that there is nothing more important to our God than one man's life. It's time for me to start listening and hearing you. It's time for me to start loving you as an individual and as a group. It's time for a conversation. I'll start by listening and loving.

Can you forgive me? I am sorry. I am awake. I am listening. I promise, I am listening.