Reflections on Race and American Christianity
What does the Letter from a Birmingham Jail mean for us today?
I grew up in a small town in northern Indiana. Its population hovered between one and two thousand people over the last 80 years. Farming and manufacturing were the backbone of this community. It was a one stop light town, unless you count the blinking light a block away from the town center.
There was no shortage of churches: over a dozen in a five mile radius. I learned so much growing up in this town. It was formative to my faith, my understanding of community, neighborliness. People cared about and for each other. We lived and worshipped alongside “our people,” and on Sunday morning, or Wednesday and Sunday nights, those beside you were likely to be your teacher, florist, electrician, or insurance agent. Being a good American meant being a good Christian. And being a good Christian meant accept the correct beliefs, care for those around you, stand up for what is right, and advocate for our Christian convictions in the public square.
Growing up, we were worried about the moral direction of our country because we were (of course) a country blessed by the Christian God. And if we turned our backs on God, we’d be in jeopardy. The survival of our nation was at stake—we *had* to enforce our moral vision on the nation for it to flourish. We had to vote our values, get the right people in power.
Because it wasn’t just our moral vision—it was God’s.
We determined our national morality in terms of abortion, divorce, and homosexuality. This is a well-worn tune for those who have followed religion and politics for any stretch of time. So if your experience was anything like mine, you probably never heard a message from the pulpit of a majority-white megachurch about racial inequality. Equality for Black Americans wasn’t a moral issue for white Christians like me. That was a political distraction. Not a moral imperative.
Which is curious to me now, given the “pro-life” mantle we all claimed. In the latter part of the 20th century when I was growing up, as is still true today, racial inequality exists all across our society, with sometimes life-threatening outcomes for minority folks1:
The net worth of a typical white family is close to ten times greater than that of a typical Black family. This gap has increased since 2000.
Native Americans have the highest poverty rate among all minority groups (24.9 percent), closely followed by Black Americans (23 percent) and Hispanic Americans (19.6 percent). The poverty rate for white Americans, however, is 9.6 percent.
Native and Black American unemployment rates in 2018 were 6.6 percent and 6.5 percent, respectively. White Americans’ unemployment rate was 3.5 percent.
The 2019 US Census estimates show 15.0 percent of Native Americans and 21.6 percent of Black Americans have a bachelor’s degree or higher. Around twice as many White Americans (35.8 percent) can say the same.
The 2019 American Community Survey estimates show just under 6 percent of white Americans do not have health insurance. Over 10 percent of Black Americans and over 19 percent of Native Americans are uninsured.
The 2021 American Community Survey estimates show only 44 percent of Black Americans and 51 percent of Native Americans own their homes, compared to 74 percent of white Americans.
In 2018, the prison incarceration rate for Black men is almost six times the rate for white men. The rate for Hispanic men is over two and a half times the rate for white men.
I can’t read these statistics and think that our country has somehow moved “beyond” race or solved the “race issue” or presents equal opportunity to non-White people and communities.
These differences also don’t happen by chance. They’re the result of our history, decades and centuries of choices made by those with power to limit and deny opportunity and access from those without power.
For many of us, though, we fail to acknowledge the inequality all around us. White Americans, and in particular white Christians, are more likely to believe discrimination against Whites is a bigger problem than discrimination against minorities, police violence toward Black Americans are isolated incidents, Black Americans experience more violence from the police because Black Americans are inherently more violent, slavery and discrimination haven’t held Black Americans back, symbols of the Confederacy are symbols of Southern pride rather than symbols of racism, and the list goes on . . .2
In my own journey, it has been reading the history of race in the US, being confronted with the empirical realities faced by racial minorities, and exploring the statistical evidence of white Christians’ ignorance and at times willful disregard of both, that have caused me to fear one thing: being a “white moderate.”
Who are “white moderates”? This is the term Dr. King used to describe the white Christian leaders and communities who empathized with the plight of Black Americans, but were resistant to taking much action to change the systems that formalized and perpetuated that plight.
In his “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” Dr. King passionately argues that calls for “patience” and “waiting” are merely calls to see more oppression and bloodshed.
“Perhaps it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging darts of segregation to say, "Wait." But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen hate filled policemen curse, kick and even kill your black brothers and sisters; . . . when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of "nobodiness"--then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait. There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over, and men are no longer willing to be plunged into the abyss of despair.”
In the fight for addressing systemic inequality in the United States, he thought those white ministers of faith who agreed that inequality was grievous would be allies, would stand with Black Americans engaged in this fight for equal rights. Dr. King’s heart was broken, though, to find they often sat on the sidelines. Or even stood in the way. These are the “white moderates” of which Dr. King spoke.
“When I was suddenly catapulted into the leadership of the bus protest in Montgomery, Alabama, a few years ago, I felt we would be supported by the white church. I felt that the white ministers, priests and rabbis of the South would be among our strongest allies. Instead, some have been outright opponents, refusing to understand the freedom movement and misrepresenting its leaders; all too many others have been more cautious than courageous and have remained silent behind the anesthetizing security of stained glass windows.
In spite of my shattered dreams, I came to Birmingham with the hope that the white religious leadership of this community would see the justice of our cause and, with deep moral concern, would serve as the channel through which our just grievances could reach the power structure. I had hoped that each of you would understand. But again I have been disappointed.”
As I read this letter again, and think about my faith trajectory, I recognize how many of us were likely part of the chorus that recognized the problem but could not or did not bring ourselves to be part of the solution. We saw racial inequality as “politics,” not morality, not as important as spreading the gospel . . .
“In the midst of blatant injustices inflicted upon the Negro, I have watched white churchmen stand on the sideline and mouth pious irrelevancies and sanctimonious trivialities. In the midst of a mighty struggle to rid our nation of racial and economic injustice, I have heard many ministers say: "Those are social issues, with which the gospel has no real concern." And I have watched many churches commit themselves to a completely other worldly religion which makes a strange, un-Biblical distinction between body and soul, between the sacred and the secular.”
And so over the years one of my fears has been whether I am merely a white moderate, recognizing the problem, not being a part of the solution. Not thinking deeply about the gospel, overly spiritualizing it so it has no claim on how we live together today. No claim on whether or not my neighbor is flourishing like me. A gospel concerned with the someday and not the now.
On this weekend where we reflect upon the life and death of Dr. King, dispense with the simplistic, white-washed recollections.
Invest a bit of time and read the “Letter from a Birmingham Jail.” Consider joining me as I ask myself yet again, in the context of where we find ourselves today, “Am I a white moderate?”
Onward together, friends.
All taken from AMERICAN IDOLATRY, p. 142-143.
There are a lot of books out there telling this history and providing analysis of our current state of affairs. I cite all these figures in the two books I’ve written. About a dozen of my peer-reviewed publications underscore this reality, as well.
Great read, but you will want to fix the typo in the second sentence. “It’s” should be “Its” in this case, as I’m sure you know. Blessings to you and your work, sir.