Thoughts on Juneteenth

Everybody is publishing their thoughts on Juneteenth. Here are mine. 

I may yet master this remote discussion business. I’ve now been to a wedding, a memorial service, and a book discussion through zoom technology, although on various servers. Last night was the church discussion of I’m Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness, by Austin Channing Brown. with probably a hundred people involved.

I did not master the mute/unmute button so was unable to contribute and am not sure I was confident of what I had to say. In response to “When were you first aware of racial differences,” a couple of people cited experiences at six or seven of seeing “No Colored” signs and being first puzzled, then indignant. And one couple, from rural Iowa, said  they’’d never met a black person until college.

My experience growing up on the South Side of Chicago was so different. I always knew there were two communities and as a child was afraid when outings took us through the black neighborhoods. My father never locked the car doors on the strange theory that he had survived WWI and nothing was going to hurt him. But in my neighborhood in the fifties, most of us believed violence and danger came from the black population. I grew up afraid, and it’s been a hard legacy for me to put behind over the years.

For much of her adult life, Brown has worked in non-profit religious organizations in the white world, and when she described the rebuffs she’s received, I realized I can never truly say to her, “I understand,” because I don’t. I have never experienced the condescension and discrimination she has. All socially proper, but damning nonetheless. For instance, she says any time conflict arises in an office, it is tactfully suggested that she “try a little harder,” never that they sort things out in a truly equal manner.

Take-away is a buzz word these days, and I found several take-aways in this intense book. One is the concept of whiteness. I guess I have always thought in terns of white and black, but not whiteness, an attitude that pervades everything aspect of life. In pointing out how deeply rooted whiteness is, Brown makes the point that what many white people want is assimilation, which is wrongly called diversity, and not reconciliation. For most of us, all that we say and do and believe is rooted in whiteness. We tend to accept black community members as long as they look, think, dress, act, and speak like us.

What that overlooks is blackness. African-Americans have their own deeply rooted culture and traditions, an ancestry we fail to appreciate. Brown makes that point almost ironically by inferring that the white community is insular and then saying in a later chapter how comfortable and secure she feels in the black community. She grew up “privileged,” which means she went to predominantly white schools and churches and “discovered” the black community late in her childhood. She describes the joy and freedom she felt the first time she attended a black church with the enthusiastic singing and commenting, the freedom to move about, the abundance of joy. It is indeed a totally different world from, say, mainstream Protestantism, and maybe it speaks for the differences between the two communities. It seems to me that the black community is also insular and what we must find is a way for the two, disparate communities to work together as equals.

I think the separation works two ways, though Brown doesn’t address that. But one respondent last night told of a multiracial group from the church that was going to attend a picnic in the black community—until it turned out the black members did not want them, because they would have to acknowledge the friendship and would then be called “Oreos” (black on the outside, white on the inside) by their neighbors. That story demonstrates that there is a lot of hard work ahead for both communities if we are going to achieve anything beyond token integration and a racially balanced society.

It’s a lot more than, “some of my best friends are ….” or “take a black friend to lunch.” I recommend this book.

Hallelujah! A new day has dawned

It is particularly appropriate that this morning my church, University Christian Church, welcomed a new minister and his family. I say appropriate because this is the time of year we think of new beginnings and gifts from God. Dr Russ Peterman, his wife, and four teenage children come to us from northern California, but I understand from church gossip that he has Texas roots, grew up in the Panhandle, and is named Russell after Russell (better known as Red) Steagall. Good recommendations!

I liked him. I liked that when he spoke informally he emphasized that he was not God’s gift to us; we were God’s gift to him. We’ll see how he feels about that in a year or so. I liked that he was up front that his family would always come first with him. I liked that he said any parent knows that the way to make a child be good is not to tell him how bad he is—I took that to apply to us as the children of God as well as to literal parents and children, though I was temped to poke Jordan who was sitting next to me. I liked him because his sermon was clear, interesting to follow, and made a good point. I think I’ll like his theology. And I liked him because he speaks clearly and was easy for me to hear and understand. Jacob liked him, because he was funny and didn’t preach too long.

I think the arrival of the Peterman family, if not a gift from God, is a sign from Him that good things are going to happen in our church. We’ve been without a resident minister for some time now and while we’re all grateful to Rev. Chuck Rolen for his interim service, there is a different feeling in the church now that we have a minister who plans to stay for years—yes, he said so. The congregation turned out in large numbers for both services, and if you listened and waited, you could sense an upbeat in the air, the sense of joy and optimism.

A personal bonus from being in church, besides the lovely greetings and hugs from friends: one woman told me she’d read Pigface and the Perfect Dog and couldn’t put it down; another told me that when she inherited her late mother’s Kindle, she found all my mysteries on it, and she was currently reading the third Blue Plate Mystery. I had enjoyed several “bookish” lunches with her mom and was anticipating another when she died suddenly.

Tis the season to be joyful. We made a good start this morning at UCC. Merry Christmas, everyone, and particularly the Russ Peterman family.

PS: Should I tell him my mother’s maiden name was Peterman? A church friend said to me, “Well, you both fell out of the same tree. But it’s an awful big tree.”

But it's not Sunday!

 

Jordan took this picture because when she first looked into the darkened sanctuary, her thought was, “But, Mom, it’s not Sunday.” I was there to take Jacob for acolyte training, and while the organist was explaining the chancel, parts of the service, etc. to Jacob, I sat in a far corner pew. There’s something quite comforting about an empty sanctuary with afternoon light streaming through the stained glass. It hadn’t been a good day, and I sat in the silence and talked to the Lord about that, asked for his help.

Jacob kept this appointment only under threats and duress. He was not going to do it. Couldn’t we just not show up (I said his mom was meeting us and he said he didn’t care) and explain Sunday that he didn’t want to do it. I said no. The organist, who walked him through things, was good with him, and by the time he was robed and handed the whatever-it-is that lights the candles, he was quite enjoying himself. His mom came along, and since acolytes usually work in pairs, she was his partner. They walked up and down the center aisle, climbed the steps to the chancel, lit candles, practiced sitting in the correct seats simultaneously. Jordan’s comment after three trips: “That’s really a long aisle.”

There are strict requirements for an acolyte—hair brushed (his curly mop was wild and adorable after a day at school, but he was headed for a haircut), dress shoes (he had on sneakers), and I presume proper clothing under the robe. Through third grade many kids come to church in shorts and a collared shirt but Jordan says fourth grade is a transition year.

I’m proud of Jacob and of his dad, who is now a deacon in the church. When I was growing up on the South Side of Chicago, church was an important part of my life, particularly my social life. I like to see that tradition carried on.

This, that and nothing

Sunday is the day I post Potluck with Judy and usually don't do Judy's Stew, but I have to say something about how amazing the service was this morning at University Christian Church. The entire service was John Rutter's Requiem with full choir and orchestra--all as background for the offering and communion, with the usual prayer and a brief homily. I'm not a good listener--movies, concerts, events which require me to sit still for long make me antsy. But I went to church alone this morning, resolved to let the music just wash over me--and it did. It was, of course, an All Saints Day service of remembrance for those we've lost, and many people went forward to light candles. Heartbreaking to see one young woman, holding the hand of a child, come back down the aisle in tears. I didn't light candles but I thought about two friends who lost their husbands this year, and then I thought I haven't been touched much by death, except for losing my parents. But as I meditated, with that glorious musical background (The Twenty-Third Psalm was part of it), I realized that over the years I've lost many people who were important and special to me. It was indeed a good day of remembrance, to hold treasured memories close.
And a beautiful fall day, though I still found it chilly. I had the sinking feeling I may be too cold all winter. Sophie has reacted to the cold weather by spending the day sleeping in her favorite chair--I've given up the battle of telling her to get down, because the minute my back is turned she's up there again. So now she can get on three pieces of furniture--the chair in my office, Jacob's bed, and the couch if Jacob invites her.
A bit of unpleasantness--turns out there was a dead possum behind the garage apartment. A neighbor called both me and Jordan, afraid that Sophie would chew on it--I suspect she's far too refined a dog. Jordan suggested I call the next-door neighbor, but I said he's more squeamish than I am. I called Greg, my friend/yard guy, and he came down and disposed of it while I was at church. Grateful for good friends and concerned neighbors.
Depressing to me to have it turn dark at 6:30. I fixed a comfort meal--scrambled eggs and bacon, a roasted slice of cabbage (see Potluck with Judy for this amazingly easy treat), and a Clementine--I bought a whole bag of them and it turns out Jacob won't eat them.
Off to write a book review and maybe turn on the fire in the fireplace. Good night to feel cozy.