The past is not over, but we can't despair

"I was born a poor black child."

This was the opening line in Steve Martin's 1979 film, "The Jerk." The character Martin played was white, not black. A black family, who never allowed him to know he was adopted, raised him. This realization only came when he was an adult and ready to strike out on his own.

This forgotten movie line came to me as I was reflecting on my recent Sankofa, in which three dozen of us were tethered to a partner of the same gender but of different ethnicity for a visit to civil-rights sites in Georgia and Alabama. By pairing a white person and a black person throughout this period of emotionally challenging revelations, we would remember — or, in half the cases, learn — what it meant to be born a poor black child.

We most certainly fulfilled the portion of Sankofa that requires us to look back. As a black man from the South, I had not really focused on racism or civil-rights issues before this trip. I had bigger assimilation issues to deal with. So I suspect I learned nearly as much about racism as many of my white counterparts.

It brought home to me that not all blacks, even during the time of slavery, experienced racism in the same way and to the same degree. I have been as dismissive, insensitive and indifferent to these issues as anyone, including white people. As a result, my Sankofa was a wake-up call for me, too.

We saw and heard examples of ignorance and hatred that would make the skin of the most indifferent person crawl with disgust. We heard first-hand accounts of atrocities that rival the Holocaust. We witnessed the grisly autopsy of some of Satan's best work. The inhumanity man is capable of inflicting on others was laid bare before us. In the presence of such a display, we could only weep.

And weep, we did.

Through my tears, I also saw a threat to be avoided at all cost. Looking back, we saw enough to make black people distrustful, bitter, angry, unforgiving and fearful of whites. Looking back, we learned that the past is not over. Many injustices are committed on a daily basis, and not just in the South.

Looking back, we saw enough to make a black person's heart be emptied of trust and hope; enough to make white people gasp with shock and cringe with shame. There was enough to soften hearts. There was also enough to harden them.

I tried to experience this journey through the eyes of my white brothers and sisters. What I saw from that perspective was disturbing. Many blacks feel like outright oppression is held back only by the thinnest of laws. To them, whites are the enemy. I saw what it was like to be the enemy, distrusted even among your brethren.

Whites saw enough to feel the weight of accusation and the frustration of hopelessness. They can't apologize for what they didn't do. They can't magically fix what their forefathers broke. They can't bear the sins of yesterday's world, or even today's. All they can do is harden themselves against righteous black anger and protect themselves from possible retribution.

Oh, did we ever look back. We saw enough to make true and lasting fellowship among the races seem impossible.

And there lies the danger. If all we do with our Sankofa is look back, then we are well and truly lost. Fortunately, Sankofa is about more than looking back. It is also about moving forward.

The first two nights of the trip gave us a glimpse of where the Covenant is headed. We started with a meet up at Tapestry Covenant Church, a Tacoma-area church established from the ground up to be multi-ethnic, drawing on members from existing congregations. The next night, we gathered at the New Life Covenant Church in Atlanta. Again, this is a multi-ethnic church from the ground up.

To be sure, there are differences between the two churches. However, the end result is the same. Both are fully racially integrated. And in the Covenant denomination, they are not alone. The ECC has made a true and lasting commitment to racial and cultural integration in their churches. Without a doubt, the Covenant church is moving forward.

Still, the battle is far from over. The vast majority of congregations of every denomination is ethnically homogeneous. What we need, even more than new programs and church congregations, are changed hearts — hearts filled with love for one another rather than suspicion and animosity. We need the kind of love that does not easily anger, that forgives and keeps no record of wrong, that always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

We do not need a new program for racial reconciliation. We need to accept the old one that God has already provided. Reconciliation has already been purchased at extraordinary cost. Who are we to demand anything more?

As for me, I love my brothers and sisters of different ethnicities so much, I crave fellowship with them and nothing is going to stop me from having it. I know what happened in the past. I know what their people did to my people. I know they are capable of it, if not for the Spirit of God dwelling within them.

I know my opportunities have been limited in this world. I know that the world's version of justice is a hit or miss proposition for people who look like me. I know they do not fully understand what I am going through. I know they are sometimes indifferent to my pain. I know some of them cringe at the thought of young men who look like me wanting to marry their daughters. I know they control more power and wealth than I do. I know that life is not fair, and they are not doing a whole lot to change it.

Yet in spite of all that, I love them, and I intend to have fellowship with them.

Progress is about looking and moving forward. I love history. But I believe history should be studied in the context of practical application. We must go beyond simply learning our history. We must actually do something with it. Moving forward demands that we answer history's query: "What are you going to do with me?"

How we answer that call defines how we move forward.