Bridge the gap…
God put me on the earth to…
Bridge the gap between the people of the church and the marginalized
I am the oldest of three children born to a white mother and a black father (and that’s really simplifying it!). My mother tells me she wrestled with the thought of bringing a little mixed baby into a country that only ten years prior had legalized their right to marry. They bussed us to the most diverse school district. We worshipped (most of my childhood) at a very diverse church. We were raised during the era where we were encouraged not to see color. Being colorblind was praised. It doesn’t matter what’s on the outside...we all bleed red. Except it does...and it did. It did matter.
We spent most of our time with my mother’s side of the family. We were loved. Holidays, birthdays, weekdays, and weekends spent with grandparents, aunts uncles, and cousins. Our skin was never mentioned. Except, when we’d laugh about my dad’s first trip to Canada to meet the whooooole family. Pa Pere asked Dad, “ what language do you speak?”
“English”
“no, what language do your people speak?”
“English”
“no, what’s you’re darkie language?”
…
It was innocent ignorance. Pa Pere’s family, the Boileau’s, spoke French and English, proud of their French-Canadian heritage. Everyone has a language, right?
At school, color was never mentioned...except for that one time a girl said my ass was too flat to be a black girl.
At church, color was never mentioned...except for that one time everyone whispered about the white girl, but no one would speak to her. I eventually figured out that the white girl was me.
At home, color was never mentioned...
I knew I wasn’t white though...people would fawn over my tight curls, my “always tan” skin, my full lips...
And, If I were white, why did so many people make such a big deal out of how not black I am??
I grew up never quite knowing where I fit.
I was grown up, never quite knowing where I fit.
Except for that one place.
That place I could find with my hands lifted high, my voice soaring, lost in melody and word, surrounded by an audience of one. I never had to worry about where I fit when I was in that place. I didn’t think about who might be looking at me...everyone is supposed to be looking up...right? That place carried me through childhood and adolescence and beckoned me back as an adult.
As I worshipped, studied, and prayed, I learned that I am loved...everyone is.
And that I am made in God’s image...everyone is.
As I worshipped, studied, and prayed, I learned about God and who He is.
As I worshipped, studied, and prayed, I learned about the Church and what it’s supposed to be.
As I worshipped, studied, and prayed, I learned there was a gap
A gap between what should be and what is.
A gap between what Jesus’s love feels like and what the Church’s love feels like
A gap
A gap that seems to keep getting wider
A gap filled with whispers and uneasy laughs,
innocent ignorance and willful ignorance,
and things left unsaid
Too many things left unsaid, and too many things said…
A gap that separates people from joy
A gap that separates people from grace
A gap that separates people from hope
...and mercy
...and peace
...and love, so much love
A gap that separates people from GOD
As I worshipped, studied, and prayed, I learned Jesus came in our form to fill the space in-between
We need to stand in the space in-between
I used to feel stuck in the space in-between
..but, now I inhabit the space in-between
So...reaching one hand out to the people who say they love God
And reaching the other hand out to the people who have been stung by the people who say they love God...I pray
I pray for relationships to become allyship
I pray for love to enable compassion
I pray for a God made tangible in my hands, in the hands that join my hands
I pray “Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins;
You will raise up the age-old foundations;
And you will be called the repairer of the breach*,” the builders of bridges
God put me on earth to bridge the gap…
*Isaiah 58:12