"Checking the box..."

When I was in high school, certainly not understanding the consequences of my actions, I "checked the box," identifying myself as black (The “label” wasn’t African American then…) when I took the PSAT (the preliminary SAT and qualifying test for the National Merit scholarship program).

I did well on the test, well enough, in fact, that my teachers expected that I would be entered into the National Merit Scholarship competition.  But instead I received a letter advising me that I had been entered into the National Achievement Program competition.  What is that, one might ask?  Well, that would be the National Merit Program recognition program solely for students of color.  

Some folks might call the National Achievement Program affirmation action at work, leveling the playing field for disadvantaged students.  But the "action" didn't feel very "affirmative" to me. With that one checked box, at age 14, I had a new definition of what it meant to be black in America: Separate, and clearly not equal.     

Soon thereafter, I read an essay by a black freshman at an Ivy League college, advising fellow black students not to “check the box.”  She, too, had made the mistake of checking the box when she had taken the SAT, and she had also had been entered into the National Achievement Scholarship Program, even though she had outperformed a white classmate who had been named a National Merit Scholarship winner.

From that experience, I learned what has been a valuable-for-me lesson: Never, never, never “check the box.”

When I took the SAT the following year, I didn't check the box. And as fate would allow, I got a second chance; my unwitting mistake from the PSAT didn't follow me.  This time around, I was entered into the National Merit Scholarship competition; later, I would be recognized as a National Merit Scholarship winner.  At least for that one moment, my worth had been determined not by the color of my skin, but by objective performance on a test.

I temporarily felt encouraged.

And so, as I began the college application process, I didn't check the box.  And as objectively as such things happen, with transcript, resume and National Merit ranking preceding me, I was invited in for scholarship interviews at all of the colleges to which I applied.

Of course, when I arrived for visits at these prospective colleges, it quickly became apparent to me that since I hadn't checked the box, and there hadn’t been any “dead giveaways” to the color of my skin, everyone assumed that I wasn't black - that is, until they saw me.  And I learned valuable-for-me lesson number two: Even the most loving and well-intentioned people who aren't black often carry around far too many stereotypes about people who are black that simply aren't true.

Case-in-point: When I applied to law school, I didn't check the box.  Without being the wiser, the law school chose to admit me solely on the objective basis of undergraduate grade point average (GPA) and law school admissions test (LSAT) scores.  I didn't realize at the time that the law school was still operating under a desegregation mandate; there was a mandatory quota for African American students for each year’s entering class.  So when I showed up, without having checked the box, I messed everything up.  In the law school's effort to increase retention among black students, we were automatically identified for additional course work in research and writing to improve our chances of success.  Everyone had been accounted for, except for me, and all of the names appeared on a list on the message board, with the date and time for the first of the mandatory sessions.  Since I hadn't checked the box, I wasn't on the list; but once the heads were counted, the folks in the law school admissions office who cared about the numbers realized that the numbers were off by one.

So, by the end of the first week, my name was added to the list, and the professor who was responsible for the study program hunted me down to inform me that my attendance was required at the next day’s mandatory study session. When I asked (nicely!) how I had come to be invited to this special study session, the professor muttered something about the law school's efforts to retain high-quality minority students.  Call me naïve, but what law school just assumes that all black students – regardless of their academic background or LSAT scores – are somehow in need of additional “help” in order to succeed? Clearly, the law school did not assume before identifying me as a black student that I needed additional coursework to help ensure my success. 

And so, I said no, for the same reasons that I hadn’t checked the box in the first place: I’d either make it – or I wouldn’t – on equal footing with other students. It may not have been the politically-correct course of action (Considering the number of phone calls that I received, I can only guess that no one in the law school's administration was happy with my decision.), but it was the only action that I could justify.

I don’t believe in “checking the box.” All of us should be greater than the sum of color labels that might be attributed to us. In my humble opinion, checking the box is a requirement that should be abolished in all academic admissions processes. There certainly must be better ways to ensure diversity and identify students who may need additional support in order to succeed. It is time for us to move toward judging one another by the content of our character – and not by the color of our skin.

Help Wanted: Be the Light. Share the Light

A Christmas Eve from my childhood really stands out in my memory: I was maybe nine or ten years old when a mother of three young boys – the oldest of whom was about my age – was killed on Christmas Eve morning in my home town. She had stopped by a dry cleaner to pick up some cleaning, and as she was about to get in her own car to leave, the driver of another car lost control of her vehicle, and the mother was struck by the oncoming car as it plowed into the parking lot. Her three young sons were all in the car as this tragedy unfolded. The entire community was stunned by this family’s loss: Television shows were interrupted for a broadcast of the news, and even the news anchor was wiping away tears as he shared the story. We learned quickly that the family lived not far from us and worshipped at the Methodist church that was just a couple of blocks from our home.

For the next several days, I could think of little more than those young boys. Like Charlie Brown, in A Charlie Brown Christmas, I, too, was searching for the true meaning of Christmas at that point in my  life; I waited eagerly for the show to air each year, and watched it attentively, but even Linus’ impassioned speech still hadn’t helped me comprehend its meaning. And envisioning the sorrow in that nearby household left me at even more of a loss.

I finally asked my mother if I could take my allowance and buy the boys some cookies, just something to take to them to say that I was sorry for their loss, that lots of other kids were grieving with them, that even in the midst of all of the emptiness that they were experiencing, they were all still loved. My mother suggested that since we didn’t know the family, perhaps the best thing that we could do was pray; she felt certain that people who knew them had taken them more than they could use. I remember reading Luke’s account of the Christmas narrative before falling asleep, and offering prayers that the Christ Child would bring the best gift of all – healing – to the broken hearts of a grieving father and sons who were certainly expecting Christmas to be something very, very much different. My prayers, though, still didn’t feel like “enough.”

I’ve thought about those three young boys every year at Christmas. For them, and for others for whom Christmas may be a reminder of loss, it is especially important that the light of Christ be ever burning in our lives. Sharing that light of God’s promise of hope and love in a world in which there is far too much darkness is the best gift that we can offer to those who cannot see the light. Slowing down in the midst of the busyness of our lives to offer a smile, a hug, a phone call, a visit, a hand to hold, a word of encouragement, or time to share a prayer together – helps to remind us all of the One who came to dwell among us and bring healing and peace, and keeps the gift of the Light of Christ burning. 

Please look for every possible opportunity to share the light; and pass on the light that is shared with you. God is counting on us all.

Said the king to the people everywhere,

“Listen to what I say!

Pray for peace, people everywhere!

Listen to what I say!

The Child, the Child sleeping in the night,

He will bring us goodness and light!

He will bring us goodness and light!”

From “Do you hear what I hear?” (lyrics by Noël Regney)

On Labor Day 2016, members of St. George’s, together with members of Germantown United Methodist, Germantown Presbyterian, New Bethel Baptist and Kingsway Christian Churches, gathered to prepare to go out on our third Labor of Love experience. As now has become our custom on those days, we greeted one another, and met neighbors that we’d not met before, and then we sat together for a time of reflection and prayer before our work in God’s world began.

It had been quite the summer:  From a massive earthquake in Italy, to devastating flooding in Louisiana, to an unprecedented killing in Orlando, to a lone Dallas gunman’s heartbreaking response to police shootings of several African American men in other cities around the country, the summer had been one to remember, but for all of the wrong reasons.

But even amid the sadness, rays of hope shone. Relief teams from throughout the world responded to Italy, to help locate survivors and provide aid. People who called themselves the “Cajun Navy” responded to neighbors in Louisiana, rescuing the stranded, preparing meals, providing shelter, and caring for one another as the reality of the number of people who were without homes settled in. People throughout the country responded to the Dallas mayor’s call for prayer for their city, and in communities like Wichita, police and civilians came together to begin to forge new relationships and break down barriers that had existed for far too long between them.

And so, on Labor Day, a couple of hundred Christians in Germantown came together, too, to show God’s light and love in a weary and tired Memphis community that needed to see that love. And we did it - neighbors coming together with other neighbors - with smiles and laughter, and grateful hearts. We delivered lots of meals, cleaned some yards, created 1,000 care packages for those among us who are displaced, and packed 10,000 meals for MidSouth Food Bank, through the MemphisFeeds Initiative. Coming together, we were able to accomplish more than either of our churches would have been able to accomplish alone.

Going forth into the world to serve God is what we are called to do. We are reminded of that pledge in our Baptismal Covenant, and we are literally sent forth each week when we leave the Lord’s Table.

But this year, our shared time of service seemed to take on new meaning, as we all searched for ways to make a difference when the needs were so great and the task before us almost seemed insurmountable. And we discovered yet again that while any one person’s hands are capable of doing mighty work for God, when we come together and work together, we accomplish so much more.

And so it is that we who are people of God are called to come together and work together, so that all of God’s people may know justice and peace. We must renew our commitment to serve God and God's people, and to break down the walls that separate us and work together for the good of all.

By now, we know that the work of breaking down barriers isn’t work that someone else can do for us. It is the work of the people, all of God’s people. The need could not be greater. The time could not be more imminent.

And so, my sisters and brothers in Christ here at St. George’s, we pledge to renew our commitment to make the world around us a better place by shining the light of Christ’s love, as it radiates from us, into the darkness. That’s the best response that we can possibly make to the world. And by shining God's light into the world, we continue to show just how relevant, and just how important, the Church continues to be. We can’t stop now. We can’t afford to be disheartened. We can’t love too much. God is counting on us all. And when we continue to shine the light of God from our little corner, and walk hand in hand with our neighbors, we will make a difference, one life at a time. 

In Christ,

Dorothy+

Your kingdom come...the words of Luke 11

"Your kingdom come" is not a passive prayer. Prayer changes us, and we in turn, change the world - and help bring about God's Kingdom. We invite you to hear this sermon on prayer.

Yet another mass killing: Can only our faith communities save us from ourselves? On loving more, and hating less...

I visited Auschwitz as a seventeen-year-old college freshman. To say that the experience was a powerful one for me would be a gross understatement. Seeing what remains of a camp in which over one million people were killed was gut-wrenching. It was impossible for my young mind to comprehend that any human beings could harbor such hatred and commit such acts of cruel violence against any other human beings. I could only imagine the suffering of those who were held in a place where the best conditions were not compatible with human life. It seemed that the smell of burning flesh still emanated from the crematorium.

Visiting Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem, just two days ago brought all of the painful memories flooding back. The names Auschwitz-Birkenau, Belzec, Chelmno, Majdanek, Sobibor, and Treblinka – the six Nazi extermination camps in Poland – have become synonymous with massive death and suffering. I continue to wonder how any group of people could have justified the calculated killing of others made in the same image and likeness of God with seemingly no sense of concern or remorse for the taking of human lives.

As a seventeen-year-old, I really hadn’t connected the atrocities of the Holocaust with other horrid examples of “man’s inhumanity towards man”: the enslavement of Hebrews by the Egyptians; the enslavement of many during the Roman Empire; the participation in the African slave trade by Great Britain, a number of European countries, and ultimately, the United States; the killing of an estimated 10 million Congolese during the exploitative reign of Belgium’s King Leopold; and the genocide in Rwanda. Today, I look at all of these events along our historical continuum and surmise that our disregard for the value of other human life is astonishing.

And it seems that history repeats itself over and over again.

In our country today, it's not the names of death camps, but rather the names of communities like Columbine, Aurora, Newtown, Charleston, San Bernadino, and now, Orlando that have become linked with acts of violence and senseless loss of life. (A sad compilation of mass shootings in this country since 1982 can be found at http://time.com/4368615/orlando-mass-shootings-chart/.)

I suppose that if one sees another human being as less than human, it becomes much easier to make a decision to take another life.

I’ve said before that we can legislate lots of things, but we can’t legislate hearts. I truly believe today that what we need our government (executive, legislative or judicial branch) can't give us. What we need today can only be given by our faith communities being at work in the world, as an example of a better way of living, and encouraging us all to love more and hate less. If our faith communities aren’t opening their doors to invite in those who are lost, and if we who are inside aren’t stepping out, going about and showing love to those who need us, then it seems that our communities of faith serve no purpose at all. We need to make our presence felt in schools and offer children both help and hope. We need to provide food and shelter to the poor. We need to bring all of our resources to bear to help connect people to work, and to accessible care for physical and mental illness. But more than anything, we need to erase the lines that divide us into races, classes, ethnicities, “groups” and abilities, so that we all may look at one another as children made in the image and likeness of our creator God. We can’t leave to government the work that has truly been given to us who are part of faith communities to do.

It’s been quite some time since the song, “Wake up, Everybody,” (recorded by Harold Melvin and the Bluenotes, lyrics by John Whitehead, Gene McFadden and Victor Carstarphen) was a popular hit, but its message still rings true: It’s time for all of  our communities of faith to wake up, and get to work.

Wake up, everybody,

No more sleepin' in bed.
No more backward thinkin',
Time for thinkin' ahead.

The world has changed
So very much
From what it used to be
There is so much hatred
War and poverty.

The world won't get no better
If we just let it be.
The world won't get no better.
We gotta change it, yeah,
Just you and me.