The Pastor’s Struggle to Address Racism: Reflections on the Fears Pastors Face
Note: This post was written a few hours before the jury rendered its verdict in the trial of Derek Chauvin
The trial of Derek Chauvin has come to an end. The prosecution rests but the nation does not. We brace ourselves for a verdict that will reverberate across the country, vindicating some but plunging others into despair.
As a pastor, I consider my call in these moments. What does a pastor have to say to such things? After all, our call is to make disciples who love Jesus, love one another, and love our city well.
But these disciples aren’t unaffected by the events that grip our nation. Some see it as an extension of their story and will feel the verdict in their bones. It will rattle how they see Jesus, how they engage their city, and how they relate to others in the church, especially those who do not see racial factors in the tragedy that occurred.
When you have a church with diverse experiences and perspectives, these moments present opportunities to talk about the racism in our stories and our oneness in Christ. But this is easier said than done. Many of us struggle to seize these opportunities because of our fears.
FEAR OF DISTRACTION
Some pastors fear that addressing racism will distract the church and would much rather just “stick to the Gospel.”
But there’s a problem.
No one just sticks to the Gospel. That’s right. Not even your favorite gospel-centered preacher, teacher, and author.
The Gospel is the good news of God’s Kingdom arriving through Jesus Christ, the Son of God and promised Messiah, who was crucified for our sins according to the Scriptures and is the risen King of the world.
That’s it. That’s the Gospel.
The moment your favorite pastor-author moves beyond this declaration to unearth its implications, he has transitioned from what the gospel is to what the gospel does.1 In that sense, none of us sticks to the simplest gospel proclamation, but we spend much of our time helping people consider how to live out gospel implications.
Photo by Oleg Laptev
And what do we do when sin prevents the church from experiencing these implications? We preach against it and call people to repent.
Think of the sermons you’ve heard that address our craving for people’s approval. Did you ever consider this to be a distraction from the Gospel? Probably not. Pastors rightly preach against this sin because they realize it prevents people from experiencing an implication of the Gospel — their glorious identity in Christ.
Now think of the sermons you heard that address racism. How often did you wince in fear that such sermons preached regularly could distract the church? Pastors struggle to preach against this sin because they haven’t acknowledged the ways that it hinders people from experiencing another implication of the Gospel — the church’s oneness in Christ.
In that sense, addressing racism is not any more of a distraction than any other sin that prevents us from enjoying all that Christ has won for us. For if there are people in your church who bear the scars of racism, and they struggle to find their place in your church as a result of it, how can we not see it as something that must be addressed?
But unfortunately, many of us never do because we equated only one of the implications of the gospel (i.e., our identity in Christ) with the Gospel itself. And any sermon that does not emphasize this is not seen as Gospel-centered. But we are mistaking the chord for the song. Of course, we don’t want to minimize the importance of our identity in Christ, or any other implication of the Gospel. Surely it is from this identity that we do the work of justice. But let us remember that there are many notes to be heard and we would do well to call against the sins that deafen us from hearing them all.
To be sure, there is a way to talk about racism that distracts. If our preaching does not center on Christ, stir greater love for him and neighbor, but instead treats Jesus as a means to a more unified society, then we have distracted our people from the Gospel. To use a phrase from Mark Sayers, we want the Kingdom without the King.
But if Christ is proclaimed as the grounds, the motivation, and the power for the church’s transformation, if all things are from him, through him, and for him, we can confront racism and all other sins without fear of being distracted from the Gospel. We can declare what it says and contend for what it implies.
FEAR OF DIVISION
Let’s admit it. Not everyone in your church believes that race was a factor in the death of George Floyd. They believe race is a social construct that is politicized in order to perpetuate our division. Therefore, to use any event, where racist intent cannot be proven, as an opportunity to address racism is interpreted as creating division based on faulty evidence.
It’s not that racism doesn’t exist in their eyes, it just that it doesn’t exist to the degree that the pastor has to say something.
But unfortunately, there are people who have experienced otherwise, even in diverse churches. According a recent Barna report, “29% of black practicing Christians in multiracial congregations say they have experienced racial prejudice in church.”2 Yes, that’s one out of every three black people in your church, not including other ethnicities.
So what are we to do with such diverse experiences and perspectives? We can address the issues that affect our brothers and sisters and divide the church. Or we can neglect the experiences of our brothers and sisters and divide the church.
The fear of creating division when addressing racism is real, but it is one that is worth overcoming in order to help the church experience greater unity. And this unity, this oneness in Christ becoming a lived reality, is worth the suffering. At least it was for the apostle Paul.
In his letter to the Ephesians, Paul writes about the mystery of the Gospel hidden for all ages, “…that through the gospel the Gentiles are heirs together with Israel, members together of one body, and sharers together in the promise in Christ Jesus.”3 But contending for this mystery, for their oneness in Christ to be a lived reality, came with a cost. A cost that would naturally create fear in all of us. But nevertheless, Paul ends his letter, requesting prayer to help him face this fear, “…that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains.”4
I remember the first time I realized that Paul suffered for the Gentiles’ welcome into the church. I had always assumed that he was imprisoned for simply preaching justification by faith and against legalism. But it was for their inclusion that he risked imprisonment.
It was also the reason he boldly confronted Peter, a fellow leader in the church, when he acted in a way that caused the Gentiles to question their welcome.5 It was the reason he took the time to pastorally walk the church through the cultural differences that resulted from their reconciliation, such as instructions on eating and keeping the Sabbath.
In all of these things, Paul did not quietly appreciate Christ’s work to remove hostility between ethnicities and hope that they would one day stumble into greater unity. No, so intent was he for the church to experience this oneness in Christ, he confronted the sins and unbelief that prevented it, and would even be willing to suffer in chains for it.6
The fear of division may be great, but the promise of our oneness in Christ is greater.
FEAR OF OTHERS
Jemar Tisby left his predominantly white evangelical ministry circle.
The NYT Best-selling author of The Color of Compromise and the founder and president of The Witness powerfully describes the events that led to his exodus on a podcast called Pass the Mic: #LeaveLoud.
A pivotal moment occurred in 2012 when Trayvon Martin was killed in Sanford, Florida. Jemar scoured the internet to see what a prominent pastor in the area would say about this tragedy that had not only devastated Sanford, but the entire nation. When the late R.C. Sproul said nothing, at least on the church website, the silence was deafening for Jemar.
I don’t know why R.C. Sproul didn’t publicly address an event that happened so close to his home. Perhaps he was unaware that people who are not in his church or don’t even share his faith would search for his voice, and that the internet could be leveraged to speak to such things. Either way, I am wary of drawing conclusions.
For some pastors, the response is intuitive and instinctive. He knows what to say and how to say it. He wastes no time because racism is not a philosophical topic to be acknowledged but is a reality he and his congregation endures. He does not have the privilege of avoiding it because every time a police officer shoots an unarmed black man in America, it leaves many wounded in his church.
But not all silence is the same.
Consider the first generation immigrant pastor whose Americanness has been questioned since his arrival. His instincts are different. What comes naturally to others is unnatural to him, what seems like a birthright for his American counterparts feels borrowed by him. He too has experienced racism but is silent, not because he is indifferent, but because he struggles to find his voice to address the events of American society.
Then consider the pastor who stands before a congregation that thinks racism is a relic of the past. He has never addressed racism because he wasn’t convinced there was evidence of it in the events that rattled the nation. But the recent tragedy shell shocked him. How could he not say anything this time? He gathers himself to speak but doesn’t know where to start.
There may be some pastors who are silent purely because of their indifference to the suffering of others.
But I’m wary of lionizing pastors who speak and judging those who don’t. I want to avoid conclusions that leave no room for complexity and reduce all responses into categories of ally or apathy.
For I understand the temptation of pastors. We are tempted to speak so that our silence will not be heard. Our social media feeds have transformed into a platform for press releases that take a moral stance on a recent event. Our desire to say something is driven by fear, to practice our righteousness before others so that we would be seen by them.
But others of us are tempted to remain silent out of fear as well. We desire to say something but fear that people in the church will leave, that we will be accused of misusing our authority to mislead the church, and that saying something will create a precedent and future expectation for us to exhaustively address all the ills of society.
In other words, while the responses may be different, the motivation of those who say something or say nothing may nevertheless be the same — fear of others. And as long as we do not face this fear, our public expressions of grief will not be truly righteous, nor will our silence be an appropriate use of our authority.
The way to courage is to have another kind of fear, the only fear that the Bible prescribes — fear of God. We must regard God as the most important person to consider before we post or preach. For there may be many things to say, or that need to be left unsaid, but we cannot discern how to respond unless we face our fear of others and fear God alone.
I understand why Jemar left. I have also wanted to leave ministry circles that didn’t make space for me or speak to my lived experiences. At the same time, I know the pain of watching people walk away in the churches I have pastored, people I love and prayed with tears would stay, but who left because they thought I said too much, and some because they thought I said too little.
Not everyone can or should stay. But if they leave, let it not be because we have succumbed to our fears, but because we have found courage through the fear of the Lord to contend for all that Christ has won.
1 I first read about this distinction in Dr. Tim Keller’s book, Center Church, in a chapter entitled, “The Gospel is Not Everything.”
2 Beyond Diversity (Barna Group 2021)
3 Ephesians 3:6
4 Ephesians 6:19-20
5 Ephesians 3:13
6 Galatians 2:11-13
Photo Credit: John Ren
