I was in the beautiful Northwoods of Wisconsin in July 2019, spending time with my family. I could tell you all about the crystal-clear lake, the dozens of whitetail deer, and the bald eagle perched in the tallest tree—oh, and the German food. But that isn’t my point.
Before I drove to Wisconsin, I turned in a cover story to the Dallas Observer about a Christian racial reconciliation conference that had crashed and burned. The two white leaders of Sparrow Women had a mess on their hands, but they refused to discuss it publicly. Now a good journalist tries to represent all perspectives fairly. When one side won’t talk at all, you have to work harder to be fair. It’s too easy to be tough on someone you never see face to face.
By this time my story was going through the editing process, and I had begun to get a little nervous. Even excessive amounts of German food did not quell my unease. Was I being fair to Sparrow’s organizers?
That was the question I asked God when I went to bed one night. And you know how people are always asking Jesus questions in the gospels, and he responds by providing the answer to a question they didn’t ask? Well that’s kind of what happened to me. I had a dream that night that I believe was from God, and while it didn’t explicitly answer my question, it did change my life.
So here goes with another long post. If you want to know why I’m passionate about racial justice, a big part of the answer lies herein.
In this dream, I found myself in the bowels of a large ship. I saw a Black man who’d been cut in two—severed at the waist—and he was screaming in pain and cursing. I knew he represented the American Church: thoroughly divided, with one side in excruciating pain. A renowned ministry leader came to help, but when he heard the man utter a cuss word, he turned away and said, “Oh, no. I can’t listen to that.” Or something to that effect.
Then I saw a small creature, but I knew she represented a Black person—who’d been dehumanized, stripped of personhood, crushed in mind and spirit. Weak and near death, this creature said, “Will you just give me a drink of water?” Then another ministry leader, a white woman, heard this and stepped behind a white door, saying, “I don’t want to get involved.” Then even the seams of the door disappeared, and all I saw was a white wall.
Next I saw a millennial woman whom I know, and she was going on and on about racial justice. Everything she said was true, but I was starting to get a little annoyed. Blah, blah, blah…
I was merely an observer, watching these scenes unfold. But at some point the gravity of what I was witnessing caught up to me. I gasped—it hit me so hard. I began to tremble.
I grasped the meaning of the dream while I was still in it. These people were dying. Black people were crying out in pain in this country, and white people didn’t want to hear it. We’d rather keep it concealed in the bowels of the ship. Furthermore, Black and white Christians were on the verge of separating forever in the American Church, and white evangelicals were coming up with all kinds of excuses not to do anything about it.
As for me, I was a white evangelical who knew the truth about racial injustice, but I wasn’t doing anything either. I didn’t want to risk the tiny bit of esteem I enjoyed in my work, my church, and my family. I was on the fence.
Until I wasn’t. I began racing through the ship, desperately looking for someone to tell. They needed to know that the American Church was in crisis, and that if we didn’t do everything we could to stop this killing, this suffering, this division of Black and white, we would completely lose our witness to the world.
I was still shaken when I woke up. I sensed there was little time.
Some of you might be dusting off your dispensationalist playbook right now, getting ready to drop some theological tendentiousness on me. Let me say this: He who has ears, let him hear.
I’d rather not be remembered as some crazy dreamer. But God does what he has to do to get my attention. I was worried about the feelings of those two Sparrow ladies, but God was concerned about something of eternal significance—his Church. The Bride of Christ.
For those of you not accustomed to dreams from God, allow me to say a few things. Emotions and images in prophetic dreams are usually writ large. After all, the likely reason why God is speaking to you through a dream is because he couldn’t get the message across to your conscious mind. Big emotions and grisly images reflect the spiritual reality. Thus, we get a glimpse of how God views the situation before stepping back into the muffled routine of our daily lives.
This dream showed me four responses to the racial divide in this country that I’ve seen played out many times since July 2019.
- Black people are angry—but OMG, someone said a cuss word! Therefore I will not listen to what they’re saying, even though their words reflect a reasonable response to extreme pain. This is the perspective of the Pharisee, who values religion more than people.
- I’m white and what I’m seeing right now makes me really uncomfortable, so I’m going to withdraw altogether. I don’t want to risk getting criticized if I say or do something.
- Young people are speaking the truth. Millennials and Gen Zers are disgusted by the evangelical Church’s pathetic response to racial injustice and racial division in the Church. They can’t understand why the older generation doesn’t care and isn’t listening.
Then there is me, No. 4, the fence-sitter. I knew plenty about racial injustice from my career as a journalist, not to mention two decades as a member and minister in a Black church. I was passionate about racial justice in past years, but I got my heart busted into a million pieces. I saw my efforts as failures, so I figured it was a cause for the next generation to take up. I hoped that the millennials would fare better.
Jesus, I am so sorry. I hear you now. I will no longer deny you before men.
I realize there is no fence-sitting, no silence, no opting out this time.
My Black brothers and sisters are dying.
