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Is God “Woke”?

In Exodus 3, it says God is deeply concerned about the cries of our sisters and brothers. As Christians, we are to interrupt injustice, not lead the fight for it. Maybe God was too “woke” and didn’t understand our need to satisfy self-interest through injustice, poverty, persecution, and legislated discrimination. Maybe, His Word didn’t take into consideration that someday we would have to live out the Imago Dei – “all are created in the image of God.“ Could God really expect us to treat everyone with dignity, honor, and respect?

 

Let’s face it, focusing on others before ourselves, treating all people as equal, and trusting that the Word will transform hearts requires us to give up our controlling spirit. We all have an idea of what following Jesus should look like and who should be included. But if we’re honest with ourselves, our views are often influenced by our cultural values, politics, background, and what’s currently going on in the world around us. Maybe God was too woke to understand where we are today. How could He ask us to love our enemies!

 

Woke is a term that refers to awareness of issues that concern social justice. Originating in the 1940’s as “being aware of the truth behind things ‘the man’ doesn’t want you to know”. Today, in culture and politics, the most prominent uses of “woke” are as a pejorative. However, despite todays vagueness, you now see evangelicals, conservative activists and Republican politicians constantly using the term. That’s because that vagueness is a feature, not a bug. Casting a really wide range of ideas and policies as too woke and anyone who is critical of them as being canceled by out-of-control liberals is becoming an important strategy and tool.

 

Some Christian leaders are using a blanket rejection to dismiss the realities of racism, implementing attempts to dictate the belief systems, definitions, authoritative binding, academic and ecclesiastical decisions regarding how race is to be communicated in the local church, school, and community.

 

Ed Stetzer, a Southern Baptist and the executive director of the Wheaton College Billy Graham Center, says that churches have become increasingly politicized. “What’s happened is that people are now sorting themselves into churches that align more with their political ideology than their theology,” he said. “They want the sermons they hear on Sundays to align with what they hear on cable news all week.”

 

The controversy within the Southern Baptist Conference shines a light on the generational and ideological divides churches across the country are facing today. According to Ian Lovett of the WSJ, “one faction argues the SBC should step back from its role in electoral politics to broaden its reach and reverse a 15-year decline in membership. Another faction says the denomination has been drifting to the left, and the way to retain and attract members is to recommit to its conservative roots and stay politically engaged. Each side accuses the other of straying from the SBC’s core mission.”

 

 

Churches across America have come to provide further evidence of this political divide. Like the SBC, factions are not focused on what Jesus is focused on – love of neighbor, mercy, kindness, and grace. Instead, focusing on demands of political loyalty, disputes about racism, assigning the most negative labeling possible to those considered the enemy, and determining who is and isn’t “conservative enough.”

 

“It’s like someone is bleeding out on the floor,
and these guys are fighting over
how many pints of blood a person can lose.”

 

SBC seminary presidents organized a letter last year denouncing one of their major points of division, critical race theory—an academic set of assertions about structural racism across society that has been a flashpoint in the denomination. They and other conservatives acknowledge historic patterns of racism but don’t want it taught to their kids, talked about, or resolved. But they also say racism can have “structural forms.” Efforts to address the central issue being lifted up are met with gaslighting, denial, minimization, and ostracization.

 

Ve Lu of Nonprofit AF summarizes it this way, “So many of us are in denial. Not always denial like refusing to acknowledge what exists. More so, the subtle denial that we ourselves, who are Good People fighting for a just and equitable world, could further supremacy. After all, we weren’t involved in the acts of genocide at Kamloops or Tulsa, we tell ourselves. This is what makes white supremacy so potent. It is often subtle. It happens in ways we often don’t think about.”

 

The cognitive dissonance some guard elicits very negative responses to any attempt to discuss this subject. Breaking through the initial discomfort and rejection of this new information causes people’s defenses to go up, and they disengage. It’s not easy to swallow the realization that you are the transgressors of micro-aggressions on a micro-scale and that you have been unwitting participants in oppression on an aggregate/macro scale.

 

Church, we look disingenuous to the watching world. Our witness is being weakened as we are acting like the world. We are to be “in this world, but not of this world.” In John 17, Jesus asked the Father to

 

“sanctify them in the truth; your Word is truth.
As you sent me into the world,
so I have sent them into the world.
And for their sake, I consecrate myself,
that they also may be sanctified in truth.” 

 

Jesus’s assumption in John 17 is that those who have embraced him and identified with him are sent into the world on a mission for gospel advance through disciple-making. His Word will go forth, and if you choose to represent Him your way instead of His, possibly it won’t happen through you.

 

Let’s determine to live as God desires—“to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God.”

 

Maybe God was and is “woke”, and sent His son to live out “wokeness.”
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The Black Church Is A Spiritual Virtue

 

 

“Back then, Black churches were a small piece of peace.
Church was a world where, even with its imperfections,
the offer of equality and common humanity was the sustenance needed to make it through the rest of the week
in a society that deemed them less than human.”

 

Today you will read the “heart cry” of Dante Stewart that encapsulates the hurt, pain, and disappointment of many. As you read this, prayerfully consider how we bring unity to the body of Christ.
Guest Author: Dante Stewart
I can remember when it first happened — when my dungeon shook and my chains fell off. I had recently gone through a horrible experience and felt there was nowhere to turn, no one who could give voice to my ache, my pain, and my rage.

 

I feared that many wouldn’t understand.

 

At the time, I was immersed in White evangelical church life. I had been the one selected to lead a group through John Piper’s Bloodlines because the church wanted to be more “diverse.” I was probably the first black person to preach there.

 

That usually came with a badge of honor — the “first” usually means you’re breaking barriers (or so I thought). Then Trump happened. Then the shootings of unarmed black people. Then … the white responses in the church I was in.

 

I was confused.

 

“How could they be around me and my wife and say this about black people?”
“How did they not know us?”
“How could they believe this?”
“Why aren’t we speaking about this?”

 

Confusion compounded by the employer who used my abstention from the National Anthem as an opportunity to lecture me on NFL protests and oppression.

 

Confusion compounded by the colleagues who said, “there’s no need for Black History Month,” and another, “there’s no such thing as black theology.”

 

Confusion compounded by another colleague who reported me for inappropriate touching after I side-hugged her while bidding her a good weekend. Maybe at that moment I forgot all the lessons my mom taught me about being careful around white women. Did she know that they see her as innocent and me as a danger? Maybe she believed the lie that Amy Cooper believed: that her whiteness is a weapon to keep a “n— in his place.”

 

And then my confusion turned to rage as the comments continued.

 

“You are losing the gospel.” 
“I’m not racist.” 
“You’re a social justice warrior.” 
“I have black friends.” 
“All lives matter.”
“Black men need to stop killing black men.”
“It’s a sin problem, not a skin problem.” 
“Jesus came to change hearts not societies.” 

 

Black rage in an anti-black world is a spiritual virtue. Rage shakes us out of our illusion that the world as it is, is what God wants. Rage forces us to deal with the gross system of inequality, exploitation, and disrespect. Rage is the public cry for black dignity. It becomes the public expression of a theological truth that black lives matter to God.

 

Rage is the work of love that stands against an unloving world. Rage is the good news that though your society forgets you and works against you, there is Someone who loves you and believes you are worth fighting for.
⠀

 

If you’re more concerned about the responses of black rage than you are about a system that justifies and rewards black death, you don’t love black people — you just love when they stay in their place. And that’s not love, that’s hate.

 

So, I wept — I wept because I felt so powerless, so vulnerable, so unloved, so hated.

 

In “A Letter to My Nephew,” James Baldwin wrote:
Please try to remember that what they believe, as well as what they do and cause you to endure, does not testify to your inferiority, but to their inhumanity and fear.

 

His words hit me with the sort of mercy, a grace as if Almighty God was speaking, when he wrote, “You don’t be afraid. I said it was intended that you should perish …”

 

But I did not. We did not. We are still here. It was at that moment that a fire came over me. It was then that my dungeon shook, the chains of fear fell off, and the bones began to rumble, and the sinews that made flesh black began to come to life. It was not just the question, “Lord, can these bones live?” No. It was, “Lord, where will these bones go?”

 

I needed to give voice to God’s action in the black experience, our suffering, and our resistance. I needed to bear witness to the struggle for our freedom. I needed to give voice to being both black and Christian. I did — and I never looked back.

 

James Cone said after the Detroit rebellion, “I could no longer write the same way, following the lead of Europeans and white Americans.”

 

And don’t we feel this? With white racial paranoia. With Trump. And now with black suffering in COVID-19, Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd. Terror. We saw the responses to the cries of our people as many of our women, children, and men became hashtags. They praised “black forgiveness,” called us to speak of love, when their people gave us death. Our people’s blood cries out from the ground.

 

What does theology have to say in the black freedom struggle today? What does faith say in the face of black death? What is good news for black people in America’s racial caste? Cone was right: “I had to find a new way of talking about God that was accountable to black people and their fight for justice.”

 

I am black; I am Christian. We have been through hell in this country — and we’re still going through it. But I too am America; this is my country. Being black in an anti-black world becomes the greatest spiritual, moral, and political task of each generation.

 

The journey has been long and a struggle for many of us — trying to speak of Christian faith and being black in America — but it is also empowering. We know that we come from a long tradition of black people who refused to accept the tragic belief and practices of white supremacy — the belief that we are second-class citizens, that we deserve exploitation and punishment, that we deserve disrespect and death, that we must be respectable and cater to the demands of whiteness. No. We will not.

 

Many will believe we have exaggerated the scope and depth of injustice. That’s okay. We’re fighting for hope, we’re fighting for love, we’re fighting to live. This world as black people experience it is not the world as it should be. All of us must give voice to the hope of a better day. There’s no other way.

 

To love, to struggle, to fight, to pray, to embrace, to remember — these become our sword and shield. To protest violence against black people is a spiritual virtue, moral obligation, and political practice. In a world that wounds the souls of black folk, it represents the Spirit of God at work resisting the evil of white supremacy and murder with impunity. It’s holy work. Through rage and heartbreak, we work. Until we are free, we can never rest.

 

SOURCE: Sojourners, Black Range In An Anti-Black World Is A Spiritual Virtue, May 29, 2020