Home » Just Plain Sociology
Category Archives: Just Plain Sociology
Last weekend I drove to the Chicago area to participate in the Missio Alliance Missional Learning Commons in Westmont, IL. The theme this year was on evangelism and brought together pastors, parachurch leaders, theologians, and ministry professors. I’m pretty sure I was the only sociologist in attendance. I was curious to see how the nature of evangelism might be shifting in the context of a post-Christendom culture and whether my ideas about Identity Evangelicalism would resonate at all.
While it’s tempting to explore the differing rhetorical and analytical styles between pastors, theologians, and sociologists, I’ll leave that one alone (feel free to write me for my comments!). I’m really most interested in aligning what I heard with what we think we know about coming to faith and sustaining it within an ambivalent culture.
Friday night’s session featured James Chambers from InterVarsity. His perspective was closest to what I would consider as classical evangelism: the need to show the Gospel in word, deed, and signs. He was quick to admit that the culture is not receptive to the message but still called for confident action on the part of believers to share their faith wherever possible. Saturday morning opened with David Fitch (theologian at Northern Seminary), who suggested that our post-secular culture has shifted power dynamics. David’s focus was on the importance of Presence, Proclamation, and Power (the order is very important). It is when we are present with others that we can share the claims of the Gospel and then rely on the Spirit’s power to make change. Rick Richardson, professor of evangelism at Wheaton, did a great job of summarizing the sociological literature on millennials and faith (while dampening some of the extremist language). He said that we often over-react to previous models of ministry and we need to be careful not to jump ship “just because”. Still, he affirmed that belonging seems to be preceding believing so that it’s important to hear other people’s story in the midst of actual engagement. Rather than seeing evangelism as being about individual we look to build connections with “people of peace” and allow the Spirit to work through them. Jason Smith is a Vineyard pastor from Ohio and told of the ways in which he has found opportunity to engage others in the everyday work of the life of the church. His premise is that asking to pray for others while expecting the movement of the spirit is what brings about life change. Tim Catchim of the V3 Movement spoke last. He constructed a two dimensional model: the horizontal axis contrasted process change (Road to Emmaus) with crisis change (Road to Damascus) while the vertical access moved up from Presence to Proclamation. He suggested that our traditional model of evangelism could be found most often in the upper right corner (Crisis Proclamation) but that many other options exist that often get ignored.
As I listened to the presentations, I found myself thinking a lot about John Lofland and Rodney Stark’s model of conversion. This work, based on studies of the Unification Church before it was famous, provides a model of how people convert to deviant religious groups. But it also applies to non-deviant groups. In fact, James’ presentation Friday night had a slide remarkably similar to the Lofland/Stark model (I took a bad picture or I’d share).
Here’s what Lofland came up with in analyzing the Moonies:
The model begins with persons feeling a sense of tension in daily life. Lots of people sense tension but don’t move further than counseling. But those with a religious problem solving perspective turn toward spirituality in search of solutions for the tensions. If they feel comfortable beyond just dabbling, they adopt a form of seekership, which makes them open to new ideas or worldviews. Following a sense of crisis, they turn more seriously toward the religious group. The religious group embraces the new initiate with what Lofland called “love bombing” — massive interaction at a retreat far away. Over time, the new group becomes the “in-group” while family and friends represent a past way of life. Once the member is inside, the intensive interaction continues, keeping the new group member committed.
The Lofland/Stark model faces some challenges in contemporary society.
First, people aren’t really sensing existential tension. Given the general nature of Moralistic Therapeutic Deism in society, a generalized belief in being “a good person” dilutes a sense of potential crisis.
Second, in post-Christendom society, people may be much less likely to be looking to religious worldviews for solutions. The old “if you were to die tonight, do you know you’d go to Heaven?” question works if people believe that there is a heaven and that there is a serious risk that they wouldn’t be going there. The nature of apologetics becomes problematic because it may be providing answers to questions that people don’t have.
And yet, it still makes sense to look at the model.
I’d suggest that we start with Lofland’s third step. We have people in the midst of challenge. And in the midst of that challenge, other people come alongside that represent support that is not dependent upon first solving the challenge. This is what David Fitch means by “presence”. It’s why Rick Richardson goes to Burning Man (one of the stereotype-exploding facts of the weekend!). It’s why Jason Smith lets the homeless guy down the block mow his grass. Out of the engagement within challenge, the person senses that someone actually cares. That belonging is real.
Such a modified model of evangelism leads us back to the presence and process model described by Tim Catchim. As he says, it’s not that there aren’t people impacted by other strategies. But evangelism in a post-Christendom, post-modern, complex culture may take on a very different form. We’d still want converts to maintain past connections as long as they are still involved in the discipling process that comes with ongoing meaningful interactions.
Belonging lies at the heart of the post-modern search and will open the door through which the Holy Spirit will do his work.
This past Friday (9/19), the White House rolled out a new pubic service campaign designed to reduce the incidence of rape on college campuses.
Called “It’s On Us“, it encourages all students but especially males to take responsibility for their peers. Encouraging people to report suspicious behavior, to watch alcohol consumption, to intervene if a situation looks predatory, and to never blame the victim. You can spread awareness by watching the celebrity videos or by buying the pictured t-shirt.
This, of course, is but the latest in a string of stories involving universities, even Christian ones, who have done a remarkably poor job of investigating cultures of abuse and exploitations on their campuses. For example, this (very long) story summarizes the protest of Columbia University student Emma Sulkowitz (she carries her mattress around campus) regarding the university’s lax treatment of her case. Senators McCaskill and Gillibrand introduced legislation raising stiff penalties for institutions that do not properly investigate rape accusations or take pro-active steps to clarify expectations of safe behavior.
Last month, California became the first state to officially adopt a “yes means yes” law. It changes the legal rape threshold from requiring the victim to have clearly stated “no” to requiring someone to give affirmation before consensual sex is assumed. Other college campuses have adopted similar standards on their own.
These attempts, as commendable as they are, seem such a minor challenge to a culture that sees hooking up as a natural part of the college experience. Where Rush Limbaugh can say “no means yes when you know how to spot it“. Where we have national outrage at athletes who beat their fiancees or children. Where alcohol is the major source of entertainment (check out the retrograde Miller Lite commercials now showing on your favorite football game).
Christian colleges deal with these situations as well. Thankfully, they are more rare but are just as challenging to respond to. The institution needs to act quickly to deal with the victim’s situation while protecting the due process rights and reputation of the accused. It’s hard to find the right balance when we’re responding after the fact and trying to maintain a sense of belonging within the community.
Trying to deal with rape culture without dealing with the underlying dynamics of relationships, sex, and alcohol is likely to fail. It’s equivalent to trying to eradicate drunk driving by primarily focusing on enforcement or well-meaning “designated driver” campaigns.
We need to change the culture of relationships.
That’s why I’ve been encouraged by a series of blog posts that Dan Brennan has been crafting. Stemming from his book, Sacred Unions, Sacred Passions: Engaging the Mystery of Friendship Between Men and Women, Dan has been exploring the nature of cross-gender friendship. In a recent post, Dan wrote the following:
One of the deepest attractions toward God’s presence in what I am calling a differentiated openness is the call for men and women to share the fullness of relational life in deep, resilient, authentic connection yet remain their distinct individual selves.
Differentiation does not diminish the full dignity, uniqueness, and responsibility of each individual; nor does it diminish the profound togetherness of significant and important people who are closest to us. That’s precisely why a differentiated openness provides such hope and deep healing in a big picture kind of way for friendship beyond sexual attraction.
One of the critical dynamics of university life is the development of personal relationships. Not for utilitarian reasons or even discovering potential mates, but to build true community.
Christian colleges have their own challenges on this front. There are too many conversations, even if light-hearted, about finding one’s mate during freshman orientation, about MRS degrees, about pairing up (which is tough with 60 females for every 40 males). This isn’t just something from years long ago, as this piece about “Dateship” illustrates.
Add to this the lingering effects of purity/modesty culture within the evangelical church. There are many excellent reflections by bloggers describing the way these teachings can actually raise the focus on sexuality (this piece by Rachel Marie Stone as a good example.). By trying to protect our young people from sexual temptation, we may inadvertently be raising relationship building to a higher level than necessary.
Somehow, the culture of Christian colleges needs to mirror what Dan Brennan is calling for and avoid settling for a toned down version of the hook up dynamics of popular culture.
And so I was encouraged this month to read the Welcome Freshmen issue of the Spring Arbor Pulse (the student paper). In an article of good guidelines written by Tania Parsons (who had been a freshman student in my Intro to Soc class), freshmen were encouraged NOT TO DATE during the freshman year. Why? In order to actually get to know classmates as real people not as potential mates. To learn to treat each other as God’s creations who are pursuing a particular path of obedience to God’s leading. Here’s what she wrote:
This is your time to get to know people and make friends, not concentrate on finding your soulmate. You’re starting off on your own. Get to know yourself and your interests, passions and needs before you get to know another person. And no, you are not the exception.
As I wrote back in June, seeing ourselves as part of another person’s story prevents us from seeing them as a potential conquest or even a lifelong mate. We’d see them first as fellow members of the community.
Rape culture cannot survive in a community committed to seeing all individuals pursue God’s full vision for their future.
It’s been six weeks since Officer Darren Wilson shot Michael Brown, Jr. in Ferguson, Missouri. The intervening weeks have told us much about issues of race in America, little of it good. Media coverage of the protests were mixed at best and not able to get to real grievances (perhaps because the media wound up in the middle of the story for awhile). Autopsies were performed, eyewitness testimony was reviewed, and a grand jury has been established. For a variety of reasons common to situations like Ferguson, it’s fairly unlikely that there will be any outcome that will satisfy those following the story.
I keep following the stories. They are heartbreaking on many levels. They’ve also provided excellent teaching material. I opened my Spirituality, Faith, and Justice class two weeks ago reflecting on Ferguson. I divided the story into three levels: the shooting, the protests, and the larger structural backdrop.
This past week we celebrated Constitution Day at Spring Arbor by showing the documentary Freedom Riders (you can watch the whole thing on the PBS website here). It’s the story of a group of students: black and white, male and female, who decided to ride interstate buses (Greyhound and Trailways) into the deep south in 1961. My American History colleague Mark Edwards debriefed the film and talked about the significance of the 14th amendment extending the bill of rights to the state (as well as guaranteeing due process) regardless of race, gender, or religion. I talked about the Bill of Rights and how aspects of the Ferguson situation appeared to infringe on at least half of those 10 amendments (first, fourth, fifth, sixth, and eighth).
But the movie underscored something I’ve been pondering for awhile: our focus on individual racism continually distracts us from institutional racism.
The Riders were going in to the South specifically to engage in civil disobedience against Jim Crow laws. At the time, bus station waiting areas were segregated with clear signage stipulating white waiting areas from colored waiting areas. A Supreme Court decision declared segregated buses unconstitutional but the decision had been ignored in the south. The riders would also sit in restaurants with blacks and whites at the same table. Their task was to expose the institutional racism that was rampant in the deep South.
When they get to Anniston, AL, one of the buses is surrounded by an angry mob who then firebomb the bus. The other bus gets to Birmingham and there is a violent attack with men and women beaten with fists, bats, and chains. The anger and racial animosity from the attackers is overwhelming. The media is outraged (there’s a remarkable newsreel from Russia condemning America complicity) and the Kennedy administration reluctantly gets involved.
After the violence, the original bus riders return home. But they are replaced by a new group from Nashville. Their story is even more fascinating as they are first trapped in a church in Montgomery, and then are arrested in Jackson, MS and immediately put into prison. More and more people come to Jackson just to be arrested and imprisoned to point out the lack of legal recourse and thereby force change.
The most vivid images are those of angry bigots and self-serving political figures “protecting their culture”. It’s harder to see the legal system that was bent to protect their interests.
Which brings me back to Ferguson. As I have written, we seem to fixate on the motives of individuals. Was Officer Wilson reasonably responding or singling out Michael Brown? Was Brown a thug who didn’t respect authority? Can you trust the eyewitnesses? Are the prosecutor’s motives in question?
This is also the dynamic when we interact about Ferguson on social media. Share the Facebook post raising questions about the distance between Wilson and Brown or the video of the construction workers, and there’s a chance your grandmother will post on your wall that Wilson acted honorably and you should be ashamed of suggesting he was a racist.
Then you get the standard meme of someone misquoting Martin Luther King’s Dream speech by suggesting that we should all just judge people on the content of their character. Or the person who asks the inevitable black-on-black crime question. Or the one who starts talking about challenges in black families.
Point out that these are the wrong questions and the speaker will act like you’ve called them a bigot. They will get defensive and shift blame to something else. And if you push back, you’ll get a response that they aren’t racist but simply refuse to be politically correct.
So I have a proposal. Nobody is a racist or a bigot for the next five years.
Ask any question you want. Make any statement you want. I will not raise doubts about your commitment to racial harmony. I won’t police your language or tell you that I don’t appreciate your joke. Have at it.
You aren’t a racist — at least until 2019.
But it’s not a completely free pass…
For the next five years we will only talk about institutional racism.
We will talk about the kinds of structural inequities that Ta-Nehisi Coates described in The Case For Reparations. We will talk about Michelle Alexander’s The New Jim Crow and the impact of non-representative incarceration. We will talk about the issues of educational quality raised in the sociological study The Long Shadow (that I just started) which shows the barriers to advancement experienced by a sample of school children in Baltimore as they grow to adulthood. We will talk of political representation and equal opportunity to cast ballots in elections. We will talk about differential enforcement of laws and police departments treating neighborhoods as militarized zones. We will talk about a shifting economy that leaves behind segments of the population. We will talk about the linkages between suburbanization and urban decline. We will talk about government programs that do harm to black communities in the guise of providing assistance. We will talk about gangs and drugs and the challenge of local neighborhoods.
As I’ve written before, King’s Dream speech has a tremendous laundry list of institutional wrongs. It was only as those were addressed that we get to the children holding hands and singing Free at Last.
Like the Freedom Riders, we need to pay attention to the important things: legal structures, legitimated practices, economic incentives and disincentives. Maybe if we pay attention to these issues for five years we can begin to make some change without seeking to charge people with prejudice or bigotry. Maybe, just maybe, if those folks really understand the difference institutional racism makes, they will be less likely to hold on to their judgmental attitudes.
Yesterday I finished Matthew Paul Turner’s new book, Our Great Big American God. It purports to be a biography of God in America. Through most of the book, one gets the idea that God is a taken-for-granted character supporting those around whom the story revolves. The character that seems to be behind everything but always interpreted by others, like Nick Fury to the Avengers.
So in reality, God is only visible in the book through the explanations of the main characters, who themselves only got a quick glimpse of God that fit their understanding of their world at the time. It’s like looking though the kaleidoscope I had as a child. You look through the tube and see an interesting design. A simple turn of the little lens at the end shifted the image and gave rise to an entirely different design. There is little coherence between one and another. So it appears to be with America’s understanding of God.
Turner picks up astutely on the ways in which Americans from William Bradford to Walter Rauschenbusch to Jerry Falwell read God into their work. It’s not that they were using God, exactly. They just only saw one pattern. And that pattern seemed to remarkably fit where their own interests lie. Abraham Lincoln’s caution that we should try to find ourselves on God’s side rather than wanting God on our side was lost on many American religious leaders throughout history.
The Puritans had a harsh God that was impossible to please, which was okay as long as you were one of the elect in spite of your depravity. The kaleidoscope shifts and we begin to focus on a God that speaks directly to people (even women!). Then a great awakening comes to America and Jesus moves to the forefront. Methodism likes the kaleidoscope pattern that best relates to westward expansion and circuit riding preachers. There are different patterns in North and South during the civil war (and for decades afterward). The Fundamentalists tried to hold their pattern in place against a shifting civil society. The Pentecostals brought a new patterns, introducing spectacle and celebrity. The political evangelicalism of the of the 1980s through recent years read a pattern that called for them to act because God needed their help.
There is great history in the book. If you read the endnotes, you’ll find citations from some of the best religious historians around: George Marsden, Thomas Kidd, Mark Noll, Stephen Prothero. In the last year I’ve read Robert McKenzie’s The First Thanksgiving, Molly Worthen’s Apostles of Reason (on the rise of evangelicalism), and Randall Balmer’s biography of Jimmy Carter, Redeemer. All of these books, plus others I’ve read tell similar stories to what Turner shares in this little book. In other words, his history is solid even if understandably abbreviated.
The writing style is a combination of Sarah Vowell and Kurt Vonnegut; wry, slightly irreverent, managing social commentary while quietly admiring the intent of the actors in the story (for the most part). It made me miss the days when I faithfully read The Wittenberg Door.
What’s surprising about the book is that it’s more than a funny read of issues in American religion. Pay attention and you find a deep analysis of the dangers of syncretism and civil religion. It’s what happens when we pay more attention to ourselves and our own religious systems that we do to the God who is acting in our midst.
The book also provides something of an atlas to the contemporary issues in American Evangelicalism. The kaleidoscope patterns that defined early groups can still be found in today’s expression. While Turner helps connect those dots along the way, it’s pretty easy to see how the varied strands of religious expression continue to take shape.
Yes, the book is a light-hearted look at the way we think about God in America. But more than that, it’s about how people wrestle to make sense of the incomprehensibility of the Creator and Sustainer of the Universe. It calls out those who would reduce that God to a product to be managed (which he characterizes as GOD®) and requires us to maintain an appropriate intellectual humility.
Maybe then we can understand the story that God is actually writing rather than the patterns we think we see.
I’ve been following the stories out of Ferguson, MO closely over the last two weeks since Michael Brown was shot by officer Darren Wilson. There have been many articles written about racial profiling, justice, “White privilege”, and the militarization of police. The cable news media eventually decided there were stories to tell and devoted hours of first-person coverage (which, as Conrad Hackett observes was three days after the shooting and after one million tweets had crossed the internet).
The Pew Research Center asked if the Ferguson story was “raising important issues about race” or that “race was getting too much attention”. They found that nearly half of whites (47%) thought that race was getting too much attention (with just over a third opting for “raising issues”). Conversely, 80% of blacks said that these were important issues compared to 18% saying “too much attention”. My social media feed reflects these sentiments fairly well, although it probably skews a little more toward the issues side. As I’ve read comment threads on Facebook, I find that many commenters are struggling to understand what the issues are and may in some ways be misreading the issues. So I decided to write this letter.
I’ve been paying attention to the comments you’ve made about the events in Ferguson, pondered the questions you’ve raised, and thought quite a bit about how to respond in ways that don’t sound like name-calling. We have way too much of that as it is.
I’ve heard you refute claims that Officer Darren Wilson is a racist. I think it is quite probable that he isn’t a racist. In fact, that is the problem.
If Officer Wilson were a racist (apparently like his colleague who pushed CNN’s Don Lemon), we could chalk it up to a bad actor, have a conduct hearing, and remove him from the force. If he went out of his way to brutally attack an 18-year-old young man, there would be clear cause for disciplinary action (the civil rights investigation will likely focus on the disproportionality of his response). But Officer Wilson was doing his job. That is the source of the frustration.
When a regular part of his serve and protect duty requires him to see a jaywalking black young man as a potential threat, there is a problem. When an altercation ensues with the hotheaded young man, it is seen as potentially life-threatening for the officer who may then respond with a resort to deadly force. It’s not the deadly force that is the problem, it’s the combination of factors that made that seem like the right option to pursue.
When you refer to Michael Brown as “a thug”, because that’s the label we use for young men who get in trouble with the police, that is part of the problem. Because we wind up generalizing from sketchy evidence and presuming guilt. It leads us to the presumption that somehow his bad behavior meant that deserved to be shot six times. It’s not that he’s an innocent. It’s that he reinforces images from entertainment media and allows us to use them as self-justifying descriptions of what went on. That’s why it’s so hard to hear stories like those of Pastor Leonce Crump (shared by Ed Stetzer here and here): they don’t align with our preconceptions. Why is it that a minister of the gospel has been stopped by police while walking or driving almost annually since he was 15. At 34, that’s over half his life. But there are factors that cause us to associate violent crime with large black men, so the stereotype is justified.The police officers who pulled Rev. Crump over were probably not racist. And that is the problem.
The protests in Ferguson were seen as a source of threat to the newly militarized police force. Concern over looters (who some have suggested “deserve to be shot”) creates a situation where the police mobilized with the worse case scenario in mind. Their concern over individual agitators might be rational but the vast majority of the protestors were exactly that, protestors . There was no way to isolate the troublemakers from the regular protestors. So everyone faced MRAPs, flash bangs, and tear gas. And that is the problem.
Some of you have suggested that we focus on white on black violence without being concerned about black on black violence. We should be trying to curb violent responses in any situation but instead we try to figure out who’s situation is worse (here’s a hint: it’s white on white). Our entertainment media celebrates street violence with bigger and bigger weapons. Our political establishment is so concerned about infringement of second amendment rights that it blocks any reasoned attempt at limiting firepower. Is it any wonder that police departments see value in larger and more effective military weaponry? But the problem isn’t white on black violence — it’s power on powerless violence. The concern in Ferguson may be worse because it was a white officer who did the shooting, but the issue would still be there had the officer been black.
Some have focused on opportunists who see turmoil as an avenue for anarchy or for looting business or for celebrity grandstanding. There is certainly some of that. But our interaction with cultures other than our own, especially in light of increasing residential segregation, feeds those possibilities. Philadelphia police commissioner Charles Ramsey spoke to the issue of assumptions about neighborhoods on NPR this week. He described why he insists his officers walk the beat in the neighborhood.
All of the recruits that graduate from our police academy start off on foot patrol in areas of our city that have a high concentration of crime being committed in public space. Now it does a couple things. One, it does have an impact on crime. Temple University did a study here that showed a 22 percent decline in crime in the areas where we establish foot patrol. But more important than that, it teaches them at a very early age that there are more decent law-abiding citizens living in that challenged neighborhood than there are criminals or people causing problems. You don’t get that when you’re driving 30 miles an hour in a Crown Vic down a street. You do get it when you’re walking down a street and you have a chance to interact with everyday people on a positive note (emphasis mine).
Some have argued that the real problems among urban blacks is one of culture. Quoting libertarian social economists like Thomas Sowell, they pick up the “culture of dependency”, or “lack of male role models” or gang culture in general. As Commissioner Ramsey points out, one can find evidence of these factors but not everywhere. There are far more supportive black families in the city than we might believe. That we so easily think otherwise, whether by wanting them to clean up their neighborhood or by passing liberal policies based on deprivation models, is part of the problem.
Over sixty years ago, sociologist Robert Merton constructed a typology using the relationship between prejudice and discrimination. It’s summarized in the follow chart.
I don’t like the terms “bigot” and “liberal” in the typology, but that’s what Merton called them. But his typology is still helpful. I’m not really concerned about the cell in the upper left. Such folks are deserving recipients of social disapproval. Their comments (like those after the Miss America selection) are rightfully denounced by others. The upper right category is what we see pop up on Facebook, Twitter, or Comment sections of articles. People who wouldn’t say anything prejudicial in public feel free to do so with the relative anonymity of the internet.
It’s the bottom left category that is interesting to me. That is where people live their lives in ways that perpetuate discriminatory practice.
Not by intention but by inattention. Failing to see how their lives differ from others makes it easier to see their lives as “normal” and let systems perpetuate themselves. I’m honestly not sure there’s anybody in the bottom right category.
My friend Karen Swallow Prior has been encouraging people to read Maya Angelou’s first autobiography, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. Karen argues that this book does an excellent job of demonstrating the structural issues involved with race, the ways that people’s lives are influenced by the color of their skin and the discriminatory practices that accompanied that distinction.
As it happens, I finished Caged Bird the day before Michael Brown was shot. We were reading it for a book group I was part of in Portland. The early part of the book takes place in the late 1930s in cotton country Arkansas. But the structural difference between what whitefolks (as she put it) could do and blackfolks could do was gut wrenching. That was 20 years before Brown v. Board and 30 years before the voting rights act. But lay Angelou’s book from the 30s and 40s alongside Ta-Nehisi Coates article on reparations in The Atlantic and you see a stunning consistency over time.
This is the real issue with Ferguson. It’s that patterns of structure in which people find themselves create the kinds of animosities and cognitive assumptions that take a confrontation between a young man and a public service officer and make them symbols of everything that has constrained part of the population for literally generations. We talk about “white privilege” but that privilege is really the freedom not to worry about these larger structural concerns. Many of the folks in Ferguson and neighborhoods like it don’t have that freedom.
I apologize for those who have called you insensitive or bigots. I understand that you want to wait on the complexity of the situation to be resolved. But at the end of the day, the folks in Ferguson need you to acknowledge that their situation is different than yours. Not because they’re deviant but because of things beyond their control and beyond yours and beyond mine. The only solution to moving outside the lower left quadrant of Merton’s typology is to acknowledge the discrimination that is experienced and work to alleviate it.
Finally, let me acknowledge that I’ve spent far too much time in the lower-left quadrant myself. As a sociologist, I know what the stakes are but don’t do enough to change those structural dynamics I do control. After Ferguson and New York City and St. Louis and LA, that must change. For me and for all of us.
So what can we do? Consider these words yesterday from the President of the Evangelical Covenant Church (see full statement here):
I thank God for gracious, courageous, and persevering friends. The letter is a call to all of us to join God in seeking redemptive purposes out of the pain of Ferguson. We begin with prayer: for Michael Brown’s family; for police officer Darren Wilson and family; for the witness and intervention of churches in Ferguson; for normalcy in the streets and progress in community reform; for Covenant churches in the region ministering through the complexities. But going forward we will best be God’s agents as our hearts remain pliable to seeing things more clearly, feeling things more deeply, and acting more resolutely. That happens when we continue to call out the best in one another and walk with one another into the harsh realities of a fallen world . Yes, we’re in it together.
I was in Canada when the news of Michael Brown’s shooting in Ferguson broke on my media feed. I was aware of the rough outlines of the story, thanks to updates and retweets by many friends on twitter. I haven’t actually watched any mainstream media coverage as it tends to make me pull my hair out. So my information comes inductively from the internet, primarily from progressive and POC friends. Other voices seemed silent.
I’m not the only one to notice this pattern. Yesterday, my friend Ryan Thomas Neace wrote “From One Middle-Class White Person to Another: Why We Struggle to Get It.” He talks of the isolation we have from those different than ourselves. More importantly, he describes the differing realities the issues of race and class construct in American Society:
As a middle-class, white person, the fact that I have to try to imagine what it would’ve been like if a police officer rolled through my neighborhood and shot me or one of my teenage friends is telling in itself. It means I do not have a frame of reference or standard of comparison from which I can draw to construct Mike Brown’s story in my own life.
As Ryan argues, we’re far more likely to expect Officer Friendly to come visit our classrooms than to see an Officer as Potential Threat.
As I reflected on Ryan’s post, I found myself thinking of Alan Noble’s Atlantic article on Evangelical Persecution. Alan’s thoughts are further elaborated in an interview he gave with American Baptist Press (along with others). It’s evident that American Christians do not know persecution when compared with Christians in other countries like Iraq. (By the way, we should be as concerned about Shia on Sunni violence as we are Isis on Christian — we don’t just root for our team when it comes to justice.)
Still, the persecution mythology is alive in many quarters. A little bit of internet research finds cases where local police departments come and arrest pastors “in front of terrified church congregants”. The story explains that the arrests were staged and that the pastors were arrested for “defending the faith”. They would then be put on trial and have to prove they were REAL Christians. Add to this the fear that the state would FORCE pastors to marry same-sex couples. Or that THEY want to take away our rights to worship as we please. Then there are all the isolated stories of uninformed school teachers or principals who put limits on student expression or the local zoning commission who interferes with a house church.
In all these cases, it is secular authorities set against the religious faithful. The religious faithful must remain true to God regardless of circumstances and in spite of the fact that they no longer believe in the legitimacy of the state apparatus.
To pick up Ryan’s question, “we fail to get it” on one level because we have to try to imagine scenarios where we’re oppressed by officials of the state. But for those worried about religious persecution from secularism, we have imagined it all too well.
The people protesting in Ferguson have been living the imagined persecution scenario for a long time.
They know what it’s like to be arbitrarily picked out and subject to intrusive questioning with an assumption of “guilty until we determine otherwise”. This is the reality behind Driving While Black, New York’s Stop and Frisk practice, differential drug sentencing, and the like. Not for everyone, of course. But for enough friends and relatives for everyone to have the knowledge of the possibility.
I have never seen a line like this. But folks in the protests in Ferguson received training in how to stand non-provocatively. Not all got the message. Some isolated shots were fired. Stores were looted. But the overwhelming majority of protestors in Ferguson did none of those things. They stood for justice. The expressed their rights to freedom of assembly and freedom of speech. They cleaned up storefronts that had been damaged the night before.
They did these things precisely because they have doubts about the legitimacy and altruism of the police force and the state government. They know that the scales are tipped against them and that self-control is essential when confronting that imbalance.
A year ago, the Pew Research Center did a study of attitudes toward institutional arenas when it came to issues of race. Blacks and Whites in urban, suburban, and rural areas were asked if certain institutions were less fair toward Blacks than Whites. Institutional arenas were from police, courts, work, stores, schools, health care, and voting. The chart below summarizes the perceptions across all institutional arenas (scores range from zero institutions discriminating to seven).
Only 1 in 10 urban Blacks thought there was no institutional discrimination compared to nearly half of all suburban Whites.
This, as Ryan observes, is what we don’t get. For us, the institutions work as intended. For “them”, they cannot begin with such assumptions — the world is just too dangerous.
We like to imagine scenarios that have the state calling us out for our faith as a badge of our faithfulness. The citizens of Ferguson know too well that the state calls people out regardless of their motives or their faith but because of their race, class, and neighborhood.
Too often, the coverage of events like Ferguson seems to be looking for ways of justifying the legitimacy of the state’s action. That’s why news sources post troubling photos (check out the hashtag #IfIWasGunnedDown to see how this happens) and use words like “thugs” to make sure that we have good cops acting against bad actors.
As I was finishing this post, Christena Cleveland added this remarkable piece: The Cross and The Molotov Cocktail. Here’s a paragraph that puts the Pew data in its visceral context:
As someone who has walked alongside black men, witnessed their suffering firsthand, lamented with them and fought for justice with them, I can see why black men who have lived under the oppressive boot of society for their entire lives would decide to stop turning the other cheek, to refuse to see the police as anything other than the Red Coats, and to reject “respectability.”
If we were to face serious persecution as evangelicals (as unlikely as that is in our contemporary environment), you can be sure that there wouldn’t be pictures of happy families accompanying the roundups. You can be sure that we would be called names and marginalized in hundreds of ways. It is certain that we’d have little recourse against the power of the state with all of its hardware and assumed legitimacy.
Maybe we need to identify with the protestors in Ferguson to see what it means to stand for justice.