When I was in grade school, my mother said my best friend, Tyra, could come over and play.
Mom was surprised, though, when I stepped off the school bus with a Black boy. I never had mentioned my friend’s race; his color didn’t matter to me.
In the years since, my mother has retold this story with pride. Though she had expected my best friend to be White, she and my father raised my brother, sister and me to believe that all of God’s children are created equal.
Through the years, I’ve shared how my grandparents brought busloads of Black children to their small White church in the early 1970s. Papa and Grandma did that — despite the outcry from some fellow Christians — because they wanted those boys and girls to learn about Jesus.
In my 15 years with The Christian Chronicle, my colleagues and I have worked hard to increase the diversity of our coverage and feature more Black voices and faces in our pages.
Until just recently, I felt pretty good about my efforts to love and embrace my Black brothers and sisters. I saw no need to dwell on concepts such as White privilege or systemic racism. In my mind, the civil rights battle had been fought in the 1960s.
But then George Floyd was killed.
I talked to Black Christians about the video of a White police officer pressing his knee against the Black suspect’s neck. I heard the pain in their voices as they recounted Floyd complaining, “I can’t breathe.” I listened as David Watkins III,minister for the Twin City Church of Christ in Texarkana, Texas, described an officer stopping him for speeding.
As a White man, I’d worry about getting a ticket.
Watkins — not to mention his 7-year-old son in the backseat — had a bigger concern when he saw the flashing lights.
