An Inadequate Apology

Sister, brother. I owe you an apology. 

I am so sorry.

You know me, and you know my heart. You know that I love to celebrate with you, and study with you, and preach with you, and to be your friend. I pray for you every day. 

You know that when you dance, I will be dancing right beside you. When you laugh, I hope that I'm the one who started it. When you study for tests, I'll sit at the table with you and study with you. But I'm afraid you also know that when you grieve, I grieve behind you. 

It's not that I don't like you, because I do. It's not that I don't love you, because I do. It's not that I don't believe that you deserve everything that I have, and more, because I do. 

You deserve the world.

But I haven't done my part to show others that I believe these things. Yes, I've stood in my pulpit and preached that racism is alive and real, and that we are all culprits. Yes, I have cried with you and stood with you and my heart has broken for you over and over again. 

Yet, I will never know your pain. I will never know the depths of your heartache, because I am a white, privileged, wealthy female. I feel hurt when men expect that I have and know less than they, or when they do not trust my opinions or authority; these experiences are few and far between compared to the times you have been slighted because of the color of your skin. 

On the night after the 15-year old black young woman was forced to the ground by a police officer in a city I know well, I was pulled over for speeding close to my home. I responded respectfully, and the officer took my information and sent me away without as much as a warning. I wept in my car for the black young men who have such a different experience from mine, and for the men and women who have been hurt by our political and justice systems. But I didn't tell you about it, because I was too scared. Honestly, I was embarrassed to admit that my privilege is a real monster of a thing that allows me to trick myself into believing that I'm better than I am.

I now know that speaking up isn't enough. I owe you more than that. 

Because of my privilege, I am so far removed from your pain and suffering and the times that you have been slighted and looked down on and passed up for opportunities because of the color of your skin. I have tricked myself into believing that simply SAYING that I am not a racist is enough. Simply SAYING that I love you is not enough. Simply SAYING that you deserve to have everything that I have and more, because you are beautiful and smart and passionate and a child of God is not enough. 

Here's the thing that really has thrown me for a loop.

The shooting in Charleston, in my opinion, was absolutely an act of racial terrorism. The hate that motivated the man who shot and killed 9 church goers cannot be isolated to an incident of mental illness. This is the result of systemic hate that is pervasive in our system. It is heartbreaking and wrong. 

But the bigger issue here is that we can call that racism more easily than we can other situations. We, as a community, are operating from an old definition of racism which no longer holds itself up. Yes, racism is evil and wrong and horrible and opposite of God's dream for the world. But we cannot stop there. That racism is big and ugly. But the racism that has MY hands and feet bound is much more manipulative and covert. No, we don't tar and feather black people anymore. But we (I!) allow men and women with "black sounding" names to frequently lose out on job opportunities to people with "white sounding" names. We (I!) hold our purses tighter when we pass black men who dress a certain way. We (I!) say that we are hurting when our black brothers and sisters grieve, but I stand behind you because our reality is so far removed from your heartache. 

I could go on forever about how this racism of complacency that is seeping between the cracks in our country is deeper than most white people would admit. I could write paragraphs about the ways that I have participated in keeping my black brothers and sisters back. 

But I'll spare you these confessions, because they are not for you; these confessions would simply be the result of a white woman trying to feel better about the way she treats her black sisters and brothers. That is inadequate and selfish. 

I have been listening. I have been praying. I know that these things are not enough. 

I am sorry. Painfully, wholeheartedly, desperately sorry. And I will no longer be silent. I will stand with you and for you. I will continue to pray, but not just with my words--I will pray with my actions and my life so that in our lifetime we might see glimpses of God's dream for justice, for equality, for reconciliation, for the world. 

Living the...Dream

I have always found pride in the fact that I am typically considered a pretty authentic person, especially in ministry. I work really hard to be sure that I have what some people call a "consistent character."

My friends who know me best might disagree; seeing as they've seen me at my hangriest, that's probably fair. I'm a walking Snickers commercial.

Anyway.

When I started working at the church in which I currently serve, I worked really hard to have that "consistency of character." I wanted to be sure that I was (relatively) transparent, and that people were able to see that I am 100% pastor and also 100% human. To me, this means silly stories, random dance parties, constant encouragement, and usually complaining about my pants being too tight. Of course, it takes some time to break into the system of a new church. There are a lot of relationships that have to be tended to before you become "one of them" instead of "the new girl."

One day about a month after I began work at this church (and while I was still the new girl), the weather turned really ugly. My boss recommended that we just stay in the safe parts of the office until it passed. The rain was coming in sideways, the thunder was like putting your head between two roaring timpani, and the lightning made you sure that you were going to be struck next. When the tornado warnings starting rolling in, that's when people started calling. 

"Oh hey (insert name of family member or friend here). Yes, I'm at work. Yes, the weather is pretty ugly. Yes, I'm fine. Yes, I'll keep you posted."

Eventually, those calls got boring. As a self proclaimed life-shaker-upper, I started getting silly with my responses.

As several members of the church staff sat in the front office, we all continued to answer our phones, to check the forecast, and to nervously laugh with each other about the fact that we were supposed to be closed 20 minutes before.

When one of my friends called while we were all sitting together, and shortly after I attempted to run to my car to get my rain boots (yes, I know they don't help me if they are in the car. Yes, I learned this the hard way), I answered in pretty typical fashion.

Me: Hiya! What's up?

Them: Hey! Are you okay! I saw the weather reports and it says that it's really bad out there. How are you?!

Me: Oh, you know, we are just living the dream out here! It's a wet dream, but it's great!

Silence.

I, Jenna Morrison, the new Associate Pastor, just told a person on the phone that we were living the wet dream in front of my staff. 

Mortified. 

Distraught.

Embarrassed.

Afraid.

These were all the emotions I experienced as my eyes darted around the room; no one said a word.

They just stared.

And stared.

And stared.

I nervously scanned the room, certain that I was about to lose my job.

For about two seconds (I mean, it felt like two years, y'all).

And then it happened.

She laughed. 

Not just a chuckle, but a guffaw. A belly laugh. A laugh that spread like wildfire around the room. 

I hung up the phone as the tears started flowing. 

Like the rain, of course.

I don't want to take all the credit, but the weather lightened up shortly after that.

You're welcome.

Journey into 2015

Welp. It's that time of year again...about the time that people are beginning to abandon their New Years Resolutions. I, personally, have never been great at resolutions because I make them all year 'round. Sometimes they stick, but mostly I just wind up feeling bad about myself when I don't get that far.

For me, 2015 began as could be expected: with the declaration that this year will be "THE YEAR OF JENNA!" You know, the year that I do all of the things that make me happy, whether that includes a pint of ice cream for dinner or training for a 5k. Or going to see a spur of the moment show, or staying at home in my onesie all day, or dying my hair an outlandish color, or painting my nails with sparkles. I just set out to be the best, most content version of myself that I could be. 

Usually, this version does not include early morning workouts, because mornings make me grumpy. Or lots of salads, because they take too long to make fresh. This version instead, tends to include lots of laughing at myself and being surrounded by friends. Buying tickets to see every concert and show possible. Making spontaneous plans to see friends. You know, the works. 

But last week, I got crazy. 

"What would it look like if you stopped eating out for as long as possible, Jenna?" I thought to myself. "How long could you make it without Sonic?!"

Let's be real. I lasted less than 24 hours. 

I freaking love Sonic. 

I worry that many of us, especially women, are programmed to believe that this kind of behavior should cause us shame. We immediately feel guilty about our inability to say "no" or control our impulses. We know that Route 44 Vanilla Coke Zeros aren't the best for our diets, and so when we cave (after less than 24 hours) in order to avoid an emotional meltdown over something we have no control over, we feel terrible about it! 

It breaks my heart that somewhere along the way, someone has taught us that we should feel like this--the shame, the guilt, the worry over something so small. It feels like someone takes those pieces and stomps on them repeatedly when I realize that there are people who are made to feel this way by the church on a regular basis. Instead of seeing the successes, some church somewhere has taught a person that she is defined by her weaknesses, her failures, her insecurities. 

Well, people, I need to be reminded.

It's 2015! THE YEAR OF JENNA! The year that I will work my hardest to help others see their worth through my eyes, and hopefully the eyes of Christ. Because it's not my weight, willpower, hair color, or the number of friends who define me, or my faith. Not even the broken church can define me and my success, or my worth. The things that define me are my deep-rooted desire to help others see and reach their potential, my willingness to share (even my Sonic grilled cheese with bacon), my valiant attempts to be a good listener, my ability to hold onto the joy when life really seems to blow, my constant hope and prayer that the world might know healing.

It's my choice to live life in yellow: not muted grays and cloudy creams, but in bright, vibrant yellows. 

It's 2015! YOUR YEAR! The things that define you are not your failures or your outward appearance. You are not defined my another's perception of you, or your ability (or inability) to keep up with a resolution. The things that define you are the deep love for you from your God, your love of others, and your constant working out the kinks in your own life. It's your hope, and your joy, and your desire to care for others that defines you, not your fear.

It's your choice to live life in yellow: not muted grays and cloudy creams, but in bright, vibrant yellows.

I hope you can hold on to that when the emotional meltdowns are heading your way and you're parked in the stall at Sonic. That's what I choose. So drink up, and enjoy! 

Welcome to 2015!