More Reflections on Race and Leadership

Ten years ago this weekend I made a significant leadership mistake. James Byrd had just been killed in a hate crime by three white supremacists in Jasper, Texas. I don’t exactly remember the timing of this terrible event, but I do know that when I showed up on the Sunday following it, that I didn’t pray or preach about it. I didn’t do anything with it. I remembered driving to Palmer on that Sunday thinking about what to do, what to say, but nothing came to me. I felt overwhelmed. I felt angry. I felt repulsion. But, again, I didn’t do anything because I didn’t exactly know what to do.

After service two women, both of whom were black, came up to me with tears in their eyes and anger in their voices. Both of them were disappointed with me, with us, that no mention of this crime was mentioned. Both of them questioned whether Palmer could be their home after this omission. Even though I apologized to them on that morning and even though I did so in writing that week, that moment has lingered with me for ten years. I was reminded of “missing the mark” on my own leadership in the articles that came out this past week, and I hope and pray that I never make that mistake again. When the Columbia blew up, we dealt with it. When 9/11 happened, we dealt with it. When Katrina happened, we dealt with it. When the church does not deal with such events, we’re not being faithful. We are not called to be a holy huddle, shielding ourselves from the world. We are called to be aware of what is going on around us and we are challenged to then make theological and spiritual sense of these events. And even if we cannot always make sense of what goes on—like with Katrina—we are called to pray for what is going on, trusting that our praying makes a difference. What I learned from those two women is that when a calamity or tragedy or crime of this kind of magnitude happen, something, anything, needs to be said, even if you don’t exactly know what to do or what to say. Do something. Don’t flinch. Don’t wait for the perfect words or the perfect plan. It would have been enough for me to acknowledge the event, to pray for James Byrd’s soul, to pray for the people of Jasper, and to pray for the life and soul of this nation, of all nations, that hate crimes everywhere would cease.

One way that I can do penance (and yes, I do believe in doing penances) is to confess to all of you how I felt like I let you down 10 years ago. Another way that I can do penance is to invite you to watch a documentary on Episcopalians’ role in the slave trade which will be airing this month, titled “ Traces of the Trade: A Story From the Deep North." I saw some excerpts of this film at the last General Convention (it was still in production), and I will say that I was very sad and aggrieved about the role that certain families of the Episcopal faith had in the slave trade. For instance, the DeWolf family of Rhode Island was the largest slave-trading family in early America. More than 10,000 slaves came here in the holds of their ships. Among the DeWolf lineage were several bishops, one presiding bishop, and many priests.

I knew very well one of those descendents. His name was Halsey DeWolf Howe, and he was the first person who wrote to congratulate me on being called as rector to the last parish where I was privileged to serve. He was a priest who had served all over New
England, and he had just retired to the small town where I had just been called. Halsey and I became very good friends, and he soon came onto the staff at St. Peter’s. I wish I could say that Halsey and I had talked about his ancestors, but we didn’t. I had no idea that his family had such a history.

For Halsey’s sake, for I am sure that this documentary would be deeply disturbing and embarrassing to him, and I am glad that he is no longer here on this earth. For our sake, though, I would ask us to watch this documentary ourselves.

In a recent sermon, I talked about how all racism is sin. I also talked about how we can—even with the best of intentions and with the best of beliefs—indulge in racism ourselves. In subtle ways. Unconscious ways. And then I gave an example of how I had recently done it myself at a store with someone who didn’t understand me not because they were dumb, but because we spoke different languages.

All racism is sin because we are all made in God’s image and because we are all precious in his sight and because we all need each other and because something goes bad and ugly in our own hearts when we indulge in it and because we do harmful things to others when we allow it or embrace it or subscribe to it.

I am, again, sorry that I let you down, let those ladies down, let God down on that Sunday 10 years ago. I give thanks that we have a God of mercy and that we are about second chances. I do give thanks for the painful honesty of those women, however. I learned a lot on that Sunday. I learned that leadership means that we have to pay attention to the world, that we need to bring the world’s concerns and ills and joys into the church, and that we need to find ways to pray and address those issues, so that we can then enter back into the world better equipped to be salt and light and leaven to a world that needs our witness and presence.