In 2020, I co-wrote a book with other pastors and scholars called, “I’m Black. I’m Christian. I’m Methodist.” Our book is an anthology that speaks to the African American experience in the United Methodist Church. In our book, I share formative experiences on race from my childhood growing up in southern Mississippi and I’d like to share a portion of what I wrote with you today. One thing I realized about my home as a child was that diversity and racial division coexisted there.
I was forced to live what WEB DuBois would call a life of double consciousness because of unspoken racial division. My schools were diverse, but I found myself placed in classes that were predominantly White. Several of my close friends were White as well. My experience of the church was quite different because my closest friends were Black. I was raised in my father’s predominantly Black United Methodist congregation. I saw the beauty in maintaining friendships amid the two very different worlds but wondered what would happen one day if my two worlds became one. I longed for this. I imagined what my Black friends might think of my White friends, and vice versa. Would they hit it off? Would they enjoy each other’s company just as much as I enjoyed theirs? My dream came true at my tenth birthday party in 1998. I invited my White friends from school and my Black friends from church to celebrate with me and I will never forget the joy of that day. My two worlds met and had a party. It was magical. I felt complete and fulfilled by that union.
While growing up, I saw diversity in many places except in the church. This dynamic led me to believe that church wasn’t the place for racial diversity. I was so wrapped up in the world that nurtured me to the point where I didn’t realize I was a part of a racially segregated institution. Worshipping among Black brothers and sisters was life giving. It was safe. It was a social norm that I felt no need to challenge, even while maintaining friendships with White children from school. This was simply the way things were supposed to be. It’s interesting how readily I accepted this as a child. No one ever told me that the church wasn’t the place for diversity, but I grew to believe it anyway. My father’s friendship with a White UMC pastor is what sparked the unraveling of my misunderstanding.
A pulpit exchange challenged my developing misconception that people of various racial backgrounds don’t worship together. My father’s friend served a predominantly White church a few miles away from ours. He and my dad desired to cultivate a worship experience that was a better representation of the true body of Christ. A few times a year, my father led worship at his friend’s church with our choir. Their church did the same.
I’ll never forget the first Sunday my father’s friend led worship at our church. I wasn’t made aware of this amazing, emerging new relationship, so one can imagine my confusion as I gazed upon the preacher, who was clearly not my father, and a choir whose faces didn’t resemble the faces I was accustomed to seeing.
To be honest with you, I was a little bit startled initially. It was a sight that I’d never seen before in church, and I didn’t know how to make sense of it. After worship, I found my father in his office. I whispered in confusion, “There were White people in our church.” He responded with laughter. “Yes, dear. There were. People of all racial backgrounds should worship together.” All of a sudden, my confusion seemed silly. After that pivotal moment in my childhood, I wondered why the church was not racially diverse. The years-long pulpit exchange helped me to realize that diversity in worship is indeed possible so why isn’t it common, I wondered. I struggled to understand this until much later in my life when I began my ministry journey.
What I learned, many years later is that the prevalent racial divide we see in the church has everything to do with the mainline church’s complicity in perpetuating racism. Once, the Methodist movement here in the US was diverse. Worship was diverse, class meetings were diverse but eventually societal shifts influenced how the church chose to navigate race.
The historical racism of the Methodist Episcopal Church points a straight line to the makeup of many of our churches today. Whether we realize this or not, many of our congregations are in fact, a byproduct of the church’s racist past.
Many initially understood Methodism as a movement that opened the door to all people regardless of gender, ethnicity, or class. Under Methodism, all Jesus followers became a part of the one body no matter who they were.
African Americans were drawn by the message of inclusiveness and by the late 1770s, hundreds of African Americans had become Methodists. Early Methodists were largely against slavery as well. This was another factor that made Methodism more appealing. The first book of discipline adopted in 1784, condemned slavery and prohibited members from owning slaves. If members had acquired slaves, they were given two years to free them.
But unfortunately, over time, Methodists’ values were compromised as they sought to gain more membership and establish more congregations in the South, where there was a greater interest in slavery. Over time classes became segregated, and conflicts arose between Black and White members over equality. “In 1792, At St. George’s Methodist Church in Philadelphia, angry ushers who expected Black members to approach the altar for prayer only after white members were finished praying, dragged leaders Richard Allen and Absalom Jones to their feet while at the altar.” On that particular day, they refused to “wait” to approach the altar for prayer. They were also denied communion until all of the White members had received the sacrament.
The most significant issue for Black Methodists concerned their rights to be leaders in the church. Several Black ministers, including Richard Allen, were ordained only as deacons. This was problematic because deacons were not permitted to administer the sacraments of baptism and communion, nor were they allowed to officiate at weddings. This led to schism between black and white Methodists, where many Black Methodists left the church and established their own predominantly Black congregations.
Then of course, the formation of the Central Jurisdiction was another blow to the strained relationship between Black and White Methodists. The Methodist Episcopal Churches of the North and South, along with The Methodist Protestant Church, merged in 1939.
Under this new structure, Black Methodist churches, despite their geographical locations, were placed in one central jurisdiction in order to limit their authority within the denomination and to cultivate a “separate but equal” structure. The formation of the Central Jurisdiction served to placate those who were disinterested in being a part of an interracial church.
Over the years, efforts to end the Central Jurisdiction were controversial and there were differences in opinion regarding the best approach. It’s important to note that the church never elected to end the Central Jurisdiction officially. There was never an agreement to desegregate the church. The only reason why we don’t have a central jurisdiction today is because it was not included in the new United Methodist structure of 1968 due greatly to The Evangelical United Brethren’s refusal to merge under the racially segregated structure.
So, we became an integrated denomination in 1968 but not for moral reasons. It was, essentially, a business decision, and hardly anything changed on the local church level. The sentiment of racism and the belief that black and white Methodists should remain separate did not end in 1968. That year, the General Commission on Religion and Race (GCORR) was established to hold the newly formed United Methodist Church accountable in its commitment to reject the sin of racism in every aspect of the life of the church. They were established to nurture the work of equity and reconciliation, but the resources offered have not always made their way to our local churches. What has been evident to me is that the while many Methodists have walked away from this history, the wounds of the past are still present whether we seek to acknowledge them or not.
The church’s racist past has not been dealt with, at least not on the local church level. There is still so much work to be done. As we have been called to serve as partners with God in healing the world, how could that ever be possible, if we never heal the church? And if Christians cannot engage in the work of reconciliation with other Christians they have hurt, how could Christians ever see success with reconciliation work in other broken places?
The first step is to understand the truth about reconciliation. I’ve found that some don’t have much interest in reconciliation work because they believe it offers nothing but a false sense unity, where the goal is to simply be civil and get along without cultivating authentic change.
But I believe the work of reconciliation is defined by an intentional and ongoing process of healing relationships and dismantling divisions by engaging in challenging conversations that include accountability, repentance for historical and present injustices, and a commitment to find solutions that can lead to systemic change. One of the best practical ways for the church to engage in this work is to pursue Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s inclusive vision for the Beloved Community. Included in its global vision, Racism and all forms of discrimination, bigotry and prejudice will be replaced by an all-inclusive spirit of belonging.
At its core, the Beloved Community is an engine of reconciliation.
These are steps we can take as communities of faith as we seek to live into this vision:
Building Awareness: This involves educating our congregations on the historical and contemporary realities of racial injustice, helping people understand the systemic issues at play.
Intentional Listening and Dialogue: Its important that we create spaces for open dialogue where different perspectives are heard and valued. Practicing empathy and actively listening to marginalized voices are necessary.
Accountability: As followers of Jesus, we are called to be reconcilers because Christ Himself reconciled us to God and gave us the ministry of reconciliation (2 Corinthians 5:18). This means we cannot ignore the church's role in both historical and present injustices. Accountability and repentance are essential steps in healing the divisions caused by racism, and as the body of Christ, we are responsible for addressing and mending the brokenness in our communities, even if we did not directly create it. To follow Jesus means to actively work toward justice and unity, bringing God's healing love to the world.
And lastly, Building Friendships with Neighbors: This involves getting to know our communities. Connecting with faith communities of different backgrounds for bible studies, conversations on race, service projects, cookouts, and so forth.
Restoring the image of God in our work of reconciliation means honoring the divine imprint in every person and actively seeking to heal the divisions that distort that image. Genesis 1:27 reminds us that all humanity is made in God’s image, which means any form of racism or bigotry is an affront to God’s creation. Our role as reconcilers calls us to acknowledge the church’s complicity in past and present injustices and to pursue accountability and repentance as necessary steps toward healing. When we engage in the hard work of reconciliation, we reclaim the beauty of the Imago Dei, affirming that every person, regardless of race or background, is a reflection of God’s love and creativity.
As Jesus followers, we cannot simply ignore the wounds caused by racism and division within the church. We are called to uphold the truth that all people are made in God’s image by actively working to dismantle systems of oppression and to build communities rooted in justice, love, and unity. When we, as the church, commit to this work of reconciliation, we honor God’s vision for humanity, living into the full reality of God’s kingdom where the things that make each of unique are celebrated, and all people are valued as beloved children of God. This is the work that not only heals the church but offers hope and transformation to the world.
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