Over the last week of November, a story on social media caught my attention. The Rev. Ben Boswell, the white, senior minister of Myers Park Baptist Church in Charlotte, NC was abruptly forced to resign from his job after nine years of service. This happened two weeks after he preached a fiery sermon on November 10th decrying the election of Donald Trump as President of the United States. Full disclosure: I’ve watched the sermon. I think it’s phenomenal. There’s certainly some overlap with the words I preached on November 10th. If I had to compare my post-election sermon to his (note: ministers never compare themselves to other ministers), mine had a more explicit pastoral dimension–i.e., let’s make sure we’re taking care of ourselves, of each other, and of the most vulnerable–while Boswell’s sermon is a clarion call to action. About the election he says, “don’t let it cause you despair, let it mobilize you.” He borrows language from the German Lutheran pastor-theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer who, in response to the rise of Nazism in the 1930s, famously said the church is called “not just to bandage the victims under the wheel, but to jam a spoke in the wheel itself.”
Boswell’s post-election sermon wasn’t the reason he was forced to resign, though it may have been the proverbial straw. Behind the scenes, the Board of Deacons was concerned that the church was losing members and money. Weekly attendance had plunged from 350 to 150 people over the last decade. They talked about needing more butts in the seats, and contended that Rev. Boswell well-focused on racial and social justice, but not on tending to the entire church community (an argument he disputes).
I had forgotten about the story, but then two weeks ago National Public Radio reported it. Many of you heard the NPR story. I know this because five or six of you sent me the link to it. You send me links to articles and books all the time, but it’s rare that five or six of you send the same link at the same time. Interestingly, nobody said why they were sending it. What should your minister think when a statistically significant number of congregants sends the link to an article about another minister losing his job for saying and doing things similar to what your minister often says and does? Just wondering.
The NPR piece identifies a dynamic among some white Myers Park members that is present, though expressed very differently, in our congregation; in Unitarian Universalist congregations more generally; and I suspect in virtually all historically white mainline Protestant Denominations and even some more conservative or evangelical denominations; not to mention in k-12 education, in colleges and universities, in businesses large and small, in health care, throughout the nonprofit world, in community groups–I see it every week in letters to the editor in the Glastonbury Citizen and other local newspapers. This dynamic echoes the larger, national debate over Diversity, Equity and Inclusion (DEI) programs, especially in liberal or left-leaning institutions and schools. Given the Trump administration’s rapid dismantling of federal DEI programming, it seems like a good moment to look more closely at this dynamic.
The NPR piece is entitled “Pastor pushed out after parishioners complain about focus on racial justice.” The reporter interviews members of the congregation. There’s a mix of views. Some love Rev. Boswell’s focus on racial justice and say they feel betrayed by the Deacons’ action. But one of the Deacons who voted for Boswell’s resignation paraphrased what he said he kept hearing from disgruntled church members. It boils down to this: "I am tired of being indicted because I am white.” (There are also references to too much focus on GLBTQ and immigrations issues.)
Our ministry theme for February is inclusivity. Last Sunday I shared some of the history of the Unitarian Universalist Association’s efforts since its founding in 1961 to continually transform itself into a more inclusive faith–inclusive of women in leadership, people of color, gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, non-binary and queer people, people with disabilities, people of non-European cultural and ethnic heritage, poor people, immigrants, refugees, etc. I also said it’s no secret that “over the last decade, the Unitarian Universalist Association–its staff and volunteer leadership, many of the clergy (myself included) and the General Assembly–have been exploring and articulating in earnest the ways in which current UU culture and institutional structures actually limit our inclusivity…. Now things are changing. Certainly the new Article 2 of the UUA bylaws emerged, at least in part, in response to this desire to address those institutional structures and aspects of our culture that work against greater inclusivity. And as things change, inevitably some feel alienated. Certainly some, if not many members and friends of this congregation have felt alienated by trends in the larger world of the Unitarian Universalist Association these past few years.”
This alienation is multifaceted and complex, but one strand of it aligns with the sentiment expressed by the Myers Park Deacon: “I am tired of being indicted because I am white.” As far as I know, nobody here has said they feel “indicted,” but people have expressed a variety of related sentiments: If I say the wrong thing, if I do the wrong thing, if I disagree with or criticize a recommended approach to addressing racism–especially if I criticize the UUA’s approaches–or if I don’t follow the new Article 2’s covenantal language around dismantling racism, then I’m called a racist. I’ve heard many versions of this concern expressed over the past two years. I’ve heard it at our many forums on Article 2 prior to last summer’s General Assembly vote. I heard it during the discernment process last fall. I’ve heard it in conversations about the meaning of terms in the UUA’s new bylaw Article 2 like covenant, accountability, pluralism and even the notion of love at the center. I want to be clear: I hear this concern. I hear the sense of alienation that some express. I take it seriously. And I affirm: it is an understandable reason to feel alienated.
I am also confident there is a pathway for us as a congregation to honor that sense of alienation–because it is real–while simultaneously continuing the long, slow, faithful work of building antiracist, multicultural, beloved community here at UUSE.
I’m confident in part because this week our UUA Discernment Task Force released its final report to the congregation. [For those who are unfamiliar with the Task Force, their goal is to aid our congregation in determining what our institutional relationship to the Unitarian Universalist Association ought to be.] I want to draw your attention to the report’s fifth recommendation. The Task Force writes: “The UUA efforts around anti-racism were a key concern during the [Article 2] process. This indicates we could benefit from a series of conversations around approaches to anti-racism and our UU history of anti-racism activities.” I hope that, whatever form these conversations ultimately take, we’ll have robust participation.
For the sake of balance–and for the sake of inclusion of non-majority voices and feelings–there was another really important quote near the end of the NPR piece. A black member of the congregation talks about how important Rev. Boswell’s ministry was to him, how Rev. Boswell “created a wonderful, welcoming community.” Now this member feels betrayed. The reporter asked him about “the fact that some white congregants said they felt beaten down by Boswell's continued emphasis on social and racial justice.” He responded that “as a Black man he [feels] beaten down every day.”
There’s a critical distinction here which I don’t want us to ignore, in part because our efforts to grow as an inclusive congregation hinge on us understanding it. In my work as an anti-racism educator and organizer with the UUA in the late 90s and early 2000s, and as an antiracism consultant to congregations, UUA committees and seminaries over the ensuing years, and in the many conversations on race and racism we’ve had here over the years, I have always tried to be attentive and sensitive to the difficulties many white people– myself included–experience in these conversations, especially when we are asked to look closely at ourselves, at the ways we’ve been socialized, and at the various privileges whiteness offers. I’ve not always succeeded at that, but it’s been my approach. One of my supervisors at the UUA referred to me as the ‘soft sell,’ meaning I didn’t indict people or beat them down for being white. I just tried gently, softly, kindly but persistently to bring people along to a fuller understanding of the power of race and racism over their lives. This is still true.
But regardless of that, always front and center in my mind and in my approach as a trainer, consultant, pastor and organizer was and is the recognition that the discomfort white people feel when participating in these conversations simply does not equate to the experience of living in the United States of America as a person of color. This is not to say that all white people have it easy. They don’t; and in my assessment, the failure of liberals, progressives and the Democratic Party to take the economic struggles of white communities seriously is one of the reasons Donald Trump was elected president. But that doesn’t erase this country’s history and continuing legacies of racism, white supremacy and settler colonialism. I have full confidence that as a congregation you recognize this distinction. And that’s why I believe there is a pathway for us to continue the long, slow, faithful work of building antiracist, multicultural, beloved community.
Yes, it’s important to acknowledge that in some instances in Unitarian Universalist settings, people have been called out for racism in unhelpful ways. Yes, there have been instances of unskillful training, lousy pedagogy, over-generalizations, historical inaccuracies, and rhetoric replacing keen analysis in UU settings. Yes, there have been unskillful uses of certain resources such as Robin DiAngelo’s White Fragility or the “Characteristics of White Supremacy Culture,” originally created by Kenneth Jones and Tema Okun. For that matter, yes, there have been unskillful explanations and uses of the term ‘white supremacy culture’ such that UUs feel our congregations are being equated with the KKK and similar organizations. I assure you that isn’t happening, but no wonder some feel alienated.
Yes to all of that, and we cannot forget that the discomfort white people feel when participating in these conversations simply does not equate to the experience of living in the United States of America as a person of color.
There are many paths to greater inclusivity. I want to speak briefly about one of the paths that has been central to my ministry. I have made it my practice as a white minister serving a mostly white congregation–which I deeply love–to listen and respond–as best as I can–to the stories people of color tell about their experiences, whether here at UUSE or out in the wider community. I have made it my practice to listen and respond to people of color’s vision for what antiracist, multicultural beloved community looks and feels like here and in the wider community. And I have made it my practice to listen for the opportunities to engage in people of color’s justice struggles. So, when the African American and Black Affairs Council or the Manchester Latino Affairs Council asks for our support, I do everything in my power to be supportive, and I invite you to join in that support. When Power Up CT asks for our support; when Moral Monday CT asks for our support; when Dr. Kearney who directs the Department for Race and Equity at Manchester Public Schools asks for our support; when the HUSKY for Immigrants Campaign asks for our support; when Hartford Deportation Defense asks for our support; when opportunities to support immigrant families come to our attention; when the national UU people of color organizations, like Diverse and Revolutionary UU Multicultural Ministries ask for our support: we have a history of responding with support as best we can. We have a history of joining in solidarity with these various efforts.
I’m really proud of this history. I have faith that over the long-run, this practice of listening, responding, and working in solidarity is one of many roads to a more inclusive faith community. My sincere hope is that we will explore all the roads–all the methods and approaches–to building an inclusive faith; that we will figure out which ones work best for us; and then, together, continue this journey of inclusivity or, as Unitarian Universalists used to say in the early years of my ministry, this Journey Toward Wholeness.
Amen and blessed be.
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