I learned a lot of lessons growing up in Staunton’s Mount Zion Baptist Church, including this one: punching and patent leather shoes don’t mix.
I lost my first fight at church. Yes, you read that correctly. I’ll never forget the day. Some older kids were instigating me and my friend DeMarcus. The issue on the table: who would win a fistfight between us two?
The answer, as we would learn quickly, was DeMarcus.
Even though we weren’t mad at one another, we fought. It was
even for a moment until DeMarcus
clapped me in both of my ears. It was a brilliant tactical move. In my disoriented
state – along with the fact I had on those stupid “Sunday shoes” instead of my
Nikes - I fell like the walls of Jericho.
It’s one of many funny stories I experienced with my young
Mount Zion crew, which consisted DeMarcus, Charlie Brown, Little Anthony, the
King Twins and the Watts brothers.
Me in front of Mount Zion Baptist Church in Staunton, VA. I grew up in this church. Photo creds: my daughter Hannah |
Much of my formation happened in the black church.
It’s where I learned the negro national anthem Lift
Every Voice and Sing. Page 511 of that maroon-colored hymn book. It
nourished me on fifth Sundays with fried chicken, peanuts in a fancy glass
bowl, some strange church mints and a weird, red punch beverage concoction.
More importantly, it nourished my faith, and I was introduced to the hope that kept my ancestors through slavery and Jim Crow.
I owe the black church a lot.
Including an apology.
THE LOST YEARS
THE LOST YEARS
I didn’t go to church in college (although I did send my 10
percent tithes and offerings with some girls who did go to church).
Too busy playing college basketball.
Too busy doing me.
I had grown up in church, but to quote one of my favorite
urban theologians Brady Goodwin, Jr. “the church hadn’t grown up in me.”
At least not yet.
After college, I got serious about my relationship with
Jesus Christ. A young adult small group at my cousin Pede’s house played a huge
role in shaping my faith.
That small group led me back to Mount Zion, where I would
meet regularly with then pastor Rev. Glenn Porter Jr. Shortly after Rev. Porter transitioned out to pastor another church, I left, too, and I landed in a larger, more
charismatic black Baptist Church.
After that church, I spent the following 15 years in
majority white churches. In his book Reconciliation Blues, Christian
author Ed Gilbreath described it as the “only Oreo crumb in the cup of milk.”
I can’t think of a more accurate description.
MATURING
IN THE FAITH
“Black church” and “white church” aren’t truly biblical
distinctions, but in a country with a sordid racial past, they are realities. The
old adage about “Sunday morning at 11 a.m. being the most segregated hour in
America,” still holds true.
In my mid-20s, I had a lot of Christian influences in my life, such as a Christian radio station that broadcasted sermons by theologians like John Piper, a pastor referenced by many of my favorite Christian hip-hop artists at that time (and someone I still hold in high esteem).
In my mid-20s, I had a lot of Christian influences in my life, such as a Christian radio station that broadcasted sermons by theologians like John Piper, a pastor referenced by many of my favorite Christian hip-hop artists at that time (and someone I still hold in high esteem).
Mid-20s me also loved the fact that many majority white
churches had relaxed the dress code.
Hello Nikes. Goodbye patent leather “Sunday shoes.”
Twenty years later, I am beginning to see how I grossly
oversimplified the “leaving black church” decision. I didn’t know nearly enough
of the black church’s history or doctrine to make an accurate assessment of
her.
And while the thrust of this letter is to apologize to the
traditionally black church, I’m by no means here to demonize the majority white
church.
(Note:
if you are a minority and thinking about joining a majority white church, there
are a few questions that you should ask yourself.)
I met some great people there. I did grow in my
understanding of doctrine there. I watched God work there. Was it perfect? Nope.
But the focus of this blog isn’t whether the white church or black church is
perfect, this blog is about my heart condition.
I need to apologize to the black church, because I left romanticizing the white church’s
beauty while ignoring her flaws. At the same time, I ignored the black church’s
beauty and focused solely on her flaws.
And that was wrong.
RE-APPRECIATING
THE BLACK CHURCH
Who knew so much conviction could fit inside the 140 characters
of the original Twitter?
On August 22, 2015, I sure did. That’s when Progressive
Baptist Church pastor Charlie Dates tweeted this:
“To
my young black aspiring pastors, theologians and churchmen, don’t let your
newly found training turn you away from the black church.”
This put words to something I was wrestling with but couldn’t clearly articulate. Maybe everything I had learned was God preparing me to serve the black church, not abandon it.
And that wasn’t all.
With the Charlie Dates tweet still ringing in my head, I had
the opportunity to hear Southesastern Baptist Theological Seminary professor
Walter Strickland. He taught on The History and Theology of the Black Church at
the Legacy Conference.
Here’s what I remember. The Moody Bible Institute classroom
was so packed I had to stand for the entire time. As Strickland began to unpack
this beautiful narrative, many were on the verge of tears and wondering, “Why
has no one ever taught us this?”
I learned an important lesson. Many of the beautiful Christian doctrines I thought I could only find in "white church" had been part of the black church for more than a century.
NOW
WHAT?
I made a promise to myself that that I would give my
life, time, talents and treasures to a gospel-centered, good news-proclaiming,
Bible-teaching, mission-minded church that esteems racial reconciliation as a
core value.
In short, I hope my future isn’t in a black church or a
white church.
In the immediate present, however, I know there is one
action step I need to take.
To the black church, will you please forgive me for seeing only your flaws but not your beauty?
To the black church, will you please forgive me for seeing only your flaws but not your beauty?
Will you forgive me for my historical ignorance and how unappreciative I was for the road that you paved for me?
Will you forgive me for not cherishing you for instilling a gospel hope in my ancestors that allowed them to survive?
I was young, stupid, proud and arrogant.
And wrong.
Please forgive me.
Sincerely,
Chris Lassiter
Chris Lassiter is a Christ-follower, a husband to Emily (read her blog here), a father to five kids and a freelance writer for Young Life Relationships, HipHopDX.com, JamTheHype.com and other publications. His first book, You're Grounded, was published by Moody Publications in 2013. You can order the book here. His first kids' book, Grits & the Grimels, is out now.