First Steps by Darrell Goodwin
It was a beautiful Sunday in the Pacific Northwest and I was preaching my candidate sermon at a 125 year-old predominantly-white congregation. If called as their settled pastor, I would be the 1st African-American or person of color to serve this congregation. This congregation is known for its justice efforts, its history of standing in the gap for those who have been marginalized, for putting their money where their mouth is literally for justice. For instance, the congregation lost almost half of its congregation when it decided to be a pioneer in being open and affirming over a decade ago. They knew this might be the response in their more conservative city but moved ahead anyway. It was major movements like this that I am sure was the groundwork for the congregation to be at least intellectually prepared for my arrival.
As my sermon came to an end on that Sunday, we opened the service up to a question and answer period for the members to be able to have any of their concerns remedied. The questions were for the most part what one would expect from members who are trying to vet their new pastor. However, as the conversation continued, it became apparent to me that the questions were not just about my work style and flow but about my ability to be salvific. The questions made me realize that in some ways, there was an air in the room that I might “save” this church. I would be a beacon of light to reach the communities that they had never really effectively captured in ministry. They wanted to know in uncertain terms that I would bring more youth, folks of color, LGBT members, and families with children. The hope was that I would be a bridge somehow in ways that I’m not sure any previous pastor would have been expected. I can see the PLE (Perfectly Logical Explanation) that this made sense because I was indeed the youngest, probably the first LGBT, pastor of color that they have ever interviewed, so it would make sense that they would want to capitalize on my identities. But I think when I really reflect there was a tinge of something more. There was the reality that folks of color are always expected to give more, be more, do more, provide more, and show up in ways that are about proving our value as opposed to simply having it accepted. I paused the questions and simply said, “I want to be clear. If you are planning to vote for “Black Jesus” today then you should plan on voting no to my hire”. My understanding of “Black Jesus” is this figure that can truly handle any and all things. The version of our savior who is willing to get dirty, truly be with the people, understand any and all problems, and desires to be more tangible and strong than his blonde, blue-eyed rosy cheeked counterpart. I wanted to say that I am not him. I would serve with all my heart, but that I would not be able to do everything that they felt incapable of doing without me. My role was to amplify their work, their commitment, their sense of justice but not to save them. They seemed to resonate with my boundaries and many appreciated my desire to be a partner—as opposed to a lone visionary.
After the service, they took their vote, and I waited patiently in the fellowship hall. There wasn’t a significant waiting period, but a Trans White woman joined me at the table. She wanted me to first and foremost know that she had been harmed by Black people. She shared stories of all of the ways Black folks had harmed her, discriminated against her, and most importantly been racist towards her. She wanted to share this with me because she thought it would help me better serve as her pastor. In the midst of her story-telling, other folks begin to filter in from the vote. There was excitement in the air, but I was held hostage by this individual. I pondered, “On this candidate Sunday, how do I respond to this potential new member?” The other folks were smiling, they wanted to make an announcement, they asked me to come up to the front, and they wanted to share with me that the vote was in favor of calling me as their pastor. After the applause she returned, because she had a few more stories to share.
I was in between elation and immediate trepidation. Would she be the model of what was to come? Similar to my response about being Black Jesus I thought I needed to set some boundaries. I began by reintroducing myself, and stated, “Hello I’m your new pastor. Unfortunately, I will not heal you from the hurt that other Black folks have caused you, that’s not my role. Neither can you heal all of the myriad of ways I have been harmed by whiteness. The best that we can do is work really hard not to inflict the same wounds on one another.” She teared up, maybe realizing that she had essentially overshadowed this joyous moment. I told her that I would be willing to meet with her, get to know her, but I would not be open to hearing her rehearse the negative memories of other Black folks moving forward. She consented and thanked me for my time. She still has not set up a meeting and fails to attend worship but is always at coffee hour.
A few months later, I encouraged the congregation in my sermon to realize that race would now be a real conversation in the of the life of the church. Mostly inspired by my mere presence. I shared with them that the conversations had started, but I invited them to complicate the dialogue. The conversations have started to happen with various members telling me about the people of color they knew growing up, the Black families that they worked with, the Black folks they had dated, and the most interesting comment was that my hire was the fulfillment of the church’s missional commitment to inclusion. The journey is just beginning: the cultural awareness has not yet reached beneath the surface, and others will attend coffee hour only. I will have to remind people that I’m not Black Jesus and that telling me about their Black friends will no longer be necessary. In the midst of that we will develop our missional priorities, try to be more like Jesus and grow together. Pray for those who are already marginalized, who still find the space and spirit to serve. We need the Spirit and your awareness.
Rev. Darrell Goodwin is a follower of Jesus who serves an all-inclusive and all loving God by being a voice for those who are forced to the margins.