A confessional is an enclosed stall in a church divided by a screen or curtain in which someone, typically a priest, sits to hear people confess their sins. A confession is an admission or acknowledgment of something that one is ashamed of or embarrassed about for the purpose of reconciliation to God and others. Confession is part of a larger process of the Holy Spirit’s work to impact the inner orientation and trust structures, false-self patterns, and any obstacles that prevent one’s full surrender to God. Today I am stepping into the confessional. Please, hear my confession.
On Thursday, June 4, 2020—ten days after the murder of George Floyd—I awoke to both a social truth and a spiritual truth, part social conviction and part spiritual conviction, precipitated by a social tragedy and awakened through a personal experience.
As a spiritual director, I have met monthly with Anne, for the past year. She is White. During our sessions, Anne periodically wove stories of working with and loving a dad and his two boys through a church-sponsored and state-sanctioned program at her church. The program is designed for children to live with a host family from the church while either of the parents is experiencing legal, financial, or emotional difficulties. Though now with their father again, before I met Anne, the two boys lived with her and her family. Like a second family, there has been continued contact among Anne, her family, and the dad and two boys.
Two weeks prior to our May session, Anne’s church made a four-minute promo video featuring her family to highlight the benefits of the program. She sent it to me, and of course, I watched it.
I could not figure out what I was watching. I saw a dad and two boys. They were not Anne’s family, nor was it the family Anne was involved with. Or, so I thought. I was confused as to why they were in the video. I fast-forwarded looking for what I thought I would see. I concluded it was a video that included a number of different families and their experiences. I went through it again looking for what I thought I should see. A third time.I listened and still could not figure it out. There was Anne, but who were the two boys and dad? I went back a fourth time. I heard the father’s name and I realized this man was the dad—and he was White. His children were White. Listening to the experiences and stories my client had told me, I had assumed they were Black. They had to be Black. White people don’t live “like that.” They don’t name their children “those names.” The realization took hold: They were White, not Black.
I was stunned as I came face-to-face with a hidden part of myself: whether it was racial bias, racism, white privilege, white supremacy, a combination of these things, or something else, I do not know. Something shifted in me. I was undone. Exposed. A deep well of grief and lament flowed from within, as I became aware of my cultural and socioeconomic assumptions, racial perfectionism and defensiveness, apathy and indifference towards racial policies and practices, power hoarding and privilege protecting, and ignorance regarding economic inequalities and institutional injustice. I was awakened to see in a new and overwhelming manner the reality of my erroneous assumptions and empty understandings. I had an experience that challenged my assumptions, which in turn opened my eyes to marginalization in a way they hadn’t been before.
I am here to confess and bear witness to my awakening to the social truth of marginalization and racism in the United States. I am owning the harm I have done to others by my muted voice and inactivity regarding social justice. The harm I have done to myself through ignorance, complicity, and apathy. The harm I have done by marring the justice and righteousness of God and my faithfulness as one of his children. At the heart of my experience is that people have assumptions about how others live (White, Black, Brown, Yellow, or otherwise), and often those assumptions are wrong. Assumptions can marginalize “the other,” no matter which “other” is being talked about (race, color, nationality, socioeconomic status, culture, etc.). Assumptions that lead to marginalization act like manure fertilizing the soil for racism to thrive and grow.
My awakening is a call to action and a form of repentance. I want to recognize and examine my assumptions. I need to learn what I do not know and listen to others who are not like me. I have much work to do, but I am starting.
So dear readers, my prayer is that we would be enabled to
see the reality of racism and then freed to challenge and uproot it from our society,
our world, and ourselves. As Margaret Mead said, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful committed citizens can
change the world: indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.” Will you
 Anne is not my client’s real name.