My experience in “cross-cultural missions” (Part 3)

I have wondered if, perhaps, in tackling this subject of “cross-cultural missions” in a predominantly White, evangelical church, I was biting off more than I could chew. I have so much to say, but that doesn’t mean I want to write a book about it. In fact, I’ve spent 3 days trying to write this post because every time I started writing, I quickly realized I was heading in a direction that would result in a post that was far too lengthy. This post will be long, but know that it could have been much longer. I want to deal with these issues because, firstly, they have been on my mind for a long time; but, secondly, because I believe the White, American, evangelical Church is not dealing honestly and fully with its racial issues. To the extent that we fail to deal honestly and justly with race, to that extent we have allowed ourselves to be co-opted by the racially-conscious values of our surrounding culture rather than be governed by Christ.

In my previous post on this topic, I said I clearly see God’s sovereignty in bringing my family into our current church home. Our backgrounds have uniquely prepared me and my wife for fellowship in a predominantly White church. Our interactions and friendships in school, college and work have exposed us to people of various races and ethnicities, thus preparing us to relate with people who are not a part of our ethnic culture. My formal musical training, combined with my background in the Black Church, in general—and the A.M.E. Church, in particular—has given me the ability to “speak” the musical language of both the Black Church and the White Church, both evangelical and mainline (I’ve been privileged to play everything from out-of-tune storefront church pianos, to Hammond Organs, to multi-rank pipe organs in beautiful church “edifices”). When you include our life experiences outside of work and school, and particularly our interactions with White evangelicals during the time I was in seminary (which was our first up-close encounter with White evangelicalism), it becomes apparent that God, in His sovereignty, uniquely equipped us to bridge the cultural gap between Blacks and Whites.

However, our experience is not the experience of everyone. I would venture to guess that most people do not feel comfortable moving in circles outside their native ethnic culture. On this point, three general observations about Blacks and Whites come to mind. These observations are not at all scientific in nature. These are just my opinions as a Black man, based on over 43 years observing the world around me.

My first observation is one that I’m not sure many Whites (or teen and 20-something Blacks) have considered: To successfully navigate American culture, Blacks must learn how to work and interact with Whites, while White people can successfully get through life in the U.S. and never have to concern themselves with Black people. Think about it: In most cases, your teachers have been White (Although, attending a public school in a small city with a significant Black population, I did have several Black teachers over the years. My wife, however, attended a private school and never, to my knowledge, had a Black teacher. I only had one Black instructor in college.). On the job, most likely, your bosses have been white. The persons who manage the stores where you shop often are White. Most police officers are White. Even the President of the United States has always been White! The point is, in the majority of life situations, you will find yourself dealing with White people. A Black person who does not learn how to work with, talk to and interact with Whites will have trouble all through life, because you cannot live in the U.S. and avoid White people. On the other hand, if you’re White, it is possible to avoid Black people. One could, conceivably, go through life and never really know a Black person.

Speaking of not knowing Black people, I must tell this story: During the summer between junior high school and high school (I was about to turn 14), I spent 2 weeks in a summer youth music camp at the University of Illinois. My roommate for those 2 weeks was a White boy, my age, from an affluent Chicago suburb. We were informed of the names of our roommates ahead of time. My roommate admitted to me that he was surprised when he finally met me because he assumed “Wyeth” was a White person (in fact, I was named after a White person ). I later found out he didn’t really know any Black people at all, so I was a bit of a curiosity to him. This came out one day when I was combing my hair.

That happened to be the summer I decided to wear my hair in a “natural” style. I had let it grow out to about an inch-and-a-half to two-inches long (that’s as close to an “afro” as I’ve ever gotten, by the way). So, one day, while I was “fixing” my hair with my “pick” and “afro comb”, my roommate was watching. Soon, he started asking questions. Questions like, “What is that?” (Referring to my pick), “What are you doing to your hair?”, “Does your hair move?”, “What does your hair feel like?”, and such questions as that (How many Black people out there have been asked those questions? A lot of you, I’m sure!).

Well, finally he asked if he could touch my hair. I consented. He was fascinated. It was almost like he had wondered for years how Black people’s hair felt. I’m pleased that I could contribute in a hands-on way to the cultural development of a sheltered child from the affluent suburbs. I really didn’t mind, and we did get along very well. Incidentally, that wasn’t the last time I offered my head for the cause of racial understanding. I’ve had White students ask to feel my hair, and once a fellow teacher, who was White, asked to feel my hair. Actually, another teacher—who was Black—and I were trying to explain to this White teacher the difference between “good” hair and “bad” hair (By the way, I have the “not as bad” hair. It’s not “good”, but it’s better than “bad”. I’ll explain, perhaps later this month.).

Moving on…

My second observation about Blacks and Whites: A significant portion of Black people—mostly, but not exclusively, from the lower economic classes—never learn to relate with White people, or never become proficient at relating with White people. Those Blacks who don’t learn how to get along with White people usually adopt an attitude that communicates that they are merely tolerating White people. White people become to them one of those annoyances in life that you can’t avoid. This results in many negative encounters with Whites. The Black person in this position will probably conclude that White people are bad. However, I think the problem is one of communication: The Black person doesn’t know how to communicate with Whites. For instance, as a teacher, I see this scenario played out again and again: A Black student inadvertently acts or reacts or speaks in a way that puts the White teacher on the defensive. The White teacher, in turn, responds in a way that provokes the Black student. The student then responds in a way that is clearly wrong and offensive to the White teacher. That student gets disciplined in some way, usually by being sent to the Dean. All this could be avoided if the Black student knew how to relate with White people (I know there’s another side to this, and I’m getting there; just wait a second!).

Why do some Blacks not learn to relate with Whites? Some have little exposure to Whites. When in situations where Whites are present, they always seek to be with other Blacks. Some have been taught that Whites are bad, so there’s no incentive to get to know people you’ve been taught were bad (For instance, the parent or respected adult had some bad experiences with White people, so they teach the child that White people are bad. The child doesn’t know about Whites from personal experience; they just live by what others have told them.). Many of us have had bad experiences with Whites in the past, so future encounters with Whites are viewed in the light of past bad experiences.

There also exists Black peer pressure to avoid anyone and everything that would make you look like you were trying to “be White”. White America is just now starting to discover what many of us have known and experienced for years: To get good grades is to be accused of “acting White” and to speak correctly and enunciate clearly is to “talk White”. When I was a teenager, if a guy’s walk wasn’t “cool”—if he didn’t walk with a limp (called a “pimp walk”)—he could be accused of walking like a White boy. If you’re wondering, I was “guilty” of talking and walking “White”. Lurking behind all these false views was probably a fear of the unknown (i.e., you just feel more comfortable with “your own kind”).

Lest you think these kinds of things only happen to Black teenagers, let me share another story. For a brief time, I attended Trinity Evangelical Divinity School. My pastor, at the time, felt I needed to know more than Trinity could teach me. You see, Trinity, in his mind, was a “White” school, inadequate for teaching me how to pastor Black people (a point not completely without merit, by the way, but I think he overstated his case). “That school can teach you theology, but what you need to know is ‘niggerology’” (Folks, that’s what the man actually said!). The implication was, theological knowledge is all right for “White folks”, but you need something else to minister to Blacks.

One more story: Once, my evangelism class from seminary was at the community college doing “cold call” evangelism (which I don’t like doing, by the way). While out there I ran into a preacher I knew (“Jack-leg” preacher, actually). He struck up a conversation with me and the teaching assistant, who was with me. Finally, this preacher begins to talk about what a great preacher I was (he had heard me once). The teaching assistant asks, “So, Wyeth’s a pretty good preacher, huh?” My preacher acquaintance responds, “Yeah. He does a good job; just needs to put a little ‘gravy’ into it, though.” The teaching assistant looked thoroughly confused (Yes, I was embarrassed). You see, “gravy” refers to “whoopin’”, or preaching in a kind of musical key, with rhythmic cadences—in other words, “Black” preaching. To “translate”: He was saying I preached all right—my sermon had “meat”—but I sounded too White. I needed some “gravy” on my “meat”.

So, racial peer pressure continues into adulthood.

My third and final observation: Whites, generally, are more ignorant about the Blacks, than Blacks are of Whites. We are a total mystery to many White people. Remember, I said it’s nearly impossible for a Black person to live in America and avoid White people, but you can be White and get along quite well without Blacks. Blacks need Whites because most of the economic and political resources are in White hands, but Whites don’t need Blacks, because Blacks, for the most part, don't control anything that Whites need. So, because Whites seldom, if ever, have to depend on Blacks for support or be accountable to Blacks, they often simply ignore us. And, just like many Blacks, many Whites are unwilling to step out of their comfort zones. The result of all this avoidance and lack of interaction is that many Whites simply don’t understand Black people, don’t know how to communicate with Black people (and, therefore, misread and misinterpret Black people—witness the example above about White teachers and Black students) and, often, are even afraid of Black people. Why else would the occasional police officer shoot an unarmed Black male? I tell you why: They’re scared to death of a Black man.

If these observations are at all accurate (and I have over 43-years-worth of reasons to think they are), there is an almost insurmountable gulf between Blacks and Whites. For all the reasons I’ve mentioned, and more, there is no reason for Blacks and Whites to come together. Why?

We don’t know each other.

We don’t trust one another.

On some level, we’re afraid of each other.

Is there a solution to this dilemma? Is there a way to bridge the gap between Blacks and Whites? I think there is a way, and my family and I are living it out.

(To be continued…)

Speaking of the Black Church

Check out this post at “Non Nobis Domine” (Anthony Carter’s blog), and the comments that follow. I make a couple of comments here, if you want to know what I think about “Reforming the Black Church”.

Messages from the Desiring God Conference for Pastors

At the Desiring God Blog, there are audio links to the messages (and notes taken by Abraham Piper) being delivered at the Desiring God Conference for Pastors which is going on now, February 5-7, in Minneapolis. The speakers are R.C. Sproul (sessions 1, 3, 5), John Piper (session 4), Thabiti Anyabwile (session 2) and William MacKenzie (session 6). There is also a panel discussion.

Even if you’re not a pastor, take some time to listen to these profitable messages on the holiness of God.

Concerning “the call” to pastoral ministry

An excellent post at “Irish Calvinist” asks the question, “Have I been called to pastoral ministry?” I heartily agree here with Erik Raymond. I must say, this is a subject very close to my heart. In fact, this subject—pastoral ministry—stands way apart for me as the only painful thing about by leaving the Black Church to unite with a predominantly white, evangelical church (If I can gather my feelings together into words, I’ll have more to say about this in a future post).

"Time To Leave"?

John Schroeder at Blogotional writes about when it is the right time to leave a church. My family and I experienced our own “Time To Leave” several years ago, but this may be helpful to someone else struggling with this kind of decision.

My experience in “cross-cultural missions” (Part 2)

The decision my wife and I made to leave the world of the Black Church for a predominantly white, non-denominational, evangelical church was made for doctrinal and theological reasons, and because we found a fellowship where we truly felt “at home”.

Many of us know there is a theological crisis in the Black Church. I, personally, see four aspects to this crisis in the Black Church. First, there is the health and wealth “gospel”, which is no gospel at all. This teaching is growing like an aggressive cancer in the Black Church. Formerly confined to the Pentecostal wing of the church, this teaching is now showing up in the preaching and teaching of more mainstream Black churches. I call this teaching a heresy because, quite simply, it is unbiblical. God does not promise Christians good health, and He doesn’t promise Christians material prosperity. Period. Secondly, it bears no resemblance to reality. There have been far too many poor and physically un-well saints throughout church history to give this teaching any credibility. Nevertheless, the health and wealth “gospel” continues to grow in popularity among the “have-nots” of society.

The second aspect of this theological crisis in the Black Church is neo-Pentecostalism. In saying this, I am not attacking classical Pentecostalism—not at all. What I am attacking is the new-style Pentecostalism that majors in the “gifts” and the “power” of Pentecost, but seems to avoid the holiness and simplicity of life, and faith in the Bible that characterized old-line Pentecostals. In short, you may have disagreed with certain doctrines of the old-line Pentecostals, but you couldn’t dispute their sincerity. It was “holiness or hell” for them. The world was something to be shunned. For the neo-Pentecostals, one can’t be so sure. There is great emphasis on church growth, emotionally high-pitched “worship” and financial and material “prosperity”, but gone is the sense that these people are dead-earnest about separation from the world and holiness of life. I believe neo-Pentecostalism is seen by many Black church leaders as a way to “grow” a church and, certainly, it has proven successful in multiplying the membership in many Black congregations found in various mainline denominations. But, I fear there is more Pentecostal “style” than there is spiritual “substance”.

The third aspect of this theological crisis in the Black Church is related to the previous two and, I believe, is responsible for the spread of neo-Pentecostalism and the health and wealth “gospel”: biblical ignorance. People just don’t know the Bible. From the front door of the church to the choir loft, including the pulpit, there is a phenomenal ignorance of Scripture. I’m almost embarrassed at some of the downright ign’ant (ignorant) things I’ve heard people say about what is in the Bible. Even preachers and pastors! Now, it must be said, the root of this biblical ignorance is the lack of education opportunities for Blacks in the past, because of American racism. However, I don’t feel that can be a valid excuse today. We’ve come a long way from where (as my great grandmother described it to me) even the preacher couldn’t read. The old, Black, country preacher just preached some verses he had memorized. That was something like a hundred years ago, when my great grandmother was a little girl. Most people today can read…at least, a little bit! And, if you can’t read, you can get the Bible on CD. There are tapes and CDs of Bible teaching available everywhere. Everybody that has a desire can learn something about the Bible. There are no more legitimate reasons, and absolutely no excuses, for biblical ignorance. Yet, biblical ignorance prevails all over the Black Church. My people are perishing for a lack of knowledge!

Which brings me to the fourth aspect of the theological crisis infecting the Black Church (and, probably, the source of all its contemporary problems): “Wolves” in the pulpit. I believe the Black Church is being destroyed by men (and women) in the pulpits whom God never called and never sent. These “wolves” prey on the “sheep” and cannot, by any objective, biblical standard, be considered Christian. They are dogs (If Paul could say it, I think I might venture to utter the term). I know those are strong words, but I’ve seen and met some of these folks! I’ve also seen (and experienced) the aftermath of their “ministry”. They are ruining souls. I see people get up-in-arms about priest sex scandals or about the Ted Haggards of the Church, but I think, “If you only knew what goes on all the time, unabated, in the Black Church!”

To make a long and complicated story short and simple, I finally took my family out from under all this. My wife was miserable, and I didn’t want my children to grow up thinking this was what church was all about. After leaving the historic Black Church, we had brief, but extremely unpleasant experiences with Black evangelicalism (again, a subject worth a blog post of its own). Finally, my wife and I came to the conclusion that we needed to look beyond race, in our search for a church, and simply look for a fellowship that believed, taught and followed Scripture, where we would truly be welcome.

God answered that prayer when He brought us to our current church home. In fact, I clearly see God’s sovereignty in bringing us to where we are today. In our journey, I see not only God’s sovereign hand, but I also see just how dauntingly wide the gulf is between the Black Church and white evangelicalism.

(To be continued…)

Truths we neglect

Adrian Warnock posts a quote from Dr. Martyn Lloyd-Jones on the subject of revival.

My experience in “cross-cultural missions”

One of the recent trends in evangelicalism is the short-term mission trip. Instead of giving decades of one’s life to ministry for the cause of Christ in some faraway country—as legendary missionaries of the past like William Carey, Hudson Taylor, David Livingstone or Amy Carmichael did—today’s would-be missionary can give a couple or so weeks of service sacrificing little, risking little, investing little.

Without getting into the pros and cons of short-term mission trips, I have to confess I’ve never had even the slightest urge to go on one (I know that will sound like near-heresy to some). I figure, why should I go to another country for missions work when I’m already doing “cross-cultural missions”. You see, for the past 6 years my family and I have been involved in a predominantly white, non-denominational, evangelical church.

I hope no one will find my association of the term “cross-cultural missions” with involvement in a predominantly white church offensive. I’m simply acknowledging a cultural and sociological reality: There is a vast world of difference between the white evangelical church and church in the Black community. In fact, the move to a predominantly white church has meant learning a whole new way of “doing church”.

I’ve always been in church. My great grandparents were faithful church attendees and brought me to church every Sunday from the time I was 2 months old. Not only was I in church every Sunday of my life (unless I was sick—a rare occurrence), but I’ve been active in the church since childhood, ever since my great-great aunt “made me” come and play the organ for the brand new A.M.E. Church she became a part of way back in 1972. I was 9 years old at the time. So, for over 34 years I’ve been involved “up-front” in the church. I was active in the church even before I knew the Lord (I’ve been a Christian for a little over 26 years)! However, all my church experience, until 1998, was within the “Black Church”—within a Black local church in the Black community, within an historically Black denomination.

When we left the A.M.E. Church in 1998, we immediately united with a Black evangelical church (a Black local church which was part of a majority-white evangelical denomination). There were some significant differences between this Black church in a white denomination and a Black church within a Black denomination (a subject worth a blog post of its own), but I was still dealing with Black folk.

But, when my wife and I made the decision to attend a white church, we made a decision which (probably more so for me than for my wife) was earth-shaking. I don’t think I’m being overly dramatic in speaking of our decision in those terms. Leaving behind the comfort and security of Black people on Sunday morning meant leaving behind everything we had known and become used to. It meant leaving behind familiar sights and sounds. It meant singing new music or singing familiar music (hymns) in new ways. It meant a different way of worshiping, a new way of praying in public, and listening to a different way of preaching. It even meant learning a new language: “evangelical-speak”.

So, whenever the subject of short-term mission trips comes up, I think to myself, “I don’t need to go on a mission trip to experience and minister to another culture; I’m doing that right now!”

(To be continued…)

"Revival and the Baptism with the Holy Spirit"

Adrian Warnock has a link to an excellent paper by Dr. John Piper entitled, A Passion for Christ-Exalting Power: Martyn Lloyd-Jones on the Need for Revival and Baptism with the Holy Spirit. This paper was originally delivered at the 1991 Bethlehem Conference for Pastors.

In my opinion, the Church of Jesus Christ needs what is written about here.

When I think of Black History

During African-American or Black History Month, Americans recognize the many historic achievements and contributions of Blacks to the United States. The fact that a race of people kidnapped from their native land, separated from their families, tribes and culture, and subjected to forced slavery in this land could, in spite of such evil treatment, rise and achieve so much and contribute so critically to the building of this nation is nothing short of a miracle, and is a grand testimony to the grace and power of God. Ultimately, it was God who set Black slaves free in answer to their many prayers. It was the Lord who brought Blacks through Reconstruction and the emergence of the Ku Klux Klan. Almighty God delivered Black people from lynchings, “Jim Crow” and forced segregation. God, in answer to the prayers of our slave forebears, brought about the victories of the Civil Rights Movement. In a real sense, Black History is a vivid illustration of the grace of God.

But, Black History is not just about famous people and events, but about ordinary Black families. When I think of Black History, I think of my family. I think of my great-great grandfather, Richmond Duncan, who migrated from Florence, Alabama to North Chicago, Illinois (a small city some 35 miles north of the city of Chicago) in April of 1921, during the period American historians call “the Great Migration”. The son of former slaves, he was almost 50 years old at the time. His original intent was to settle in Michigan, but not finding anyplace to his liking, he decided to visit his wife’s uncle, Jack Fowler, in Waukegan. It was during this visit that he found a place that he liked in North Chicago, on the border with Waukegan. He purchased the house and sent a telegram summoning his wife, Frankie, and their two daughters, Minnie and Wylodine, and son, Fancie, to get their things together and come to Illinois.

I remember Richmond Duncan. I was almost 9 years old when he died in 1972. He lived to be almost 101 years old (100 years, 10 months and 7 days, to be exact). I’m thankful for pioneers like my “Grandpa Duncan.” I live in “Chicagoland” today because of Grandpa Duncan's desire for a better life for his family.

When I think of Black History, I also think of my great-great-great-great-great grandmother, Bettie Rice (yes, I used "great" 5 times). “Bettie” was the name given her by her owners, the Rice family. Bettie was a slave. I don’t think anyone ever knew when she was born, and there’s no one alive today who knows when she died. Based on what I was told, I think she died somewhere between 1899 and 1905. I own an old “tin-type” photo of her—the only picture of her—taken when she was an old woman, weary with years, but still carrying herself with dignity despite the horrors she had witnessed in her life. The other year, I made an enlarged copy of it, framed it, and hung it on the wall of our family room for all who visit our home to see. You see, Bettie holds a special place in our family for Bettie was born in Africa. She told her children and grandchildren that she was a Hottentot. The Hottentot were a tribe in southern and southwest Africa. I’m fascinated by an old story, passed down through the generations, that during slavery, Bettie once threatened to kill her own baby girl rather that have that baby sold away from her. Because of her fighting spirit, Bettie was allowed to keep that baby girl. Because an African Hottentot named Bettie refused to give up her child, our family remained intact and we still tell her story today.

Most of what I know about my family, I learned at the feet of my great grandmother—Richmond Duncan’s daughter, Bettie Rice’s great-great granddaughter—Minnie Duncan Gray. Minnie and her husband, William, raised me. Minnie had a phenomenal memory, and could talk at length about the family history. She knew both sets of her grandparents, all of whom had been slaves. I learned about slavery from one that had known and talked to former slaves. I learned from my great grandmother to appreciate family history and what my forebears had to endure so that I could be where I am today. I also learned from my great grandparents about the love of God in Jesus Christ, who died and rose again that I might have eternal life. This is the faith that has sustained many in my family since slavery days. This is the faith I am committed to passing on to my children.

Black people in the United States have come a long, long way. I believe strongly that Blacks should never forget those who came before us. And we should never, ever forget God who brought us through.

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Some of you may have noticed that I recently added a photo to my profile (I finally figured out how it’s done). This photo is one of my favorites. It is from the latter half of 1971, as I remember, and it shows 5 generations of the Duncan family. Seated, in the center, is Richmond Duncan (1871-1972), my great-great grandfather. He was 100 years old at the time this photo was taken. The two women are his daughters, Minnie (to the left) and Wylodine (to the right). Minnie (1896-1986) is my great grandmother. Her husband, William (1905-1989), is behind her. Minnie and William took me in when I was 2 months old, and raised me to adulthood. My great-great aunt, Wylodine (1898-1998), who lived next door to us, probably did more than any other person to introduce me to Jesus. I cannot thank God enough for my great grandparents and my great-great aunt; by God’s grace, and because of them, I am what I am today. Standing behind Richmond is Minnie’s only child, my grandfather, Barney Quentin (1919-2000). On the far left and far right are Barney Q’s two sons, my Uncles, Barney David (on the left) and Charles (on the right). In Barney Q’s arms and on Richmond’s lap are Charles’ two oldest sons, my cousins, Adam and Gabriel. Finally, standing to the right of Richmond, is me (one of the extremely rare photos of me in shorts). I was 8 years old.