Racism

I was recently in LA for an assessment with InnerCHANGE. It was a great trip and neat to meet some more folks with InnerCHANGE and stay at the amazingly transformed (and this is an awesome example of transformation in many categories) Cambria apartment building. (The story (more or less) of the Cambria apartments is told in Submerge. Maybe I'll write that up sometime, but honestly, I'm realizing I never write about what I hope to write about in previous posts. Or if I do, I never finish and I'm too much of a perfectionist to actually post what I have written. (As of now I have 10 posts written that are lost in time and unpublishment. Alas)).

During part of the assessment, I got to take a walk down to MacArthur Park. After being kindly peddled for ID's on the corner (now my name officially is Kelvin--kidding), I made it into the park and was greeted by the large lake. It was a beautiful day and started to stroll around the concrete sidewalk border of the pond. This area of Los Angeles is primarily Hispanic with a particularly large influx of Central American immigrants. As such I was the only white person in the park that I could see at least. I sat down on the grass and watched the folks stroll by as they looked in the water. Schools of fish would orbit near the edge, gliding past in flickering dark shadows. After a few minutes I picked up and decided to walk all the way around the lake and follow a school around.

Three noteworthy events took place during the remaining circuit. First, on the extreme end of the lake is a small ramp into the water. Out of this ramp a nigh fully grown duck in size, yet covered with the downy feathers of newly hatched chick, was doing its finest to garner attention from a small toddler with family in tow. It would come close to the girl and she would giggle with delight as she moved to hug the bird while the duck would coquettishly dodge the embrace all the while with the child's parents scolding the duck to get back in the water. It was something you just had to smile at.

Secondly, I noticed a white and orange coy fish the size of salmon in the murky depth. I never knew coy could get so big. I'm not sure that they feed on the smaller, orbiting fish, but that seems this fish's most likely food source.

Thirdly, I was called "gavacho". About three quarters of the way around the lake, a man sitting on the grass next to the side walk jerked his head up at my approach and stared directly at me with a startling intensity. It threw me off for sure and I was tempted to think he might have been mildly insane except I don't believe he was. Startled by the burning of his eyes, I looked back at the lake and unconsciously quickened my pace. Ten yards past him an exclamation of "Gavacho!" hit my ears from behind. I just kept on walking. For a while I was confusing that word with "Cabron" which literally is a male castrated goat but takes on another meaning in common usage. But eventually, I remembered the correct meaning which the link above has pretty close to my understanding.

Now, being in Peru and Caracas, I'm a gringo, just a white guy. But they call white Peruvians gringos. They call black Venezuelans negros (black one). If you look a little asian, your a chinito (little chinese one, all asians are chinese in Peru at least). Say you're thin, you get the name flaco (thin one). Fat? Gordo (fat one). So on and so forth. These names are simply physical characteristics to identify with. They aren't insults but more terms of endearment that can be used between friends or strangers. And that works in their culture. However, I do have to point out that simply because you can call someone a "name" based on their skin color and no racism is implied in that, does not eliminate racism in those cultures.

Here in the States though, calling a stranger "little black one" has a completely different meaning and attitude behind it. Thus, being called gavacho (as opposed to the more friendly "gringo") feels, well, lousy. I don't feel a flood of anger, frustration or rejection. Rather its all of those but very quiet while being just loud enough to be above the threshold of possible ignorance. Like any -ism, its frustrating to be pigeon-holed. That guy doesn't know who I am, that I even understand (after a bit) what he said or that we could even sit down and talk and get to know each other in Spanish. He doesn't know my background, my occupation, my thoughts on immigration, my heart or who I am at all. But, he can see I'm white. I honestly don't know the state of relations between white folks that wander through that park and the general hispanic population there. Nor do I know how many terrible things he's been called by white folks.

To really go through this, takes much time, much effort. Lots of willingness on all sides to sit and bear through inevitable misunderstanding, pent up emotions, and differing views on a whole range of topics. I'm not sure it can really be done without the power of God.

So what's the conclusion? Like in all things, Jesus calls us to bless those who curse us and to forgive as we are forgiven. I may never see that man again. I can't walk up to him and bless him with anything, nor can I forgive him in person. Yet, I need to forgive him (both for his sake and my own sake), but I also have to not hold this incident and associated jumble of feelings against any latino either. And if those feelings come up in relation to latinos, acknowledgment, prayer and forgiveness are key.

I'm a total newbie to practical racial reconciliation (living it and practicing it as opposed to just learning about it). But, it is good to experience a very slight form of racism and just get a glimpse into what many face continually. I am no expert at all and probably making many mistakes along the way. But, I've never heard of anyone who learned to ride a bike without falling. Lets just keep some bandaids on hand and help each other along. Lord give us all grace on this journey to full reconciliation across any and all racial divides.

Worship

This weekend I get to lead worship for our churches Jr. High summer camp. It was that or go with canned with music. Pretty easy choice. Now, I'm not a great guitar player by any means, so I've been practicing a lot this week trying to get ready. But the whole experience brings the standard worship leader questions:

How good is too good? What's the line between excellence and showiness? When does it just become music and not a focus on God? Why in the world is so much focus placed on worship in the sense of music and left out of the rest of our lives? And just how many new songs can I do anyway?

It's all one big question. I've seen awesome music used for worship that really isn't worship at all. I've amazing music glorifying God with the best any musician could give their creator. (See Urbana post back in January).

One thing seems to be clear, and I'm pretty sure it will get me in trouble. I think to lead worship, I have to focus solely on worshiping God. I can't worry or think about how it is going to come across, whether it is to showy or not. I simply have to give God my all otherwise I'm trying to please man instead of God.

Today, off a blog linked by a poster on Alan Hirsch's blog, I saw a video by Brian McLaren that talked about worship. Now while much of what I've heard and read about McLaren sends my fundamentalist id into seizures, (I've actually never met the guy, nor read any of his books for the record) the video is pretty good.



I'll let you know my thoughts once I'm back and been through a leading experience. But for now, pray for focus on God and for a worshipful life in the kids that will stick with them for their all their lives. Because life is worship. All of it. You can't sing honestly "in worship" without living out a worshipful life for God. So go live!