My Problem Goes Much Deeper Than Racism

I’m white, educated, and American. Some say I therefore must be racist.

I say my problem is much worse. 

I might give a good impression on the outside, but you can’t see the number of times I’ve truly believed that I am better than you. Sometimes that might be because you are a different race or ethnicity than me, and I think my race or culture is more effective than yours. Or maybe you’re white too, and I still think I’m better because you made a life choice that makes me feel more moral than you. Maybe I assume I have a better perspective than yours.

I have looked at the list of doctors, or plumbers, or realtors, and chosen the one who has a name that sounds most like mine–white, educated, American. I may have unfollowed you on Facebook because I am threatened by what you have to say. Perhaps I have minimized your poverty by believing that you are just not trying hard enough. Maybe I feel more intelligent, more experienced. Or that I’ve earned the right to be right. One way or another, whoever you are, I think I’m better than you. It’s not always about race.

My background has allowed me to benefit greatly from systems of education or government that have given me privileges that many only dream of. College education was an assumption for me. I’ve flitted around the world with my blue passport. I’ve adopted four children. I’ve made the naive assumption that everyone who tries hard enough gets those opportunities. Sometimes the comfort of being in this place of power and entitlement has blinded me to the suffering of others around me. 

It’s ugly. I’m not proud to write this. 

Some say I can fix my problem by reading books, by listening, by making friends with people who are different than me, by voting a certain way. 

I say that’s a good start, but it’s not enough. Because they really have just given me one more checklist to make me feel good about myself. Tick all the boxes, and then I can assure myself that I’m a good person. Then I’m on the moral side, not like those less enlightened ones over there. The list becomes a way to replace the racism with a different version of self-importance.  

In my desperate thirst to believe that I am a righteous person, I must find someone to look down on. I root out the racism, but another type of conceit easily takes its place. It must. Because when you are less, I become more. I crave that feeling like a drug. It is a vicious cycle. 

No, a list can’t fix me. 

What I really need is a view of the world that is a brute force in the face of my instinct to believe anyone has less value than me. I need to be reminded regularly that each human life reflects imago Dei, the image of God, and therefore has infinite value, equal value, inherent value. That perspective has to be founded on something much bigger and stronger than my own intellect, my own morals.  

But I also need to change how I see myself. What I need to break the cycle is the knowledge that nothing I can do will ever make me truly righteous. I will always get in the way of my own righteousness. I need a way to find it outside of myself, a gift of grace, undeserved, granted to me despite who I am.

For my problem to be fixed, I need redemption. Transformation. And I can’t make that happen on my own.

God, have mercy on me, a sinner. This is the beginning.