These Are The People In Your Neighborhood

A recent local gathering of the Minutemen was joined by a local herd of Klansmen. I'm sure I know plenty of racists, but it's a bit disturbing that they can have a party just 15 minutes east of here (although 15 minutes east can sometimes seem like 1500 miles).

I know that my having an interest in the trains running on time does not make me a Nazi. But if my interest in the trains running on time is so they can carry Jews to the death camps more quickly, no matter my protestations, I'm probably a Nazi. So maybe the Minutemen are more duck-like than they care to be. They should look into that. They should ask themselves why something like which side of an imaginary line you are from matters when it comes to surviving.

Or not. I guess I've seen the kind of answer they give to that, and it's pretty lame.

I don't think many white people realize what it is to be white. I don't mean the kind of white that is this erasure or imposition of identity where one was once Italian or Polish but is now "white." I mean just having skin that is the color of a pale cantaloupe or a trout's belly or aged ivory, any shade in the broad spectrum of color that allows one to be called white- almond, pink, the blanched pallor of death. I don't think many white people realize what it is to have the label "white" wash away any type of identity as well, but even the physical characteristics of skin go unnoticed when there is no reason to notice them. That "no reason to notice them" is a type of stealth.

It's the stealth that allows you, if you are white, to be described as "You know he has curly hair, drives that blue car... What's his name?" You're not, "You know, that Mexican chick." You're not a black male, mid to late 20s, slight build. (As if suspect descriptions on the news are ever meant to do anything more than scare you- black male, black male, black male.) You are that guy, or that lady. That tall man. That girl. Not- that black guy, that Asian girl. White people don't need the label because they are "normal."

Normal misses the novelty of walking into a Waffle House and hearing "What is he?" whispered. Normal doesn't get gawked at in a Cracker Barrel parking lot in Missouri by bright-red freckles, a camouflage muscle shirt, cut-off denim shorts, flip flops, and a yellow trucker hat. But Normal probably thinks twice about the walk and bus ride from Union Station to Dodger Stadium. So... maybe that's worth something...

I know color isn't the only normal maker. My penis might makes things normal for me. But it doesn't make it any less problematic (Take that how you will.) Places of birth, money, imaginary lines that divide nations- It seems that whatever we assume to be normal can often put us on the wrong side of some pretty significant conflicts. I tend to think part of God acting in history- in our lives- is the possibility of overcoming the way things are when we say "That's just the way things are."

What an unfortunate thing then that so much of our church life is the way things are. I don't mean how unfortunate that we've ditched our practices, or seem to think we're farmers. I mean, in this time and place- the world, we should find it problematic if we are comfortable or aren't more often on our heels. We should definitely find it troubling if we actively seek a position that is more palatable- easier to swallow, sweeter, chocolatey.

I think.

Oh and one more thing-
Buon Giorno, Roma. Che peccato, odio quei Red Devils.

Cayuco Has a Baby-Making Flute Solo
Tito Puente- Live at Birdland