Confessions of a white girl living in the hood.

It’s easy for me to be here.

Everyone praises me for “being light in a dark place.”

Everyone says I inspire them.

Everyone says they respect how much I “sacrifice” to live and work here.

Everyone says they don’t know how I do it, it must be so hard.

Everyone asks if I’m scared.

Everyone asks, “do you walk in Gate City?”

Everyone asks how I’m received here.

Everyone says, “I’m so glad you’re bringing Jesus there.”

Today, I must admit to you, these are the wrong questions and statements. They reveal so much about our thoughts.

I don’t intend to shame you for these thoughts, we have to start somewhere, but we must understand, these are statements and questions that are birthed from centuries of racism that have created what we now know as  “the hood.” I receive these questions from white and black, friends and strangers alike. Fear is usually in the eyes of all. Racism can be overt, but it can also be internalized. 

I usually shut down when praises or questions like this come. 

I don’t know where to start. How do I even begin to shine light into the true darkness? How do I bring you into the difficult conversation? How do I help you see through the walls that are already up?

How do I push past my discomfort?

So today, maybe for the first time, I will openly share my honest reply.

1. Jesus was here long before I showed up. Jesus does not depend on white evangelicals to do His work. Read Scripture, where does Jesus hang out? Who does He identify with? I am convinced that until you step into the most broken, oppressed, and poor parts of our world, you will never be able to truly understand our Lord and what He taught. And I don’t mean though voluntourism. Really step in.
   
   
2. I feel more at home in the projects than in the suburbs. Not because I can understand their struggle. Not because it’s so peaceful. But because I am welcomed, as my full self. I don’t have to worry about saying the right thing or being professional or what I’m wearing. Just showing up, and showing up again after being too close to the gun shots, and showing up again after being cussed out, and showing up again after the window is busted out, and showing up again after the police don’t believe that you’re telling the truth, and showing up again after everyone says you’re crazy… showing up, this is what I have discovered gains respect. Being present, with no agenda, not expecting something in return. Being present as a friend and neighbor, not as a superior or a case worker or a missionary, this is how you come to be welcomed and feel at home. This is how you have honest conversations. This is how you learn about the struggle, the stories, the injustice. This is when you talk about life, death, Jesus, hope and hope lost. Until you realize that you are the one in need of these relationships you will never be at home no matter where you go in this world. If you are not willing to learn from others you will never be fully received.
   
   
3. Yes, I walk in Gate City. I have often wondered why I get asked this strangely specific question so often. I think I’m starting to connect the dots. I walk the streets of Gate City and I’m not afraid. Despite what you may think, I am also not naive. Sure, I’m at risk of being in the wrong place at the wrong time just like every other person who walks the streets, but I am never the most at risk person there. The truth is, I get to drive a few blocks and go home at the end of the day. Sure, I can hear the gunshots from my house, but they aren’t usually on my street, and they’re not aimed at me. The truth is, I’m a white girl. There is a privilege that I carry simply being in my skin. I did nothing to earn this, but it gives some strange level of protection. Birmingham knows what happens when a black man messes with a white lady. History has taught us. Sure, I receive inappropriate comments, but as soon as a nearby kid yells “that’s the church lady” there is respect, usually followed by embarrassment or laughter. Not respect for me, but respect for the holy word “church” that just reminded them God is watching. Now, compare me, a white girl walking the streets of a predominantly black neighborhood, to a black man walking the streets of a predominantly white neighborhood. How does he feel in his skin? We both appear out of place to onlookers, but if we feel that we are in danger, it is for completely different reasons. The color of our skin draws attention no matter what we might do to avoid it. While my skin protects me, his skin could be the very thing that leads to his death. Maybe we all know the reality of the black man living in a white world, even if we deny it, and we believe it transfers to my situation and that is why I receive this question so often. It is not the same. Sure, I occasionally get mistaken for a girl buying or selling something, up to no good, but I never fear being killed for that. He, on the other hand, carries the tension of being deemed a threat wherever he goes. In fact, my white skin walking these streets is a sign of the danger of gentrification. My presence could bring harm to my neighbors in multiple ways, but again, I am safe. My personal experience has been that black communities are far more welcoming to outsiders than white. Actually, now that I think of it, with all of the places in the world I’ve had the privilege to visit, the most isolating or lonely experiences I’ve had have all been in white, American, southern, Christian communities. White friends, we must acknowledge this reality in order to create a new reality. We must learn from people of color.
   
   
4. Everyone asks if I’m scared. No one thinks to ask the black man if he’s scared. Everyone thinks it’s hard for the white girl to move into the hood to minister. No one imagines how much harder it is for the black family to move into the suburbs to minister.
   
   
5. Yes, some days are hard. Some days I wonder what I’m doing here and ask who signed me up for this. But, it’s never because of my neighbors that I feel that. It is always when the weight of the depth of the brokenness hits me and I realize I have no idea where to start. It’s not what’s directly in front of me that is the most discouraging, it’s the more I learn about how we got to this point that brings me to my knees. What makes me feel like quitting is the fact that I should not be leading this in the first place. I should not be “needed” here. It never should have gotten to this point.
   
   
6. I have not sacrificed anything. I have only gained. Anything I thought I might lose, the Lord has replaced one hundredfold. I have found freedom.
   
   
7. I am not a super saint. I’m not anything special. I didn’t choose this. I’m not even writing this out of bravery or ambition. I want to hide. I really, really, really just want to hide and have a cup of coffee. But I am compelled to act because Jesus has changed me. It is not compatible to say you accept Christ but not obey His teaching. Maybe if I had never read the Bible I could just live a “safe” life, but when I read it, it changed me and I was left with no choice but to follow Him. This is where I’ve ended up. Christ has loved me and He has told me to love my neighbor. Love compels me to speak up.
   
   
8. I absolutely loathe it when people say I (or any suburban church entering the inner city) am bringing light to darkness. Again, Jesus was at work here long before I arrived. Anyone who is a follower of Christ should be a light no matter where they go, that’s not the issue. The problem is the image of the inner city being a dark place. We must be very careful with this language. We must remember (or re-learn) how it came to be like this. I have shared the gospel in many places across our city, in the projects is one of the easiest places to have spiritual conversations. It is when I’ve been in affluent neighborhoods that doors are slammed in my face and that the cops are called. People know they need God in the hood, it’s the only explanation for how they’ve made it this far. People in the suburbs tell me they’re good. Read the parable of the soils again and notice what the thorns are (Matthew 13:22). The other issue is this idea that there is no gospel witness here or there are no healthy churches here. Just because some churches left during white flight does not mean that the Church itself left. I’m not entering an unreached people group. I see no measurable difference in the amount of false gospels preached in the hood and the number of false gospels preached in the suburbs. Both are dangerous, both are prevalent. We must stop trying to bring the dangerous teachings of one area into another area. We must stop judging the spec in our brothers eye without dealing with our logs. I do not mean to undermine the deep darkness of evil that can be found here, I have seen it. But most often when people say darkness, they are talking about the symptoms, not the root. They are over simplifying things and creating boxes in their minds that are deceiving. The same evil is in the suburbs, it’s usually just packaged in a more “acceptable” way, or more easily hidden with wealth and power. It is dangerous and unacceptable to continue the white savior narrative that is in this message. Do not forget who it is disguised as an angel of light (2 Corinthians 11:14). Whiteness does not equal light and blackness does not equal darkness. This is not what the Scriptures mean. White supremacy and racism are evil darkness.

I am sorry for not responding to you honestly before. I am sorry for playing a part in the continued racist systems of our country. I am sorry for not clearly speaking out against racism and the white savior narrative. This is part of my continued repentance.

I confess, it is easy for me to be here. 

It is not easy when I have to leave. 

I have received far more than I have given. 

I have learned more about the heart of God and the sufferings of Christ in the hood than I ever could in “safety.”

The question is not “Am I privileged?” I was born privileged in whiteness and I have become privileged to live in the hood. The question is, “Will I sit back and ignore my privilege or will I leverage it?” 

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The above thoughts spilled out of me after seeing an unusual response in my white circles to the murder of Ahmaud Arbery. At the same time I was experiencing multiple situations with neighbors facing pain and injustice. This is me processing in public, with the hope it will be helpful for some of my white friends who are listening in a new way.

I first saw news of Ahmaud’s case back in April. Honestly, there were so many similar stories happening at the same time that I didn’t expect to hear much more about it. Then a month later I see his face everywhere, but not where I usually see stories like his. I’m not sure what set him apart, I’m not sure what made more white leaders speak out this time or why this case caught their attention more than others (I have ideas, but that’s for another conversation).

I accidentally saw the video while casually scrolling Instagram. I’m angry that so many had to be traumatized by seeing what I believe is appropriately being named a modern day lynching. I’m angry that another black body has been dehumanized and the video is shared as easily as any quarantine tiktok. I am thankful that the attention brought a start to action, but I am angry that that is apparently what it takes. I am frustrated by premature celebrations of justice being served when our “justice” system is clearly anything but just. No consequences put in place will ever be enough to bring Ahmaud back to his family. We are complicit in the racism that plagues our nation. 

I don’t know why it’s taken this long and so many extreme deaths to wake us up, but I fear we will drift back off to sleep. I want to encourage you if you nervously reshared that post or stood up to say it was wrong. Raising awareness and starting the conversation makes a difference. I want to encourage you if you’ve been quietly watching or are feeling confused, lean in. I want to encourage you if you feel an urge to somehow justify his murder, or disregard the racism, or believe it is simply a political agenda, to wrestle with why you might feel defensive or offended. 

Below are a few great resources to help you on this journey to continue running with Ahmaud. Don’t stop learning, friends. If I am your starting point, please begin listening to more people of color. (Find more on my resources page)

What to do after the arrest of the murderers of Ahmaud Arbery

Racial Justice Research Document

Are All White Americans Police Officers?

If you have questions that you’re scared to ask, I’m a safe place for discussion. 

If you would be interested in being part of a racial reconciliation book club (either virtual or later in person) please let me know.