Every age and place has sins that seem worse than others. On the battlefield, soldiers abhor cowardice and fratricide more than anything. On the athletic field, players are warned of the dangers of gluttony, laziness, and ball-hogging. In Medieval Europe, suicide was thought to be particularly heinous. In our day, racism is held up as practically unforgivable. So what should our attitude as Christians be if someone calls us a racist?
Recently, a group at our church was discussing the book, The Color of Compromise, by Jamar Tisby. The book details the American church's history of complicity with racism. In that discussion, our Sr. Pastor brought up this question, “What would I say if someone asked me if I was a racist?” As we tossed around ideas on how each of us might respond, it was generally accepted that we might all at least respond with “maybe” or “I certainly might be.”
In light of Tisby’s book, which records in horrifying detail some of the lynchings that have gone on in our American history, as well as a myriad of other abuses, admitting to being a racist can feel tantamount to murder. Because of this, it can be very uncomfortable to accept the label of racist as applied to ourselves personally. Even saying, “I might be racist” can feel scary.
However, even though the label of racist is hard to accept given the current cultural climate, gospel believing Christians can have the attitude that we are much worse than racists. In fact, it is a sign of spiritual growth to see yourself as progressively more sinful as you grow in your Christian life. We know this because the apostle Paul claimed to be the “worst of sinners” (1 Timothy 1:15) at the end of his life and ministry. He did so unashamedly because he knew that it showed off the greatness of the God’s grace (1 Timothy 1:16).
The Russian novelist Dostoevsky testifies to this truth through the character of Father Zosima in his book, The Brothers Karamozov. Father Zosima is the beloved elder of a Russian monastery. On his deathbed, his brother monks all gather together around him and Father Zosima tells them things he hopes they will learn before he dies. During his speech he says,
“Love one another, fathers. Love God’s people. We are no holier than those outside, just because we have shut ourselves up behind these walls. Just the opposite, by coming here, each of us has acknowledged to himself that he is worse than those who remain outside, worse than anyone in the world. The longer a monk lives within the monastery walls, the more acutely must he be aware of this… It is only when it is revealed to him that not only is he worse than all those outside these walls, but also that he is responsible to all men for everyone and everything, for all human sins, universal and individual —only then will he have achieved the purpose of his seclusion… Such an awareness is the crown of a monk’s life and indeed, the crown of any human life on earth.”
The crowning achievement of human life, according to Father Zosima, is to know yourself as worse than anyone else in the world, and to be responsible to all men for everyone and everything. If Christians believed this, we would not despair at being called a racists. Instead, when called racist, we would humbly acknowledge that we are actually much worse than racists. If we are honest, not only do we have implicit and explicit biases toward one or several groups of people, we are, at the core, primarily concerned with ourselves and will generally do everything we can to preserve our own interests.
For me personally, because of my self-centeredness, I often participate in systems that are antithetical to loving my neighbor as myself. I often treat others as less valuable than myself, and I often look down on people who do not look, live, talk, or act like me. But even though all that is horribly true of me, the good news of the Gospel tells me that Jesus came for people like me (John 3:16).
So am I a racist? Honestly, I am far worse. But I praise God that Jesus came for sick people and that the only way into his kingdom is admitting to be a rebel against the King.
[ Dostoyevsky, Fyodor. 2003. The Brothers Karamazov. New York: Bantam Dell, 216.]