Our first stop was New Orleans for Mardi Gras, where I first encountered white only drinking fountains and men, women and colored restrooms.
We ran out of money in New Orleans. I had washed dishes and bussed at a coffee shop, so when I saw a help wanted sign in a window, I walked in and asked to be hired. A boss came from out back. He looked sympathetic as he said, “We only hire colored kitchen help.” I said, “Why’s that? I mean I’m willing to work as hard as anybody.” He said, “Look, we only pay a quarter an hour.” Minimum wage at the time was $1.25.
I’d heard of such cruelty and far worse. And since other people have witnessed more racial injustice than I have, I’ll defer to their accounts. Anyone who hasn’t seen The Great Debaters should do so, and The Great Santini, a couple films I found especially moving.
But what I’m getting around to addressing is the Christian church.
After a few months wandering, I came home with a sense that the world was so hard and unjust, I wasn’t wise enough to even know how to make it right even if I somehow found the power to do so.
Not long after my return, I was again working in a coffee shop. A waitress named Helga invited my friend Cliff and I to a Billy Graham crusade. What I saw was a powerful and wise man, and somebody who loved people and wanted to help them live right.
So I asked Christ to become my guide and savior. And I went to some churches. But what I found struck me as more like New Orleans than like Billy Graham. I found people who spoke and acted as if the world was just peachy, as if racism, wars, nuclear weapons, all kinds of prejudice and inequity were at best none of our Christian business, at worst stuff we needed to defend.
My friend Don Merritt was adopted. His adopted father was a businessman and regular churchgoer. He and Don didn’t get along. So Don ran off and joined the army. When he returned, he entered college in his hometown someplace in Arkansas. By this time, the civil rights movement was heating up. Don got involved, and participated in a march in which he was the only white student who came from that town. After the march, a friend let him in on a plot. Some local businessmen had paid some thugs to rough him up or worse. One of the conspirators was his churchgoing dad.
Don lit out for the territories. Now he’s a fine novelist. You can find him at: http://doniganmerritt.typepad.com
Here’s my point. All that was way in the past, sure. But the problem with churches hasn’t changed. The churches I have attended over the past fifteen years since I got over my church-phobia don’t preach racism or advocate bombing Iran. The teaching pastor of my current church is a wise and compassionate fellow who advocates tolerance and compassion toward everybody.
But the other day, outside the church, a kid handed me an election flyer about a guy running for some office and whose main platform was keeping out immigrants. And if I had to bet, I’d take the side that the majority of the folks in that church would agree with this candidate, at least on the immigration issue.
If I had the authority, I would require that candidate to have to spend an August working in the fields of the Imperial Valley before he’s allowed to advocate giving the people willing to pick our crops and work in our kitchens a worse deal than they’ve already got.
Most Christian churches may not advocate injustice, but they and most Christian media at least allow, by refusing to advocate for justice, their congregations, readers and viewers to perpetuate lies. And lies aren’t about to set anybody free.
If it’s not clear how this ties into Christian noir, ask me to clear it up.
