I am the Dean of Students at Covenant Theological Seminary, the National Seminary of the Presbyterian Church in America (PCA). I am the pastor of South City Church in Saint Louis. South City Church is a PCA congregation, and it is predominantly white. I am a retired full colonel PCA Army chaplain. I was born and raised in North Saint Louis city. My father now lives in Ferguson, Mo. I am a black man. If that comes as a shock, believe me I understand; it is a shock to me every morning when I wake up and go to work at Covenant Seminary in West Saint Louis County, a mostly wealthy and white suburb. It shocks me every time I walk into my church in South Saint Louis and remember that I am one of only 47 black pastors in my denomination and that I work in a mostly white conservative, evangelical church. I am constantly at the feet of Jesus asking for help in navigating the racial, cultural, and generational waters around me. It is a wonderful opportunity, but it is challenging for someone like me; I grew up believing that white people never really wanted to be in close proximity to black people unless they were the ones controlling the situation. There was also the belief that the only black people who were successful in white organizations were the ones who did not mind being tokens without real dignity in the system. There may be people who believe these things about me. I have even questioned myself as to why I have been given so many opportunities in the PCA. I sometimes don’t like the answers that come to mind.
Recently, a young pastor asked my opinion on cross-cultural ministry. He asked me how an African American got two positions as both Covenant’s Dean of Students and as pastor of South City Church. I explained, “it makes no sense, since so much of the history in our denomination makes me the wrong guy for the job! But through God’s sovereign will, here I am!” His response was, “I guess God always sends the wrong messenger.”
As I think on the events since the killing of Michael Brown in Ferguson, I feel like the wrong messenger. I sometimes wonder why I am not in a black church where, although there might be disagreement over things like protests, marches, forums, die-ins, boycotts, etc., I would not feel like I am an angry black man when I state that there are such things as white privilege, racial injustice, oppression of the poor, the necessity for people of color to have “the talk” about racial prejudice with their children, and widespread ignorance of history in the United States; that there is a greater “struggle” in our country and in so many places around the world, a struggle that cannot be avoided by getting educated and finding a job. I find this line of thinking makes many people uncomfortable. But I know that there are many people still willing to listen and dialogue about it, so I have to stay in the struggle, and keep having “the talk.” Yes, many of the people I work with are educated and employed, but that doesn’t mean that any of us are free to “call it a day.” That is too individualistic, which is how too many people of all races think about life.
Like it or not, humans are created for community. We are bound to one another. Being the wrong messenger means that God will call you from the places where you feel you belong and teach you that if you find your dignity in God, you belong everywhere. It means experiencing pain and awkwardness but working for Jesus in spite of those obstacles, because he has overcome all obstacles. Being the wrong messenger means that you yearn for justice over convenience, and truth above complacency. It means taking risks and speaking boldly.
For me, this means reminding white people that black lives matter. But it also means reminding middle- and upper-class black folks that black lives matter; that they too must not forget “the ‘hood” or the “Fergusons” or what I call “the smell of a neck bone."
Wait, what is the smell of a neck bone?
In 2002, I pastored a middle-class black church in Atlanta. During a visit to one of our church families who lived in a housing project, I experienced a reminder of my past. The mom was cooking dinner when I arrived. The smell almost knocked me out. I asked her what she was cooking, she said “Pastor Mike those are neck bones cooking. Didn’t you eat neck bones growing up?” I was ashamed. My grandmother cooked neck bones every week, and I loved them, especially with cornbread and sorghum molasses from the tin can. But I had forgotten the smell. I had forgotten my roots in North Saint Louis. I was too busy being the proud and arrogant seminary graduate who was senior pastor of a solidly middle-class black evangelical church in a nice Atlanta suburb. I was an Army Reserve Chaplain Colonel. I was somebody; I had adopted Atlanta, the “Black Mecca,” as my hometown. However, the smell of those neck bones brought me back down to earth — a reminder to honor my Saint Louis past, my family. They prayed for me, encouraged me to go to college and honor the Lord by giving back to the community. I responded to the prayers and encouragement by going to college and the Army, but never wanted to return to Saint Louis. I did not want to live in a segregated city — a city where I thought black lives did not matter.
Here, Jesus worked on my heart, and I realized that what I was running from was the perceived injustice and inequity I felt growing up on the North side. Those neck bones boiling reminded of Saint Louis City. I thought I wanted to forget, but I didn’t; it was just a boiling pot away. No matter where I would go during those years, it just took the right smell to bring me back home.
I have been home in Saint Louis since 2011, and I am glad to be a part of the evangelical church that is slowly understanding that there is a race problem in the United States and that they must take an active role in reinforcing the truth that black lives do matter.
So, do black lives matter? Ask the people I serve: They would say “yes, our Dean is black; our pastor is black; yes black lives matter!” Ask the multi-ethnic Army Families that my wife Renee served during our three decades of military service — families that she visited, cried with and cooked for. They would say “yes, black lives matter!”
But what about black lives in general, do these lives matter? The black lives that are not known as church leaders, military officers, seminary administrators, Army chaplains’ wives … do they matter? The right answer from the wrong messenger is a resounding yes! And just as much.
Rev. Mike Higgins is the Dean of Students of Covenant Theological Seminary and co-pastor of South City Church in St. Louis.
Image: Hand illustration, Room27 / Shutterstock.com
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