Acts 10:24-48

Every Tribe

I grew up in the South in the 50’s and 60’s. I didn’t know what Jim Crow was as a child but I had the clear impression that African Americans and Anglo Americans were not supposed to “mix.” I didn’t know why. I was just a kid and that was just the way it was.

The 1960’s was a decade of great change in the USA. The Beatles didn’t just bring music, they brought change. Viet Nam brought change. The Civil Rights movement brought change. John, Martin, and Bobby were murdered. The cities exploded. I was a teenager. My sophomore year in High School was the first year of integration in Davidson County. Things were relatively peaceful at GHS but in retrospect I have great admiration for the hand full of African Americans who enrolled in our school that year. I didn’t get really close to any of these new students but I did come to know the three or four on the football team pretty well. And I discovered something. They were just like me. It may seem rather obvious now but in 1966 it was startling.

In 1985 Margaret and I took our two small children and moved to Harare, Zimbabwe. We lived there for three years and taught in a Bible School that was completely under the direction of an indigenous ministry led by a man named Ezekiel Guti. For at least half of the time I was the only white man at the school. It was wonderful. Though I was a teacher I was also the first white man that had been at the school who had not been made the Director. (I did serve as the Acting Director for a few months right before I left but never as full Director.) It was great. We helped each other. They were only five years away from the end of a civil war that had ended years of serious racial oppression. Seeing a white guy who was willing to follow and not have to be the leader was, I think, healing for them. It was healing for me because many of the faculty and students became my dear friends. They were not “Africans.” They were truly my friends. I’ll never forget when my dad came to visit and Ezekiel had us over to his house for supper. My dad remarked, “I’ve never been to a black man’s house to eat before.” After some fried chicken and beans my 70 year old dad discovered he had a great deal in common with this “black” man.

Peter felt truly weird going in to the home of this Gentile. The only reason he was there was because God had made it clear to him that this was where he was supposed to be. What a wonderful revelation when Peter discovered first hand that “God does not show favoritism but accepts men from every nation who fear him and do what is right.” What a freedom comes from learning not to call any man unclean.

We are starting to have a pretty good number of African Americans come to our church. (We’ve always had a few but now we seem to be moving to a new level.)Additionally, we have quite a few Hispanics, several Asians, and a few from the sub continent of India. I love it! It’s like seeing in color instead of black and white. It’s like actually having a meal with flavor instead of bland white bread all the time. Revelation tells us that around the throne are people from every tribe, language, and nation. I think that is what church should look like here. Apparently, so does God. Just ask Simon Peter.