Is “color-blindness” the right response to racism?

No, and yes. Racism is, and will be, until Christ’s return a peculiarly ugly manifestation of the sin that remains within all of us. It is grounded in a pride that is as loathsome as it is ridiculous. Imagine taking pride in the history of cultures and genes that you neither built nor chose. Imagine looking down at those who were given a different culture, or a different genetic background. It’s just silly, embarrassing.

The “no” part, however, comes here. “Color-blindness” is wrong when it is used to wipe out any sense of cultural identity. I didn’t choose my family, but it is still my family. In my cultural context I identify not only with being a Sproul, but with being a native of Pittsburgh. In turn I identify with my ancestors who hailed from Scotland and Ireland. These cultural identities carry with them things to be proud of, like the glorious truth that no team has more Super Bowl trophies than my Steelers, and propensities that are not something to be proud of, like the habits of my Scottish ancestors to not do well getting along with each other. If “color-blindness” means I have to forget all that, ignore all that, I’m doing it wrong. Shared experiences unite us.

The “yes” part, however, may have been given its best expression in Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech. Among the things King dreamt of was a future where a man would be judged not by the color of his skin, but by the content of his character. I am from Pittsburgh. My ancestors hailed from the British Isles. But I am also me. I know I didn’t do much to secure those Super Bowl trophies, though we Pittsburghers do believe in the power of a well-waved Terrible Towel. I like to think I haven’t succumbed to my cultural heritage of squabbling with my kin, even if my kin have such a cultural heritage. I should neither be praised for the virtues of my tribe, nor condemned for their vices.

In like manner, my calling is to look at others one at a time, to assess their character rather than their family tree. God, after all, rescued us from our first family, and adopted us into His own. Our identity is now in Him. And in Him we are called to love our neighbor, to recognize that our family is not black or white, but rather is all those covered by the blood of Christ. I not only have more in common with a believer who was born and raised in the Amazon than I do with an unbelieving Pittsburgher with Scots-Irish ancestors, but I am closer kin to that believer.

God has not only adopted me into His family, but has adopted in our family two boys whose ancestors came from Africa. They, and we with them, because we are family, ought to know and celebrate their historical background. But in terms of our family, their skin color is of no more significance than the color of their eyes. In the end we no longer have Adam as our father, but Abraham, the father of the faithful. All because we have the same elder brother, our kinsman redeemer, Jesus of Nazareth.