START WHERE THE WOUND IS DEEPEST

Lately I’ve had white people say to me, “Why do you only preach against white racism? Why don’t you preach against Black racism too?” That’s a fair question if it’s asked honestly. So let me answer it plainly.

First, I do not believe prejudice belongs to one race. Any human being can be prejudiced. I’ve lived in diverse spaces. I’ve built real relationships across racial lines. I’ve worked and moved in circles with many people of color. And yes—I have experienced hostility and bias myself. Not from television. Not hypothetically. In real life.

So I’m not naïve. And I’m not pretending prejudice only flows in one direction.

But here is where clarity matters.

There is a difference between personal prejudice and systemic racism. There is a difference between an insult and an institution. There is a difference between being treated unfairly by someone and being historically shut out of housing, voting access, lending, education, and generational wealth by laws and policies that carried the force of government.

When I preach strongly against white racism, it is not because I think white people are uniquely evil. It is because, in American history, racism backed by law, culture, and institutional power overwhelmingly operated in one direction—and its consequences are still measurable.

We have to be adult enough to hold two truths at once:

Yes, Black people can be prejudiced.

Yes, I have experienced bias personally.

And yes, the most pervasive, historically entrenched racial injustice in this country has disproportionately harmed Black Americans.

Those statements are not contradictions.

So when someone says, “Why don’t you preach about Black racism?” my response is this: If you are serious about fighting racism, then join me in confronting the most deeply rooted and historically powerful forms first.

Stand against the legacy of redlining that shaped neighborhoods.

Stand against disparities in sentencing and incarceration.

Stand against inequities in education and access to capital.

Stand against the generational wealth gap that did not appear out of thin air.

Show me that your concern is grounded in justice—not discomfort.

Once you show that consistency—once I see the same passion directed at the racism that carried institutional backing for centuries—then I am more than willing to have broader conversations about other forms of prejudice. Because if we are truly committed to justice, we oppose all racism.

But we start where the wound is deepest. This is not a competition of suffering. It is a matter of proportion and power.

I have even had the mother of a Black woman tell me her daughter was not going to date a white man—and she knew nothing about me. That was prejudice. It was real, and it stung. But I have never been denied a job because I am white. I have never lost an educational opportunity because of my race. I have never had my skin color function as a systemic barrier to housing, lending, or advancement.

And when I preach, I am primarily speaking to the church. In the American church, the racial sin that has been historically entrenched, institutionally reinforced, and culturally protected has overwhelmingly flowed from white Christians toward Black Christians. And it still does. It remains one of the most widespread, familiar, and overlooked sins in the church—so common that many no longer see it, so normalized that it often goes unconfessed. That is the wound inside the body of Christ I feel compelled to address—not because other prejudice does not exist, but because this is the deeper, older infection within our own house.

A rude comment is not the same as a redlined neighborhood. A social media insult is not the same as policy-supported exclusion. Hurt feelings matter—but they are not equivalent to structural barriers.

If we blur those distinctions, we weaken the moral seriousness of the conversation.

Acknowledging systemic racism against Black Americans is not self-hatred. It is not betrayal. It is honesty. I do not hate white people. I reject racism wherever it appears. But I refuse to pretend that every expression of prejudice carries the same historical and institutional weight.

Justice requires discernment.

If someone genuinely wants to fight racism against white people, I am willing to listen. But credibility in that conversation comes from consistency. If we cannot confront the most pervasive injustice first, then we are not really talking about justice—we are protecting comfort.

Fight all racism. Absolutely.

But start where the fire has burned the longest and hottest.

That is not bias.

That is moral clarity.

There are also those who say, “Well, there’s racism on all sides, so I don’t feel compelled to speak against it.” That sounds balanced, but in practice it becomes a convenient escape hatch. If racism is everywhere, then no one feels responsible to confront it anywhere. That isn’t neutrality—it’s avoidance.

The existence of prejudice in multiple directions does not cancel out the responsibility to confront the most damaging forms of it. In fact, it makes moral clarity even more necessary. Saying “everyone is guilty” can quickly become a way of doing nothing at all. And when silence settles in, the deeper, more entrenched injustices remain undisturbed. Calling out pervasive, systemic racism is not partiality—it is refusing to let complexity become an excuse for inaction.

Stand with us on this issue. This is something the Bible is clear about. Take a stand.

BDD