Author: Leah Blankenship

I love my country.  We are a beautiful land filled with incredible people, and I am grateful to be an American.  

Juneteenth is a new holiday for me, and I’m still figuring out how to celebrate it.  But along with Memorial Day and Veteran’s Day, it celebrates the very best of the United States of America.  

First, what is Juneteenth?  

The word comes from combining “June” and “nineteenth.”  Legally, slavery ended on January 31, 1865, when the U.S. Senate ratified the 13^th Amendment.  But in practice, slave-owners held people in slavery for as long as they possibly could, often until Union agents showed up to enforce emancipation.  For example, one Texas slaveholder said he would eventually tell “his” slaves they were free, but “not until after another crop or two.” On June 19th, General Granger arrived in Galveston, Texas and announced that the 200,000 Black people kept in bondage across the state were emancipated.  

Juneteenth has been a local and then state-wide holiday ever since, and in recent years, cities across the country have adopted official Juneteenth festivals and parades.  

Juneteenth celebrates American freedom.

I think we’re missing something when we say “slaves celebrated their freedom on Juneteenth.” Let’s rephrase it: Americans celebrated their freedom.

It somehow hits you differently, right?  

By the time the Civil War ended, it had already been illegal to import slaves from Africa for fifty-seven years.  That means most of the Americans celebrating their freedom had been born in the U.S. and had never known any other country—they were as American as apple pie.

Americans were tortured, forced into labor, and separated from their families. Over 4 million Americans survived and overcame crimes against humanity.

Imagine what it would be like if 4 million Americans were held prisoner  in an Al Qaeda labor camp. It would be a big deal when our troops finally saved them and set them free. 

It would be something we’d remember, talk about, and celebrate.  

That’s what Juneteenth is.  Juneteenth is equal to any other world victory for liberty.  It’s a big deal.  Shouldn’t we all celebrate it?

We remember.

On Pearl Harbor Day, we solemnly remember the U.S. soldiers who sacrificed their lives for our freedom.  It doesn’t matter that it was long ago, it is good and fitting that we acknowledge them.  

On September 11th, can you imagine the day passing without mention?  It was another “day of infamy” with ripple effects that changed everything from air travel to baseball games.  We grieve together on the anniversary each year, bound by the trauma that we shared.  Sometimes memorial services include a reading of the names of the nearly 3,000 people who died.  We say, “Never forget.”  

Juneteenth is a way of saying, “The Black people who endured slavery are worth remembering, too.  They are important.  Never forget.”  

It’s a chance for us to celebrate freedom, but it’s also a chance for us to grieve, as we do on 9/11.  It’s a day to acknowledge the trauma and ripple effects from 250 years of slavery.  It’s a day to remember patriots like Harriet Tubman, and others who sacrificed their safety and sometimes their lives for American freedom.  It doesn’t matter that it was long ago, it is good and fitting that we acknowledge them.

Juneteenth is especially important if we want our nation to honor the Lord.

On a personal level, Christianity isn’t about strength or power, or even about being the most righteous.  Christianity is all about acknowledging your sins and accepting God’s grace.  

If we’re a Christian nation, we must boast in our weaknesses so that God can be our strength.  We must not gloss over slavery and its legacy, but rather freely talk about our nation’s sins, knowing that where sin abounds, grace abounds all the more (Romans 5:20).  We’ll praise God—not just for delivering Black people from slavery, but for setting our whole country free from that stronghold of Satan.

Can white people celebrate Juneteenth?

Yes, it’s okay! But like any holiday, there are respectful and disrespectful ways to celebrate, and good intent doesn’t absolve negative impact.  Read up on it.  

One important way to celebrate is also really fun: get some kids involved.  If you have grandkids, nieces and nephews, or even a few neighborhood kids running around, light some sparklers with them!  My young daughters astutely identified Juneteenth as an opportunity to make special cupcakes with lots of sprinkles, so that will probably become one of our traditions.  Get some library books about abolitionists and Juneteenth. Tell them that as an American, you celebrate everybody’s freedom.  And don’t we all want a reason to have another party these days? 

End the day by ordering a copy of Annette Gordon-Reed’s most recent book, On Juneteenth.  It’s short, easy-to-read, and absolutely fascinating—especially if you like Texas history!

If you spent any time with me in 2009, you knew about Darnell.

I was a first-year teacher at an amazing little Christian school in Philadelphia, and Darnell was one of my third grade students.  

I put my heart and soul into teaching that year.  I started most mornings by kneeling on the classroom floor, begging God to give me wisdom.  I loved my students.  They were embarrassed when they occasionally called me “mom,” but it warmed my heart.  We had fun together, and all of us learned.  

But Darnell drove me nuts.  

When he was in a good mood, he was the cutest, most charming 9-year old on the planet.  But if he was having a bad day, he’d just flat-out refuse to do his work.  He’d pout at his desk with his arms crossed and book closed.  

I didn’t know how to handle it when he “gave me attitude.”  It touched a nerve, one of my insecurities as a teacher; that I didn’t have “the look” that instantly made a kid freeze up in fear.  I mostly managed students’ misbehavior with humor, a raised eyebrow, or a little extra attention, but when Darnell’s defiance was just too much, I’d send him to the principal for a pep talk.  

Every single week at Bible study, I asked my Christian friends to pray for Darnell and me.  I asked for advice and ideas.  The kid was clearly brilliant, but I just couldn’t figure him out.  I couldn’t “get through to him.”

That June, my principal told me that Darnell would not be returning for the next school year.  His mother had suggested that I targeted Darnell unfairly because he was the only Black student in the class, that I was racist.  My principal scoffed.  She knew my heart.  She knew my devotion to my students.  She knew I wasn’t racist. 

I didn’t say anything.  It felt crummy.  But it was summer, the end of an exhausting and mostly wonderful year, and I let it go.

Learning About Bias: The Beginning

Several years later, I heard about implicit bias for the first time. Or at least, I listened for the first time.

By definition, implicit bias is a prejudice that you don’t even realize you have.  It’s totally subconscious.  Everybody has implicit biases, so in that sense we’re all in the same boat.  

Studies on teachers’ biases reveal what any middle school student could already tell you–teachers have favorites.  

Researchers sitting in the back of a classroom put a checkmark next to students’ names each time the teacher calls on them, smiles, encourages, reprimands, etc.  They’ve found some alarming patterns.

When teachers think a student is smart and capable, they smile more, nod more, give more specific feedback, and allow more time for answering questions.  Without even realizing it, teachers give extra support to students who need it the least.  

Teachers also have the same implicit racial biases as everybody else.  Educators are more likely to give a severe punishment to a Black student than a white student with the exact same misbehavior.  They are more likely to view a Black student’s facial expressions as “angry” compared to a white student.  They usually perceive Black students as being dangerous and much older than they really are.

One of my favorite, real-life examples of classroom bias was a teacher struggling with a group of Black students who would not pay attention.  When the teacher asked one of her colleagues for advice, they told her to look more closely at all the students.  Sure enough, both Black and white students were goofing off, but the teacher had unknowingly focused on her Black students’ misbehavior.

The statistics paint a disturbing picture.  Black students who have just one Black teacher in elementary school are more likely to graduate from high school.  Black students who have two Black teachers in elementary school are 32 percent more likely to go to college than Black students who only have white teachers.  Part of this is due to the “role-model effect,” but part of it is because Black teachers don’t have as many negative implicit biases about their Black students.  

Of course, teachers’ implicit racial biases are only part of the problem of educational disparities. Black educators know their communities and are leading the way, but unjust policies have hurt Black teachers and Black students, and it will take resources and work to repair the damage done.

An Epiphany

For nearly ten years, I’d scan an article here and there about implicit bias in education, taking mental notes and jotting down key points.  One morning I came across an article that hit me like a lightning bolt.  

Mia McKenzie describes how she’d always loved school, and her teachers recognized and nurtured her talent.  They built up her joy and confidence.  Then in the fourth grade, the author had her first white teacher.  This teacher misunderstood the author’s confidence as arrogance, and punishment and defiance escalated accordingly.  For the first time in her life, the author didn’t love school anymore.

I had done the same thing to Darnell. 

I knew it instantly and with absolute certainty: I’d hurt a student entrusted to my care.  

With other students’ outbursts, I’d pull them aside for a heart-to-heart and usually figure out what was really bothering them. But when Darnell did the same thing, I interpreted his actions as a personal attack on my authority as a teacher.

Let me repeat that: I felt threatened. I tried to control or squash the “threat.” The “threat” was coming from a 9 year-old. A child.

I’d seen the studies that teachers are more likely to perceive a Black student as “threatening,” but it took me years to connect this research to my biggest first-year teaching “challenge.”

I hurt a child in Jesus’s name.  I hurt a child and thought I was a loving, patient, selfless teacher.  

“Forgive My Hidden Faults”

The prophet Isaiah was right: even with prayer and good intentions, my best efforts with Darnell were like filthy rags (Isaiah 64:6).  

I’m grieved by my sin, and every once in a while I let that grief settle into my heart for a bit.  It reminds me to be humble. 

I was a racist, Christian teacher. I still am.

Those implicit racial biases are still knocking around in my mind and heart, looking for a foothold. Satan is clever, and he’ll happily use implicit racism to weaken my ministry without me even realizing it.

I have to be on guard, but I don’t have to be afraid. I’m a racist, Christian teacher who is forgiven and redeemed, and most miraculously–God can still use me for good!

I can learn and do better, and I don’t have to do it alone. I can ask God to help me find the people and resources who will push me to become more like Him. Amen!

Equipping Christian Leaders

People who believe in sin shouldn’t be surprised by implicit bias.  If you’re sinful through-and-through, it makes sense that you have subconscious biases and prejudices.  We need Scripture, the Holy Spirit, and each other to identify and root out sins we don’t see.  

For centuries our society has been saturated with messages about race.  Racism isn’t just political jargon, it is a spiritual battle against evil.  When we don’t talk about implicit bias, we do a disservice to the Church and to the world.  

During that first year of teaching, I wasn’t a hopeless idiot or malicious crone—I was doing what I had been taught.  I’d been told to treat everybody the same, and that’s what I’d tried to do. Nobody warned me to watch for common implicit biases and how they might affect the way I treat Black students.  

Christian pastors, missionaries, authors, doctors, and teachers must be taught about implicit racial biases. Every servant-leader who cares about people more than their own egos will be grateful for information that will make them more effective in their callings.

Christ gives us hope.  Scripture urges us to seek God’s grace for “hidden faults” (Psalm 19:12), “take every thought captive” (2 Corinthians 10:5), and “be transformed by the renewing of your minds” (Romans 12:2).  With His grace, we can identify our implicit biases, expose them to the light, and love one another in “actions and in truth.”

When I held my newborn baby for the first time, I delighted in everything about her. Her ten little toes, impossibly cute ears, and the reddish-orange fuzz covering her head. Strawberry blonde, like my dad and brother! If you’d told me at that moment that my daughter’s hair “didn’t matter,” I would have chucked a bedpan at your face.

Of course it mattered!

Wouldn’t every proud grandparent with a phone full of pictures agree with me?

I don’t love my daughter because of her hair. The color will probably change over time, and I will love her whether her hair is red, brown, or purple! But her peach fuzz is a part of her, even if it’s just a small part, and everything about how God made her is good.

God looks at all of us the way that I looked at my newborn, though His love is bigger, stronger, and perfect. He looks at my freckles and smiles.  He looks at my best friend’s big, brown eyes and smiles.  He looks at our straight, wavy, curly or kinky hair—and He delights in every single strand on every single head (Luke 12:7).

In other words, when it comes to our skin, God’s not colorblind. 

Skin color matters because God made it!

I’ve always thought it sounds disingenuous to say “I don’t see race” or “I’m colorblind when it comes to race.”  Unless you have a visual impairment, you see skin colors.  You see facial features or hair textures that indicate race or ethnicity. 

You might think that skin color only matters to bigots.  The rest of us have no reason to think race is important, because we don’t use race to decide how decently we will treat someone.

But skin color does inherently matter.  God made our skin and hair, and declared them to be good, just like everything else He created.  He gave us a world full of rainbows and gardens; why would He want us to pretend that we can’t see the spectacular colors He’s made?

Furthermore, God made us in His own image.  It’s one of the profound mysteries of creation, a foundational truth.  When we ignore, dismiss, or even deny people’s skin color, we’re editing imago dei, the image of God.  We’re choosing which parts of a person to value and honor. 

The world tries to devalue imago dei, the image of God.

In college, one of my Black friends cut off her straightened hair to grow out her natural hair texture.  Callie styled, moisturized, and shaped her hair everyday.  It was glorious!  

But people told Callie that her new hairstyle was ugly, sloppy, and unprofessional.  She received constant, brutal criticism for letting her hair look textured, for letting her hair look…well, Black.

It would be insulting to tell Callie that her hair doesn’t matter.  God looks at her hair with joy, just the way I looked at my newborn’s strawberry fuzz.  And Callie had to defy a million comments telling her otherwise.  She insisted that she, too, was made in the image of God—no hair treatments required.

Differences aren’t shameful or dehumanizing.

Maybe we’re afraid that if we acknowledge differences, we won’t see people as fully human.  But it doesn’t dehumanize someone to see them as Black, because there is nothing bad or inhuman about being Black! Or being white, Asian, indigenous.

Differences aren’t degrading.  You can treat someone respectfully and equally while still acknowledging a part of their identity that may be very important to them, as it is for my friend, Callie.

I won’t confuse my daughters by pretending that racial diversity doesn’t exist when it’s right before their eyes.  I won’t teach them to ignore different skin colors as if they are something shameful.  

I’m showing them that we should celebrate and honor the bodies that God gave us: 

            Yeah, your Uncle Caleb is really tall!  

Grandma’s hair is short and silvery.

Yes, Aunt Ayesha has brown skin, isn’t it pretty?  Your skin is pink-ish, and that’s pretty, too!

Context matters, of course: a stranger at the grocery store probably does not want to chat with my toddler about his skin, but I can get a sense for what family members are comfortable with. We also talk frankly about skin colors when we read books and look at pictures together.  We thank God for giving people so many wonderful colors, sizes and shapes.

Scripture teaches to use words carefully.

Language is tricky.  It takes lots of work and intention to love people with our words instead of hurting them.  And Christians are commanded to be even more specific and considerate with our words, not less!  

Instead of saying, “Race doesn’t matter,” we can say “People of all races and skin colors are welcome at our church!”  Instead of saying, “I’m colorblind (with race),” say, “I try not to make assumptions based on race.”  

Truly, we are beautifully and wonderfully made!  In His eyes, every part of us matters.

Want to read more?

While this article doesn’t specifically discuss the language of “being colorblind,” it’s a highly relevant analysis of Critical Race Theory written by a Liberty University assistant professor.

“Social Justice, Critical Race Theory, Marxism and Biblical Ethics” by Kelly Hamrin in Christianity Today