Voddie Baucham is in Trouble...

Doritos is committing to amplifying black voices so you can clearly hear us now.

Christianism looks at the black man and the not so black man. You categorize the world how you want to,

I'll categorize the world how I want to. But it's okay that you're not black like me.

God loves you just like you are. Voti, you my friend, are going to tell us a story today.

Oh, wonderful. We'll see about that because we are told these days that we need to listen to people's stories.

I'm speaking specifically about the realm of racial issues in our country.

As best I can tell, the times seem to be changing. It's a turbulent time for racial relations.

And those conversations that are happening outside of the church have made their way inside of the church.

And we have got some good brothers who are telling us you need to hear the story of black people in America.

And it will change your tune, how you view the whole racial landscape, and how we in the church go about fixing it.

If I'm being told by many voices that I will be affected and changed by hearing stories from people who have experienced, black people who have experienced what white people have not in this country,

I want to hear those stories because I want to learn. What has always made, I think, some of us a little gun -shy is it feels like maybe there's an agenda behind the stories.

Or maybe I can't trust the source of the stories. Voti, I trust you. And so I want to hear from you.

Explain to me, a white man, what is it like to be a black man in America, 21st century?

If you are not prepared to come to that table and to represent that voice, don't come.

Because we don't need any more brown faces that don't want to be a brown voice.

We don't need black faces that don't want to be a black voice. We don't need Muslims that don't want to be a

Muslim voice. We don't need queers that don't want to be a queer voice. And if you're worried about being marginalized and stereotyped, please don't even show up.

Because we need you to represent that voice. Some of y 'all speak against racial injustice.

So you can let you know. Masa, eyes ain't like the other Negroes. Master, eyes over here, we, we,

Masa feeds us. Masa clothes us. Look at me, think I'm acting funny. This is the truth.

Because some of y 'all Negroes, let me tell y 'all something. Some of y 'all are some suckers in the spirit. Because you won't be honest with the racism that you're dealing with.

And you want to, you want to, you want the, the spoils of privilege. And you'll sell out the gospel and you'll sell out your own people.

Help me today, God. Masa, it wasn't me. It was them ones in the field.

Becoming friends with the African American that agrees with everything you say isn't helpful to you as a white evangelical.

And probably has that African American trying to win approval or position. Well, you know, as you were saying that, here's what

I was thinking. And as you were saying, you know, I trust you. And you, you know, you want to hear from me. I could hear people out there who are doing two things simultaneously.

And when I say people out there, I mean people who would be advocates of this. Right? We need dialogue.

And we need to hear one another's stories. Right? You need to hear black people's stories.

On the one hand, they're hearing you say that and they're going, yes. You need to hear black people's stories. And then you're pointing to me and you're saying, okay,

I want to hear it. And some of those same people would be going, no, no, no, not his. Because I don't qualify because I don't have the right worldview.

Let me explain something to you. I believe in racial reconciliation.

I have to because I believe the Bible. Amen? I have to believe that.

And perhaps you, it would help you to know this about me. We've been in Zambia for the last three and a half years.

The last three and a half years, we've been in a church where most of the people look like us. Now, granted, we're foreigners.

Right? We're outsiders. But it's been over two decades since my family has been part of a church where most of the people look like us.

And that was by design. In the early 90s, promise keepers movement was huge.

And I was invited to preach at a number of different events. And racial reconciliation was just on.

On everybody's agenda. And, I mean, it was a big movement.

It was a massive movement. And during that time in the early to mid 1990s, here

I was. I had come to faith in the late 1980s, 1987.

I was a member of a black fraternity. I married a woman who was a graduate of historical black college and university.

I was the founder of black student fellowship at Houston Baptist University. And had been a member of and was preaching at a predominantly black church.

It was just black, black, black, black, black. That was my world. And now all this promise keeper stuff is happening.

And the racial reconciliation conversation is happening. And for me, it brought me to a crossroads.

Because I'm looking and listening and meeting a lot of my white brethren.

Who were passionate about racial reconciliation and basically asking how do we do this?

How do we not have our church continue to look like it looks?

How do we have our church, which is predominantly white, in a neighborhood that is not predominantly white.

Begin to reflect the broader community. I'm beginning to be invited into places where you come preach. We want to have this event.

We want to reach our community. We want to reach the different ethnic groups in our community. And this is not an indictment of all black churches.

This is not an indictment of all black. This is me and my experience.

I looked in my circle and I realized that I was not hearing that from my side.

I didn't know black pastors who were staying awake at night because their churches were too black.

Who were on their knees weeping before they went and stood up and preached.

Because most of the faces that they were going to preach to look just like them. But this is what

I was running into from white pastors. Again, I am not saying that it didn't exist.

I'm saying that in my experience, I didn't see it. And I was convicted and made a decision in the mid -1990s that my family and I would not continue to go to churches where everybody looked like us.

That if I was serious about racial reconciliation, that this is something that we would do.

And it was hard. It was hard. Took a position at a predominantly white church.

And it was tough. We faced a lot of things.

Sometimes we faced overt racism. Rarely. More often than that, it was just insensitivities, ignorance.

But it was what we signed up for. And it was difficult. It was hard for my children because they were too young to really understand what we were doing and why.

And it was hard to be the only black kids around. But if I believed what

I believed, then what were the options?

What were the alternatives? It was difficult from another perspective as well.

It was difficult from the perspective of having conversations on more than one occasion where people to my face accused me of selling out.

I was saying, wait a minute. Wait a minute. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Because you go to Promise Keepers rallies and you will do pulpit swaps and you will do all of these sorts of things.

But now that I've decided to take this to another level and make a personal commitment with my life and my family's life,

I'm selling out? Then what are we really trying to do? I was accused, and this one was always difficult, of robbing the black church of its best and brightest.

Now, on the one hand, thanks for the compliment. But on the other hand, what do

I do with that? Because part of me is going, what a horrible way to think about the church.

You're black. Therefore, you belong to this group and your gifts and graces and talents and abilities belong to this group.

And it's robbery for you to take them in for you to get. But on the other hand,

I distinctly remember when I graduated from Southwestern Seminary, receiving a questionnaire from a black

PhD student. And I forget what school they were at. Black PhD student who was doing research for their dissertation and wanted me to fill out this questionnaire because less than 15 percent of all black ministers in this country, according to their research, had seminary education.

So this was their research project trying to figure out, OK, what is it that led you in this direction and what is it that helped you to stay the course?

And what is it that can you see how it'd be torn having conversation with my wife and children when certain things would happen?

Constantly having that wrestle and that struggle with. Is this tokenism or is it real?

And regardless of what it is. Is this the commitment? Or is it not?

And if I do have a problem with the way people understand me or don't understand me.

Can I simultaneously fault people for not understanding me? And then not make myself available so that they can have a relationship with me and learn to understand me.

How dare you white people who don't have relationships with black people not understand us?

Do you see the dilemma? And it's a double edged sword.

Because ironically, now that part of my history is often leveraged against me.

In this entire discussion. You don't get a voice in this discussion.

You don't get a dog in this fight. Because you abandoned your people.