In honor of International Day for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination (March 21), ELCA Racial Justice Ministries invited the Dr. Robin Lauermann, Ph.D. to share some thoughts about the annual board retreat held in Montgomery, AL of the ELCA Association of White Lutherans for Racial Justice and their work to end racism and dismantle white supremacy.

Front exterior of The Legacy Museum, a civil rights museum, explaining the civil rights movement in the US, in Montgomery Alabama, United States. Photo: Equal Justice Initiative

One of the first exhibits in the Legacy Museum. Photo: Equal Justice Initiative/Human Pictures

The National Memorial for Peace and Justice. Photo by Equal Justice Initiative https://legacysites.eji.org/about/memorial/

In late January, as part of the annual board retreat of the ELCA Association of White Lutherans for Racial Justice, I moved attentively through the Legacy Museum, established in Montgomery, Ala., by the Equal Justice Initiative (EJI). With my mind spinning from its stark and stimulating exhibits, which present the history of white supremacy from slavery to segregation to mass incarceration, I entered the final exhibit hall to see a familiar face: that of Anthony Ray Hinton. My heart leaped in instant recognition, with a mix of lament and joy.

I had learned about Hinton when I first visited Montgomery in 2016 as part of a multistate civil rights tour, meeting with veterans of the movement and visiting such important sites as the EJI offices. Staff members there explained the initiative’s work challenging injustice in the legal system, through both legal representation and policy advocacy. Their remarks expanded what I had learned from the book Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption, whose author, Bryan Stevenson, is founder and executive director of the EJI.

Due to mistaken identity, Anthony Ray Hinton was wrongly convicted of two murders and spent 30 years on death row. Ultimately EJI secured his release. Most poignant to me was a video that covered Hinton’s reentry into society: the scope of the years taken from him was shown by his learning to use technology unavailable before he was incarcerated — not a cell phone, not satellite radio, but an ATM. An ATM! As soon as Hinton’s book, The Sun Does Shine: How I Found Life, Freedom, and Justice, was published in 2019, I read it and reflected anew on the challenges his story revealed about the criminal justice system.

When I saw Hinton’s face in a museum display, he gazed at me from a row of visitation carrels. He wore prison scrubs and sat in a stark room. I approached the display, lifted a phone handset from the wall and listened as Hinton briefly recounted his story, his gaze never breaking from mine. His visual state contrasted with my knowledge of his freedom, and I thought again of him learning to use the ATM.

I continued around the room, stopping to hear from others. I listened intently to Kuntrell Jackson, who shared how his sentencing to life in prison at age 14; EJI would later represent him before the Supreme Court in a case that would overturn mandatory life sentences for children. Monica Washington told me about her sexual assault by a prison guard; EJI’s complaint would lead to a federal investigation of widespread abuse and to prosecutions of corrections staff. Hinton, Jackson and Washington were just three of the people whose stories were shared in the exhibit and for whom EJI has advocated.

The retreat weekend was both intense and inspiring. In addition to the museum, we visited EJI’s National Memorial for Peace and Justice, which commemorates of racial terror lynchings that began in the South at the end Reconstruction. These visits renewed my lament at the way white supremacy has dehumanized others, disregarding their creation in the image of God. However, the visit also inspired hope, even amid backsliding government policies designed to protect the rights of marginalized communities.  Encounters with history provide us with models of courage and strategy by leaders. The work of EJI shows the possibility of contemporary nonprofit and other collective efforts to promote change. Hinton’s story likewise stands at the crossroads of two legacies: one of disregard and violence, the other of advocacy and hope.

Robin Lauermann holds a Ph.D. in political science and is currently completing a certificate in theological studies at United Lutheran Seminary. She teaches and researches political behavior, institutions and change in U.S. and comparative politics. Robin currently serves as a board member of the ELCA Association of White Lutherans for Racial Justice.

To honor Transgender Day of Remembrance which is observed on November 20 each year, ELCA Racial Justice Ministries invited Vicar Vica-Etta Henrietta Steel to share some thoughts with our readers.

Editor’s note: Our author intentionally capitalizes the word queer throughout. While this capitalization may not be congruent with style guidelines, ELCA RJ Ministries supports this style decision.

Each year, on Nov. 20, the Transgender Day of Remembrance is observed across the nation. Each year, the vast majority of the transgender people who are murdered are Black and brown transgender women. People gather to mourn, to light candles, to say the names of those who have been murdered. 

Each year we gather. Each year.

The Transgender Day of Remembrance is a day to call for justice for transgender people. The day of remembrance is a day to call for racial justice. The harm done to our transgender family in this nation, and across the world, is a racial justice issue. 

The transgender community is under constant and growing attack. Over half the states in the nation have enacted or are considering laws that take medical care, safety and opportunities from our transgender family (for more details, see Erin Reed’s “Anti-Trans Legislative Risk Assessment Map: September 2024 Edition”). According to Nature Human Behavior, rates of attempted suicide by youth and young adults have skyrocketed, up to 72%, in states where anti-transgender legislation has been enacted. These laws harm all of us, but the greatest harm is done to those who face multiple marginalizations, specifically BIPOC, disabled or neurodivergent people. Too often, people in America have become injured to the reality of murder and harm. Complacency becomes complicity and the horror of murder being normalized in the broader society is magnified in our marginalized communities. 

I cannot speak here of all the harm done to transgender people. It would be too much for you to read. It is too much for my heart to take. All I can do is share some of what I experience as a Queer woman who is transgender and lesbian. I am white. I tell you this because when I came out to the world, when I lost access to the privilege afforded me as one who had presented as if I were a white man, I learned how much privilege I hold, still. 

When I tell you that I have learned to be wary of police and cautious of men, do you understand that as privilege? My wariness grows from a fear that, if I am arrested, a person who carries authority in a gun will place me in a holding cell with men. I do everything I can to avoid that harm. When I travel alone, I drive the speed limit and obey all traffic laws. If I see police officers at a roadside gas station, I get back on the road and continue driving. I take precautions to make certain it is safe for me to use the same bathroom other women use. (I always travel with a change of clothes and other materials so I can avoid a stop if it isn’t safe.) Do you understand the danger we who are transgender face in this world where our right to exist is open to debate? Where we are not allowed to be present when cis people legislate or argue our fates? Where fear of our existence is sold across the nation for the political gain of those who prosper from harm? Where even people and organizations that claim to be our allies choose silence in the face of open expressions of transphobia? The need to be safe is a real concern. Also, I do not fear being shot by those same police for simply existing. It is my privilege to fear rather than experience the unjust incarcerations that are the reality for far too many Black and brown transgender women (for a more detailed analysis, see the Movement Advancement Project report “Unjust: How the Broken Criminal Justice System Fails Transgender People”). 

I write here to share that it is long past time for us all to speak with and lift the voices of our transgender family, especially the Black and brown women in our circles. The Transgender Day of Remembrance is a day of racial justice. Trans joy and trans uplift are racial justice issues. I hope that we all integrate the work toward justice for and with Queer communities, especially transgender communities, into the work toward racial justice. 

As core work toward racial justice, I urge you to follow the writing of Black transgender women who help everyone understand transgender people’s stories of pain and joy. If you don’t know where to start, I offer the leadership of Imara Jones and her work at TransLash.org. Seek out Transgender Day of Remembrance services in your communities or online. Find and say the names of those murdered each year. I pray that we all begin.

Vica-Etta Henrietta Steel is in ministry at St. John’s Lutheran Church in Madison, Wis. She is also the developer of JustBe Ministry, an inclusive ministry in the public square, rooted in Queer community with a focus toward centering BIPOC Queer voices and the voices of all who have been historically and are currently excluded. She works to lift trans joy in a world that gives us so much pain.

In honor of International Day for People of African Descent, which is observed internationally on August 31 each year, ELCA Racial Justice Ministries invited ELCA Director for Innovation and Ideas to share some thoughts about being a person of African descent. For more information on International Day for People of African Descent, visit International Day for People of African Descent – EN | United Nations.

Names carry immense significance. They are a marker of identity, heritage and personal history. Because I am of African descent, my name is a reflection of and connection to my ancestral roots and cultural identity. However, in a world shaped by patriarchy and systemic biases, the journey of owning and explaining one’s name can be a challenging experience. One wants to maintain one’s culture and hold it dear to one’s heart, but this can be difficult because not everything about one’s culture is worth maintaining and, like many other things, culture evolves over time.

In many African cultures names are not merely labels but encapsulate stories, values and histories. A name might signify a particular event, convey hopes for the future or reflect familial lineage. For example, my name is Rahel Mwitula Williams; however, I was born Rahel Norbert Mwitula. Yes, my father’s first name is my middle name because, in our culture, this is a way to trace one’s lineage. So I am Rahel, daughter of Norbert, of the Mwitula clan. I can trace my lineage back through many generations: Rahel Norbert Yoram Mtemibala Mwitula. Here is the breakdown:

• Rahel, daughter of Norbert.
• Granddaughter of Yoram.
• Great-granddaughter Mtemibala.
• of the Mwitula clan.

When I got married, maintaining my African heritage was important to me, so I made my clan name my middle name, which is not traditional in our culture. In theory I was supposed to be Rahel Jason Williams (yes, you read that right), taking my husband’s full name as per patriarchal custom. However, I went against these cultural norms and decided to go with Rahel Mwitula Williams. Hence, I personally want people to respect and acknowledge my full name as I choose to identify.

Unfortunately I constantly must fight people and institutions to ensure that they say and acknowledge my full, complete name as I identify myself. (And don’t get me started on the difference between Rachel and Rahel.) For example, I found out that I have two email addresses at work, Rahel.Williams@elca.org and Rahel.Mwitula-Williams@elca.org, because it was considered a “good idea” to give people options. However, there is no option with my name. It is what it is — Rahel Mwitula Williams. I decide what I want to identify as, just like any other group fighting for their identity.

Choosing to own and proudly use one’s given name in such an environment is a powerful act of resistance. It is a declaration of my self-worth and an affirmation of my cultural identity. At the same time, society is more patient with those from the global north than with those from the global south. People from the global south are repeatedly asked to come up with a global-north name or nickname but not the other way around.

• My name is an affirmation of my identity, connecting me to my heritage and personal history. It is a daily reminder of where I come from and the stories of my ancestors.
• My name gives me the opportunity to educate others about my culture, promote diversity and foster greater understanding and respect.
• My name breaks stereotypes and challenges the notion that non-Western names are inferior or inconvenient. It confronts the biases ingrained in patriarchal and colonial mindsets.
• My name empowers me to refuse to conform when I am pressured to change and fit in. It is a statement that I value my identity and heritage, regardless of societal expectations.

I am Rahel Mwitula Williams.

Rahel Mwitula Williams is director for innovation and ideas with the ELCA, having previously served as director of Global Mission funding. Born and raised in Tanzania, East Africa, she migrated to the United States with her family at age 12. Rahel is a member of Shekinah Chapel, a Lutheran church in Riverdale, Ill., where her husband, the Rev. Jason Williams, serves as pastor.

She holds a B.S. in psychology from Loyola University, a Master of Science degree in international public service from DePaul University and an executive scholar certificate in nonprofit management from Kellogg School of Management at Northwestern University.

She is a founder and the creative director of ILAVA, a social enterprise that uses fashion to inspire and implement change around the world

In addition to her roles at the ELCA and ILAVA, Rahel is a nonprofit development executive who specializes in working with major donors, both in the United States and internationally. Rahel achieved a significant personal milestone in 2023 by climbing to the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro, one of her proudest moments.

For more from Rahel Mwitula Williams: 

• www.myilava.com
• Blog | RMW Corporation (rahelmwitulawilliams.com)
• Chasing Uhuru Peak: Mt Kilimanjaro Experience by Rahel Mwitula Williams (youtube.com)
• Redefining Philanthropy: Faces of Change Makers | Rahel Mwitula Williams | TEDxNorthwesternU (youtube.com)

In honor of Juneteenth, ELCA Racial Justice Ministries invited Dr. Dianne R. Browne, Ph.D., CFLE, CSE, Chair of the ELCA New Jersey Synod’s Anti-Racism Team to share some thoughts about this federal holiday that many mark as the official end of legalized human enslavement in the United States. For more information on Juneteenth, visit What Is Juneteenth? | HISTORY.

I am from the Northeast, so I never celebrated Juneteenth as a young person. I knew about it because my maternal grandmother was from the South. My grandmother and mother shared stories about our history and their lived experiences. At first, I was disinterested, but their conversations helped me to understand and appreciate the ongoing struggle for racial justice and equity.

Let us talk about Juneteenth in that context. The Emancipation Proclamation was enacted in 1863. On June 19, 1865, two years later, when some 2,000 Union troops arrived in Galveston Bay, Texas, the army announced that the more than 250,000 enslaved Black people in the state were free by executive decree.

Younger generations may dismiss Juneteenth as history—it happened in the past, so why is it important? Share with them that it is sankofa. That word, which comes from the Akan people of Ghana, means learning from the past to move forward in the future. We are still learning from that dream deferred in 1865. We learned to have hope, to keep moving forward and not to be deterred in our efforts for racial justice.

Talk about Juneteenth! These conversations give fodder for the never-ending quest for a sometimes elusive racial justice and equity. Know that Juneteenth was freedom overdue; that the color red, including red food on Juneteenth, is significant, as it represents the blood shed during the transatlantic slave passage; that barbecues at Juneteenth celebrations offer foods that may be representative of what was brought to Texas by the enslaved Yoruba and Kongo people in the 19th century. Keep learning and preaching to folks younger than you!

On Juneteenth, as during the Jim Crow and civil rights eras, folks had to wait. In their waiting they were compelled to do something: to keep on pushing and to act by motivating others until the dream deferred was expedited.

The Bible encourages us in our actions. Micah 6:8 calls to us in this quest, “He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God” (NIV).

We know that racial justice is good and that action is needed to bring it to fruition. Encourage younger generations to press on. We are still in the struggle against a socialization that has embodied both personal and public white supremacy for generations. We are still questing for racial justice and equity, a dream deferred. We can get closer to that justice and equity through courageous intergenerational conversation.

A quote from James Baldwin sums it up: “Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them.”

Dianne R. Browne, Ph.D., CFLE, CSE, Chair, ELCA New Jersey Synod Anti-Racism Team

Dianne Browne is a retired educator and trainer. Her work has focused on racial and reproductive justice, family life, and equity and inclusion. She is chairperson for the New Jersey Synod’s anti-racism team and facilitates discussions for its Transforming White Privilege curriculum. She is a member of St. Luke Lutheran Church in Willingboro, NJ.

References:  National Museum of African American History & Culture

To commemorate the 9th anniversary of the martyrdom of the Emanuel 9 – Clementa C. Pinckney, Cynthia Marie Graham Hurd, Susie Jackson, Ethel Lee Lance, DePayne Middleton-Doctor, Tywanza Sanders, Daniel Lee Simmons, Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, and Myra Thompson, our beloved siblings in Christ who were murdered by a self-professed white supremacist and ELCA parishioner while they were gathered for Bible study and prayer at the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church (often referred to as Mother Emanuel) in Charleston, South Carolina on June 17, 2015 – Desta Goehner, Board President of the ELCA Association of White Lutherans for Racial Justice to share some thoughts about this day of repentance.

For more ELCA resources visit:  Commemoration of the Emanuel Nine — June 17 – Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (elca.org)

See also:  Establishing_June_17th_as_Emanuel_9_Commemoration_and_Day_of_Repentance.pdf (elca.org)

Worship Resources:  Prayers_Litanies_Laments_Emanuel_Nine_Commemoration.pdf (elca.org)

As I gather with my congregation every Sunday for worship, my heart often turns to the Emanuel Nine. On June 17, 2015, nine faithful Black Christians were tragically shot and killed during Bible study at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, S.C. This day stands as a somber reminder of the devastating consequences of racial hatred and violence.

What weighs heavily on my heart is the realization that the perpetrator, someone who grew up in a Lutheran congregation like mine, could commit such a heinous act. It compels me to confront uncomfortable questions about the environments and influences that shaped him — the people he interacted with at home, at school, at church and at work. He was one of us.

This is why White Lutherans for Racial Justice exists within the ELCA. We recognize our collective responsibility as white members of a predominantly white denomination to address the systemic racism that permeates our congregations, our synods, our institutions and our own hearts. The ELCA has issued resolutions, statements and apologies, but we have done very little to repair the ongoing harms caused by racism.

The burden of dismantling racial injustice cannot fall solely on the shoulders of people of color. As a white person, I must actively engage in the work of racial justice and equity. Yet I often shy away from relinquishing my power, my influence, my comfort. I’ve been conditioned to fear discomfort and confrontation, but I cannot allow that fear to paralyze me.

I have succumbed to this fear many times and certainly will again. I have also been the person to ask the hard questions and have felt the repercussions of that. Whiteness tells me to crawl back into my enclave, but my faith calls me out of that space. I trust that the Holy Spirit will lead and guide me as I lament and repent of my participation in white supremacy as a white, liberal, progressive Lutheran cis woman.

Whiteness exerts immense pressure, but I must not let it crush my resolve. I have witnessed how the weight of whiteness has led white leaders to falter, inflicting harm upon others without adequate accountability or restitution. We must acknowledge the risks inherent in naming injustice and asking hard questions that challenge harmful systems and processes.

We need each other in this journey toward racial justice. We need relationships that hold us accountable, that challenge us to confront our biases and privileges. Who are you building relationships with that offer different perspectives? It’s through these connections that our hearts change.

We must follow the leadership of people of color within our church, amplifying their voices and advocating for change. As we approach the 2024 United States presidential election, we cannot wait until after the fact to take action. Black and brown lives are at stake every day, not just during moments of political turmoil.

Commemorating June 17 as a day of repentance within the ELCA is a meaningful step toward acknowledging the legacy of racism within our church. But our work doesn’t end there. Racial justice is not an abstract concept; dismantling the structures of inequality that perpetuate racism requires tangible action. Join us in this ongoing journey toward racial justice. Together we can create a more just and equitable world where the lives of Black and brown people are valued and protected.

Reach out to your ministry leaders and ask them to include prayers of repentance in worship, and use resources on the ELCA Racial Justice website. Invite your congregation to use these resources in worship, in Bible study, on social media and in newsletters. And then notice whether your congregation commemorates June 17. If they do, express your support! If they don’t, gently inquire why not and advocate for change.

We believe in the power of community and the transformative potential of collective action. White Lutherans for Racial Justice welcomes people at all stages of their racial justice journey. Join us!

Bio: Desta Goehner is president of the Association of White Lutherans for Racial Justice and the Director of Thriving Leadership Formation, with 27-plus years of serving in different expressions of the ELCA. She is a trauma-informed spiritual director and a professional Enneagram coach for people and teams in ministry, specializing in conflict resolution, facilitation, leadership and spiritual formation. Desta’s work is dedicated to fostering racial justice, personal growth and healthy, anti-racist leadership in faith communities. For more about her visit linktr.ee/destag.

For more information on The Association of White Lutherans for Racial Justice visit: website|Facebook

In observance of Arab American Heritage Month, ELCA Racial Justice Ministries invited Rev. Dr. Niveen Ibrahim Sarras to share her thoughts on this topic with our readers.

People in the West often assume that Arab Christians were converted from Islam to Christianity by Western missionaries. However, Arab Christians have always existed in the Middle East and have enjoyed significant influence in the Arabian Peninsula.

To understand Arab Christians, it helps to know the geography of the peninsula. Arabia, known as Jazīrat Al-ʿArab (“Island of the Arabs”) in Arabic, extends beyond present-day Saudi Arabia, encompassing the Arabian Peninsula (bordered by the Red Sea to the west), the Gulf of Aden to the south, the Arabian Sea to the southeast, and the Gulf of Oman and Persian Gulf (also known as the Arabian Gulf) to the east.

Arabia was inhabited by nomadic bedouins who survived through hunting, mercenary work, trade and raids on other tribes. As noted in Acts 2:11, Arab merchants traveled to Palestine for business. Christian tribes such as the Ghassanids, Lakhmids, Banu Taghlib, Banu Tamim and Nabataeans were spread across the peninsula, originating from Yemen and migrating to the Levant after the destruction of the Marib Dam in the sixth century BCE. By the fifth century CE most of these tribes had converted to Christianity. Arab Christians in the peninsula spoke and prayed in Arabic, yet their liturgical and confessional writings were in Syriac.[1]

In 732 CE, Arab forces influenced by Islam conquered the Levant, a Greco-Roman region that had previously been part of the Byzantine Empire. Muslims spread their Arabic language with each conquest. The Levant was predominantly inhabited by non-Arab Christians, possibly descendants of various ancient civilizations. Christian communities in the conquered territories spoke Greek, Syriac, Coptic, Armenian and Ethiopian languages.[2] Communities in Damascus and Baghdad were predominantly Arameans, using Aramaic for theology and liturgy, whereas those in Palestine, Jordan and Sinai utilized Greek ecclesiastically but Aramaic/Syriac locally. Over time Christians in the Levant and Egypt became Arabized through the imposition of the Arabic language. The Melkite Church was the first to adopt Arabic for worship.[3]

In the eighth century CE, Arabized Christian families in the Levant were drawn to Muslim power, leading them to convert to Islam. Christians held high positions and contributed to intellectual life under Muslim rule but faced pressure to convert. Muslim authorities imposed a poll tax on Arab Christians who refused to convert,[4] so they translated their religious texts into Arabic and developed apologetics to defend their faith. After the Crusades, Muslims imposed harsh policies on Christians, prompting resentment. Arabization accelerated through translation efforts and Islamic influences.

The Ottoman Empire’s occupation of the Middle East, which lasted from 1516 to 1917. led to “Turkification” efforts, and this cultural oppression provoked an Arab nationalist movement. Arab Christians revived the Arabic language and culture, but tribalism frustrated their efforts to form a unified Arab identity. Despite these differing identities, Islam’s influence remains strong among Arab Christians.

In sum, Christians in the conquered territories became Arabized when the Arabic language was imposed upon them. In other words, they are not Arabs by ethnic or race bound but by the Arabic language.

The Rev. Niveen Ibrahim Sarras was born and raised in Bethlehem, Palestine. She is the first Palestinian woman ordained to the ministry of Word and Sacrament in the ELCA. Her passion for the Bible started through attending Sunday school at the Lutheran Church of the Reformation and attending Lutheran school in Bethlehem.

Hungry for a deeper knowledge of Scripture and eager to answer God’s call to ministry, Rev. Sarras earned her Master of Divinity degree from Pacific Lutheran Theological Seminary in Berkeley, Calif., laying the foundation for her ministry of Word and Sacrament. Her academic pursuits led her to the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago, where she earned a Doctor of Philosophy degree in Old Testament.

Rev. Sarras loves to teach Scripture and theology. She shared her knowledge through programs such as the Lay School of the ELCA East-Central Synod of Wisconsin, where she taught feminist, womanist and mujerista theology. She expanded her horizons by teaching courses such as “Introduction to Feminist Theology” and “An Introduction to Judaism, Christianity, and Islam” in Marathon County, Wis., through the Extension program at University of Wisconsin-Madison.

Rev. Sarras’ scholarly contributions challenge traditional biblical commentaries and offer fresh perspectives on matters of faith and society. Notable among her publications is “Jesus Was a Palestinian Jew — Not White,” which challenges traditional misconceptions about Jesus’ identity and roots. Her scholarly article “Refuting the Violent Image of God in the Book of Joshua 6-12” was anthologized in The (De)legitimization of Violence in Sacred and Human Contexts (Palgrace Macmillan, 2021), offering fresh insights into the violence depicted in the book.

Beyond academia, Rev. Sarras finds pleasure in hiking, biking, baking and immersing herself in books on politics, faith and Scripture, as well as watching documentary movies. In her roles as a pastor and as a scholar, Sarras advocates for critical thinking and encourages others to deepen their understanding of faith.

[1] Sidney H. Griffith, The Church in the Shadow of the Mosque: Christians and Muslims in the World of Islam (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2012), 9.

[2] Griffith, The Church in the Shadow of the Mosque, 8

[3] Ibid., 49

[4] Kenneth Cragg, The Arab Christian: A History in the Middle East (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1991), 54.