There's a fine, gray-ish line between things in life that are nice and things that are absolutely necessary.
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Cable TV and Wi-Fi access? Nice, but not necessary. No-chip manicure with shellac polish? Nice, but not necessary. My iPhone 5? Nice--and embarrassingly crucial to my sanity--but ultimately, not necessary.
There are plenty of choices we make on a daily basis that can be categorized as either nice or necessary, but what about when it comes to more weighty topics--like multiculturalism in the church, for instance?
First off, let's talk about what multiculturalism is and is not. The dictionary talks about multiculturalism as being "the preservation of different cultures or cultural identities within a unified society."
I like that word: preservation. To preserve means to keep alive or in existence, to keep safe from harm or injury, to maintain, to retain. So to only tolerate and blindly accept people of many colors (or to be multicolored) isn't enough. A person's culture and experience must be kept safe and alive. It must be threaded so flawlessly into the human tapestry that others start to learn and eventually grow from the truth of someone else's identity.
Multiculturalism means inviting someone to be fully oneself, unapologetically, and actively celebrating the difference. Multicolored leaves gaps and disconnection. Multicultural builds bridges and elicits celebration.
Interestingly enough, my first bout of wrestling with the value of multiculturalism didn't start in the church. It started the day a little girl in my after-school program innocently asked me if I took showers because my skin was so dark, and it continued the day a girl on my club track team asked me why I talked so "white."
So my wrestling with this value didn't start in a community context at all; it started with me. Why was it puzzling to others that I was so different? What was so threatening--if anything--about my dark skin and dialect? I didn't have answers to those questions at that time, but I knew I felt singled out and uncomfortable.
I was uncomfortable being myself around my white friends, and I was uncomfortable being myself around my black friends. There was a huge, painfully daunting gap between me and people with whom I so desperately wanted to engage in friendship and community. I internally apologized for my uniqueness and decided to become whoever I needed to become in order to be accepted. The idea of fitting in, then, wasn't just nice to me; it was necessary.
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SOURCE: Relevant Magazine