Ruby Bridges on November 14, 1960

A fault line is where subterranean rock mass movement can occur, causing earthquakes.

This concept is used in political analysis, such as in the book title, Fault Lines: A History of the United States Since 1974.

When someone says, “I have learned not to speak of religion or politics,” he or she is saying, “I stay away from the fault lines.” Even in my church, I have tried to speak less about religion per se, and more about the life of Jesus. That seemed a safe route, away from the fault lines. Likewise I tried to keep my political views to myself, again steering clear of the fault lines.

Many churches have adopted the same policy, recognizing that the most active faults run through the congregation. So we try to co-exist. After all, isn’t that what Jesus and Paul teach us to do? So, we try to be Christians first, try to focus on Jesus for our identity. We try to “live peaceably with all people.”

But therein lies the challenge. As we move closer to Jesus, we become more aware of that brother or sister of color who faithfully worships with his white brothers and sisters, daring not to be too honest about the challenges they face. They look at us and figure “Those are nice white church people. We don’t need to disturb them with the realities in which we live.”

Our sisters and brothers of color know all too well where the fault lines are. They survive by keeping themselves to themselves, by not openly sharing with their benevolent white congregants.

In the white evangelical world, the concept of “social fairness” has been all but eliminated. Into the vacuum that remains have come attitudes of white supremacy and Christian nationalism. Someone extols the contributions of “Western Civilization.” Another speaks of the “good ol’days” of the 1950’s when we put “In God We Trust” on our currency.” Another longs for the time when “women were women, and men were men.”

Dare we admit that Western Civilization brought slavery to this nation, with its resultant Jim Crow legislation?  Or point out that in 1960, it took four United States federal marshals to safely escort one six-year-old Ruby Bridges into a Louisiana elementary school, against the jeering, threatening, and otherwise despicable bigots, many of whom were “good, church people?” Dare one name the resistance to full participation of women in the professions and vocations for what it was, “unjust, gender-based discrimination often sanctioned by church leaders and doctrinal positions?”

Many churches have become isolationist, their member families circling their wagons, fortifying themselves against “those people” – those others worthy of being demonized.

Suddenly, I realize that the “fault lines” are actually boundaries. That for a long time I honored those boundaries. However, in recent years that has become difficult. Everything is political, it seems. If I advocate sensitivity to other people who have been disadvantaged on racial or gender grounds, then I face accusations and labels. If I call into question certain policing practices and their lethal consequences to people of color, then I am otherized, as “liberal” or worse. If I am dismayed by literally “countless” hundreds of children separated from parents at the border, then somehow I must be the problem, and my political views are suspect.

The message is clear. “Watch out! You’re about to cross the line there, brother.”  To which I respond, “Too late, I already have!”