When I was in seminary, a classmate shared a story in our Ministry of Writing class. The prompt had something to do with the complexity of people or hard lessons we’ve had to learn. I’ve long-since forgotten what I wrote that day, but my classmate’s story has stuck with me for nearly a decade.

She shared about a grandmotherly figure in her home church who was adored by everyone. She was always ready to volunteer for children’s ministry (and would often give the kids a butterscotch candy from her purse). She always baked things for the bake sale and was incredibly supportive of the church as a whole. She taught through her actions what showing compassion in the church could look like and many learned from her example.

But when a Black family joined the church, she left in protest. So far

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