As I was preparing for confirmation in the sacristy of one of our parishes not long ago, I overheard a young boy ask the pastor if he needed any servers. “Sure,” said Father. “You can carry the cross.”
The blond-headed boy quickly reappeared, now vested in a white alb and carrying the processional cross. I introduced myself and learned his name and age. A few moments later, he startled me with a question.
“Do you know what the K.K.K. is?”
I was truly taken aback. “Yes,” I said. “That’s the Ku Klux Klan. We don’t agree at all with what they stand for. Why are you asking about them?”
“I heard they’re coming to Arkansas, and I’m afraid because my father and my sister are from Mexico.” I tried to reassure him that his father and sister were in no danger, that the police would be aware of anything unusual that might be planned. His mother, overhearing our conversation, offered some background on his question and added more reassuring words for her son. His sister, smiling, was talking with friends nearby. His father was in line for the entrance procession, for he would be a confirmation sponsor that evening. The entire family is bi-lingual.
I have thought about the server many times since that evening, for it broke my heart to confront the painful effects of racism in such a powerful way. Anxiety was written on his face and in his question. In 21st century America, why does a 12-year-old boy have to worry about such things?
With real shame I must admit that my brief exchange with the server exposed to me my own lack of sensitivity regarding the insidious power of racism. Why had that insidiousness not dawned on me as clearly before that evening?
Having grown up in the south, I was exposed to racist attitudes toward African Americans from my earliest childhood — separate restrooms and water coolers, slang words and epithets, even the reality of “colored” and “white” Catholic parishes. I was fortunate to be reared in a home where such attitudes and words were not allowed, and as I matured I came to understand more clearly why racism is sinful and antithetical to the Catholic faith. As a priest I have preached about it. But I have never had to face racist attitudes directed at me.
It took a server’s anxious question before a confirmation liturgy to help me recognize at a more critical level how much work there is for disciples of Jesus to do — first and most foremost within ourselves, and then within our communities.
Hearing the question, I was awakened in a new way to what racism does to little boys and little girls, to struggling mothers and fathers, to aging grandmothers and grandfathers, to the courageous pioneers and modern-day workers in the civil rights movement — and to folks like me, who aren’t nearly as alert as we should be to its dangerous influence.
Sept. 11, 2001, was the dawn of a new era. We became aware of previously ignored vulnerabilities. We discovered our place and our reputation in an unsteady world. We witnessed the horrific misuse of religion for hatred and violence. And we became more fearful than we were Sept. 10.
It is in part (but only in part) because of the dawning of this new era that we find ourselves at an important stage in the struggle against racism, a stage that invites every one of us to examine our consciences, our attitudes, and the criteria by which we form opinions. As legislators and our fellow citizens debate approaches to immigration reform and the enforcement of immigration laws — and as you and I help shape and are shaped by that debate — it is important that we go deeply within ourselves to ask honest, serious questions: Is racism in any way at work in me? Am I susceptible to the subtleties of racist logic when used in discussions of public policy?
There are numerous valid approaches to the myriad issues surrounding immigration in our country, and it is important that we work through them together in a manner that is true to our American roots and the dreams of our forebears. It is equally important that we work through them in a way that is compatible with our faith in the Lord Jesus.
My thoughts have often returned in recent weeks to an anxious question posed to me by a 12-year-old altar server in an Arkansas parish. Not knowing that he did so, he made the issue of racism quite personal to me, exposed my need to grow in sensitivity, and changed my understanding of what is at stake these days in our state and country.
Heavenly Father, teach us to create a world where little boys and girls, and their parents and grandparents, don’t have to ask such fearful questions. Yes, Lord, keep us safe from all who would harm us. But help us rise above racism in all its forms that we may recognize and lessen its influence. May we never turn away or frighten any of your little ones who, like our ancestors before us, simply seek a better life. Amen.

Do you have an intention for Bishop Sartain’s prayer? If so, send it to him at Bishop Sartain’s Prayer List, Diocese of Little Rock, 2500 North Tyler St., P.O. Box 7239, Little Rock, AR 72217.