The sign in my front yard is compliments of a person whose name I do not know, who lives several miles from my neighborhood, and who had a stack of them in her front yard for free. I saw the signs while out jogging, and so still grimy in sweat from my run, I drove back to retrieve one and promptly planted it in our front yard. Our Home Owners Association has tight rules about yard signage – none – but on this one I was granted a pass. Soon other neighbors called and wanted to know where they could get a sign.

Black lives matter – it is not a political statement, although it is certainly politicized. It is not a racist statement, although it is certainly racialized. I have the sign because it is true. Black lives matter. Some continue to argue, “all lives matter.” At the risk of stating the obvious, but apparently it is still not understood, of course all lives matter. Life matters, which means black lives matter too. For too long black lives have not mattered for many of us. I know this because I know history. I know this because I can read the newspaper. I know this because I have colleagues, friends, and students who have felt the brunt of not mattering.

I am complicit in this accusation. Through apathy, indifference, and denial I have conveyed the message that black lives do not matter. I have written elsewhere about how some of us (particularly white people), stand, when we should take a knee, take a knee when we should stand, and step up when we should step aside. That is me.

I grew up just a few years after public schools were integrated. My county was small, mostly rural, and with only one public elementary, middle and high school. My classmates and I spent the better part of twelve years together and then, like most graduates, we were scattered like the duff of a dandelion. Some graduates stayed home, a few went to college and others simply disappeared. Roughly half of the school was African-American. It has been decades since I have talked or seen any of my classmates.

What message did I convey way back then? Did black lives matter to me? What did I say? What did I not say? What should I have said? I am not sure if they heard from me, clearly, black lives are beloved. Black lives are important. Black lives are a gift. Black lives are beautiful. Black lives matter.

Today is my oldest son’s birthday and I do not know what sermons he has remembered or forgotten. There are some words and actions I hope he treasures, but there are a few I pray he forgets. Knowing that black lives matter is a message that can save the world as well as our soul.

I have a simple sign. Maybe the HOA will eventually make me take it down. One thing is for certain – more than a sign, a slogan, or a hashtag, I need to work for the rest of my life making certain that black lives do matter.

For the sake of the world and for the sake of my own soul.

“For what will it benefit them to gain the whole world, and lose their soul?” (Jesus according to Mark 8:36)