Last year I served as volunteer chaplain at a hospital in Saint Louis. One afternoon, in the course of my rounds, I visited a black patient with an extra-large King James Version Bible situated prominently on his tray. I asked him about it, and he immediately asked me what I thought about salvation. Giving the standard grace-through-faith-in-Christ answer, I quickly found myself on the receiving end of an increasingly aggressive declarations that Jesus was, in fact, a black man. At first I voiced disagreement, but then I realized discussion was useless and instead asked the patient why this belief was so important to him. He ignored my question and continued to explain that the apostles were black, as was Moses, as were the people of Israel (it seems that modern Jews are impostors).
As he continued pontificating on the all-black cast of biblical characters with growing vehemence, I felt my heart beating fast and my blood pressure rising. Eventually I interrupted him and repeated my question: “Why does this make such a difference to you?”
