I have found, and often boasted, that I can run just about anywhere: any neighborhood, town or city—here, at home or abroad. My favorite way to see the world, to explore or get a feel for a new place, is by running. I would laugh sometimes when someone would ask, surprised: "Wait, you ran in that neighborhood? In that part of town? In the dark!?" But I can honestly say, that with very few exceptions, I've never felt unsafe while on the run, wherever I’ve run.

I realize more and more that that’s a privilege I have often taken for granted. As a white male, I can run just about anywhere, anytime, and be free from taunting, harassment or danger. I was thinking about that a lot as I read an article in a recent issue of Runner's World entitled "Twelve Minutes and a Life; Ahmaud Arbery went out for a jog and was gunned down in the street. How running fails Black America," by Mitchell S. Jackson. Ahmaud, a young black man, was fatally shot by a white father and son team in Glynn County, GA, while he was out for a run on February 23, 2020.

Jackson asks the reader the following: "I invite you to ask yourself, just what is a runner's world? Ask yourself who deserves to run? Who has the right? Ask who’s a runner? What’s their so-called race? Their gender? Their class? Ask yourself where do they live, where do they run? Where can't they live and run? Ask what are the sanctions for asserting their right to live and run—to exist in the world. Ask why? Ask why? Ask why?"

This reads to me like an examination of conscience and a wake-up call as someone who is daily coming to terms with the reality of a lived experience of white privilege. One of the most important experiences for me from this summer of racial reckoning is that I have made a regular practice of doing an examination of conscience that centers on acknowledging and examining systematic racism, such as this one, published by We Are Salt and Light. Like any examination of conscience, it invites you to assess patterns of behavior and ways of interacting with the world. It then asks you to probe your preconceived notions or preconceptions that either directly or indirectly perpetuate the evil of racism as an intrinsic violation against the dignity of the human person.

I can run wherever I want and feel safe and free, whereas Ahmaud Arbery was shot for running while black in the wrong neighborhood. Well before the father and son team shot and killed Arbery, they denied him his dignity as a human person, a dignity given to him by God, a dignity he shared with them and with all of us.

As we have come to "know their names" and their stories—Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, Jacob Blake and so many others—and raise them up in prayer while grappling with the unavoidable call to translate our thoughts and prayers into action, the name of fellow runner Ahmaud Arbery comes up again and again in my thoughts during my early morning runs.

But, it's Jackson's words on Ahmaud that I know are meant to linger in my mind and on my heart. To stay with me over the miles, over what is inevitably a long distance run to conversion and to righting wrongs and deep-seated injustices:

"Ahmaud Marquez Arbery was more than a viral video. He was more than a hashtag or a name on a list of tragic victims. He was more than an article or an essay or posthumous profile. He was more than a headline or an op-ed or a news package or the news cycle. He was more than a retweet or shared post. He, doubtless, was more than our likes or emoji tears or hearts or praying hands. He was more than an R.I.P. t-shirt or placard. He was more than an autopsy or a transcript or a police report or a live-streamed hearing. He...was more than the latest reason for your liberal white friend’s ephemeral outrage. He was more than a rally or a march. He was more than a symbol, more than a movement, more than a cause. He. Was. Loved."