Intersections can be dangerous.

Boys fight. It just happens. When I was in the sixth grade, I got into a fight with Corey Robertson, a friend of mine for the past couple of years. To be honest, the details I don’t really remember – something about the basketball and football and then we pushed each other and took a couple of swings. It ended up that we were both in the nurses’ office apologizing to one another and crying because we felt bad fighting with each other – not because I had messed up his braces and he had bruised my face.

Corey just so happened to be black. As you know – I am white. Again, to be honest – that was the first time I remember consciously thinking something like this, “that was a black person thing to do. You wouldn’t have gotten so angry if you weren't black.” I only have a small idea how bad Corey’s home life was, that his dad owned a liquor store and his mom worked all that time and he lived “Stoney Crook,” the apartment complex where all the stuff stolen from my neighborhood ended up, but that's not the stuff you talk about at parties. Sadly – I remember hating fighting, but not really talking to Corey much after that one incident.

Throughout my perilous experiences at Richardson Junior High where race relations were less than cordial and even violent at times, the innocence of childhood Pangea broke into the continents of racial divide. The white kids sat with white kids in the band hall and the black kids played dominoes, the Mexicans spoke Spanish and the Asians kept to themselves. Sound familiar?

Today, I want to say that I’ve grown past racial discrimination, but it still haunts me. The thoughts of the black guys in junior high threathening me for my basketball shoes or the Mexicans beating up my friend Jimmy or the huge angry Asian kid picking on me – these images still shape my views of “other” races. I’m no bigot and rarely judge someone based on their color, but when I’m honest with myself a history of racial divide lingers in my past and affects my present thinking – and the same is true of most us who grew up in America, no matter what part whether it be an all-white suburbia, the urban barrio, or the rural west.

Playing on similar themes and bringing together characters from all walks of life in LA, Crash ignites the fires of deep-seated racial histories in a way few movies have before.

Take Magnolia out of upper-middle class white-ville, mix it with Law & Order, tie it up with a great script from the writer of Million Dollar Baby – and you get commentary on racial relations amidst an increasingly complex and diverse culture we call post-911 America.

The dynamic characters surprise us with their compassion, poise and patience as well as their anger, fear, and disgust while they react to one another against their personal backdrop of deep, racially-inflicted scars. As they cross paths with each other, these scars begin to bleed uncontrollably when their small band-aid of tolerance simply won’t stop the great force with which a history of racial wrongs hits.

Not only is this an excellent picture, but hopefully through it people will realize that all relationships, even those in passing, are important because the little relationships fuel the undertow of the greater culture. The film’s website says that “Crash boldly reminds us of the importance of tolerance as it ventures beyond color lines… and uncovers the truth of our shared humanity.” Though I respect and understand their reasons for making the movie, there’s got to be more than tolerance. Tolerance that ventures beyond color lines is like acknowledging that another racial continent exists, and instead of signing a treaty that pulls you closer, its like raising an iron curtain that furthers a stalemate.

Recently Donald Miller said that “I tolerate you” is one of the worst things you could say to someone. I’ve got to agree with him. I would hate it if my mom said that she tolerated me or that my friends just tolerated me, so why would we simply tolerate other people? Maybe its because that’s much easier than loving them. Despite everyone’s desire for tolerance among races and classes, tolerating each other only leads to passive-aggressive anger, which Crash artfully brings to the surface with an amazingly honest reality.

Crash articulates the divides I feel growing up in America, but fails to provide an answer for crossing the racial divide.

When people refuse to forgive, a history of anger and repression builds until it explodes on the wrong person at the wrong time for all the wrong reasons. There’s a scene at the end of the movie in which two characters hug, hooray! Miroslav Volf hypothesizes about the embrace as the opposite of and answer to all of our racial strife, wars, hate and “otherness.” Are we willing to celebrate what makes each of us unique as we live among one another? This is the only way peace will ever take place – a true love for everyone that sees beyond the surface, a Jesus-love. Tolerance simply shadows the chasms between us – covering over a dark history of pain. Embrace overcomes pain by greeting it head-on with tangible love.

We’ve Raced. We’ve Crashed. Embrace.