Thursday, October 23, 2014

God as Woman: #WhyIStayed

I have no idea why I am writing this at this present moment – in the midst of theological colloquy papers and field education case studies, I should clearly be focused on writing scholastically. However, I have wanted to write this for a while in the purview of what happened with the Ray Rice and Janay Palmer domestic violence tragedy that swirled out of control in the media. After the video of Janay Palmer being physically abused and accosted by her husband (NFL player) Ray Rice surfaced, there was a storm of backlash she received for staying with Ray Rice. As woman who has never experienced domestic violence in a relationship such as Janay Palmer, I felt very conflicted as I watched people attempt to snatch every bit of Palmer’s agency by defaming her name, questioning her intelligence, and attributing her loyalty to Rice as a bi-product of her desire for material wealth. How did anything about Janay Palmer’s personhood have anything to do with Ray Rice’s actions? Needless to say, I was so happy to see the #WhyIStayed hashtag campaign arise to give space for women’s voices to speak their truths as it related to domestic violence cases.

Soon thereafter, I began thinking of relationships, spaces, and places that I remained even despite of abuse I was suffering. Though, as I stated previously, I have never had a man lay his hands on me (besides the one whoopin I got from my Dad as a child), I started to realize that I had experienced an abusive relationship – that was my relationship with my church. I had given so much of myself, so blindly, to my church throughout my time in youth ministry that I was almost shocked that my calling to ministry would not be affirmed. But on that day when I went to the church leadership to confess my calling, I was stiff armed with every scripture in the Bible containing expectations of women’s silence, submission, and servitude within the church. It was very damaging, now that I look back on it.
One would think that it would just be easy to pack your stuff and leave at the very moment that your truth, worth, and personhood was denied. But it wasn’t that simple. I had ties in my church. I had family – biological and extended. I had worked so hard to cultivate meaningful relationships with my youth and the leaders of the church. God had given me a vision for moving the young people forward in their relationship with God and that is what I was doing. My leaving, or even standing up for myself to be recognized as a minister, just didn’t seem like an option when other people’s souls were at stake. So, I stayed. I stayed because I felt that my voice wasn’t as important as the well-being of my kids. I stayed because I figured I could handle the abuse (being used for ministry excessively while not being recognized as minister) because I was comfortable with what I did have. I stayed because I thought it was where God wanted me to be. Sounds eerily similar to women who have suffered abusive relationships at the hands of their spouses.

After a time of feeling choiceless, voiceless, and suffocated – I finally left my church to seek out God’s call on my life. Even though I did enter fellowship with a church where I could affirm my calling, it has taken me up till very recently to really begin the process of healing. Abusive relationships that deny, negate, or harm your personhood have a tendency to seep into your soul in places you would never think to look. Even now that I am in divinity school, I watch as I second-guess myself and my calling time and time again; and, before now, I never had a problem with self-confidence.

In the aftermath of dealing with #WhyIStayed, I am so thankful that this theological journey has begun teaching and showing me a new way of looking at God. Just before I began my first year at Vanderbilt divinity school, God showed me a dream/vision (yes I believe that God speaks, through the power of the Holy Spirit, to people in dreams). In my dream/vision, I was asleep in my bed, the daylight had already broken, but it was still fairly early. A woman – a regal and royal Black woman – walked into my room. She had deep chocolate skin and was slightly heavy set. She had on a shiny, light blue and green looking suit and hat to match. She was a fly church mother if I ever saw one. As she walked into my room, I became so startled because I did not know who she was. She walked around to the opposite side of my bed and she stood there, looking over me. I began to try to get up and scream for help, but just then my body became paralyzed and my tongue stuck to the top of my mouth. She smiled at me, calmly, then proceeded to get onto her knees and pray. Calmness and peace quickly took over me as she prayed. And, then the vision/dream ended.

I believe that God was preparing me to understand the embodiment of God’s divinity in womanhood. Typically, in most churches (especially Black churches), we use he-language and father-language to describe God. But I reckon that the vision God gave me was something like the transfiguration experience Peter, James, and John had as recorded in the synoptic gospels. I believe that Jesus was in my room that morning, showing me a divine manifestation in the form of a woman. I know for some people this is a difficult comparison – however, I would contend that the blood and tears that flow from women make us more like Jesus, who when pierced water and blood flowed out, than any other species.

I am praying that in my time of healing and preparation in becoming a theologian and minister I am able to better understand and utilize what Dean Townes calls Liberating Theological Language. We have, for far too long, made our language and our interpretation of scripture too literalistic about God. There is nothing in our language that can capture the fullness of who God is – therefore, all language about God must be seen as metaphorical as ways that we see God acting in the world and how we experience God. I stand in agreement with theologian Sallie McFague who affirms the awesome responsibility and power of metaphorical theology by saying the power of metaphor helps us uncouple our tendencies to make generalizations about who God is and who we are.



In a time when people are wrestling with the very question asked in Exodus 17:7, “Is the Lord among us or not?,” I believe we must be asking where we have seen God and through whom we have experienced God thus far. For me, I have experienced God most through the sacrifices and teaching of the women who came before me. For others, they see God in those who are sick, homeless, or oppressed. And, still for others, God may be among us in nature and creation. Either way, it is my sincere hope that we as leaders of today and tomorrow continue to find new ways to describe and experience God so that no more of God’s sons and daughters have to experience abuse at the hands of the church who continues to one-dimensionalize an infinite God.

Monday, July 7, 2014

The Potter & The Process: Re-Piecing Shards of Faith


Ever since God uprooted my whole life to move me from Little Rock to Nashville for Divinity School last year, everyone always wants to know what I'm learning, how I'm liking the program, and what I plan on doing once I achieve my Master of Divinity degree. And my answer to all of those inquiries is a resounding "I. Do. Not. Know." Sounds crazy, right? One would think that after completing my first year I should be settled in and picking a concentration area. But that has, by far, not proven to be my particular experience as an up and coming theologian, scholar, and minister. My journey to theological education was a long and protracted one – one which dropped me off at the doorsteps of Vanderbilt University not knowing at all what to expect. So, let me be honest in saying to all of you reading this – Divinity School has been a whole 'lotta hell and holy shedding of tears.


The thing about undertaking theological education is that one must consider every single portion of one's own social location (i.e. race, gender, demographic, upbringing, moral/spiritual formation and beliefs, etc.) and be ready to wrestle with why you believe what you believe, how you came to believe that, and if it is actually YOUR truth rather than a construction of truth fed to you by your parents, teachers, the church, and other guiding agents in your life. Though you may have read through that sentence swiftly, I challenge you to think about that for one moment: how does my background inform or impact the beliefs that I carry and are these beliefs really mine to begin with? If this doesn't seem uncomfortable to you, then great – you can skip the next paragraph. But if you have ever experienced any amount of discomfort or uncertainty relating to this question, then do not pass 'Go' and do not collect $200. Just keep reading.



Whether I was ready or not for answering that question, that is precisely what Vanderbilt Divinity School made me do upon my arrival. Just to be clear, I have used my engineering brain to graphically depict what this past year has been like. You can play along, just replace my labels with descriptions about your own life. For me, as a Black woman, who is now an Engineer and Minister, born and raised in the south, in a traditional Baptist setting, mostly by a single mother– my faith sphere has values and systems that were engrained in me since birth. The way I view family, marriage, identity, sin, love, economy, justice, religion, gender, virtue, and many, many more aspects of human life have everything to do with how I was raised and the journey my upbringing carved out for me.




So, when I accepted my calling to Divinity School, I just knew my well-fortified faith sphere was going to not only keep me sane but also keep me near the cross as I traversed the hallowed hallways of theological education. My, oh my, how I was so sadly misinformed. To my surprise (and dismay) my faith sphere was tugged, pushed, pulled, slapped, spat upon, questioned, squeezed, stirred, boiled, baked, and fried starting on day one. Please do not misunderstand what I am saying. I am not saying that Div School made me "lose my Jesus", which so many of the folk in the traditional Black Church were worried about upon my departure. What I am saying is that I was made to critically survey, deconstruct, and analyze my lens as it relates to my faith. There was no more resting complacently on such flowery and empty statements as: "My Pastor says," or "My Bible tells me," or "God said it, that settles it." Instead, it became questions like: "how do we adjudicate Biblical authority?" and "what are the customs, culture, and context behind this scripture?" and "how has Biblical interpretation been appropriated toward society, either helpfully or harmfully?" I don't know about y'all, but was it not so much easier when all we had to do was sing "Jesus loves me this I know."?



After a year of much writing, reading, researching, praying, picking apart scripture, literary/historical/critical/canonical analysis – I have to be completely transparent in saying that this is what happened to my faith sphere: 



It shattered. That's right. Into a million tiny pieces. And, you know what else? It hurt. It still hurts. Yet, as unprepared as I was for this type of faith-altering phenomenon, I can say that it has been the most eye-opening and enlightening experience of my adult life. Yes, it has been painful. And, yes, I have received cuts from the broken glass. But if I could describe the sensation to you, I would say its like breaking through a glass ceiling of limitation that you never even knew existed. Rather than coming to find that my faith had been shattered beyond repair, I have come to see that my faith needed to be wrestled with – handled with brute force and thrown around with reckless abandon.



You see, while I know this journey…rather, this process, is not for everyone – I know God called me here. God, my Potter, would not have brought me to this place if there wasn't some unique assignment for me. And, I believe that is true for everybody, regardless of vocation or location. There are simply times in your life where you have to cast out every single confining and defining convention you have held on to because it is time for God to do a new thing. This is not to say that you need to throw the baby out with the bath water, so-to-speak. But everything God places in you that needs to remain will be restored back into you with more meaning, deeper value, and, perhaps, even stronger faith.



So, while it may seem strange to some that I am basically positioning myself to be the new Christian in Sunday school, I am so humbled and happy to be in this space. I reflect on the words of Isaiah who says "Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?" In a time such as this, when our churches are looking for leaders who will not be bamboozled into the false faith of traditionalism and our communities are crying out for justice and not just re-heated sermons, I feel the call of the Sovereign God upon my life to remain faithful to the process. Though tears may drench my pillow at night, though family and friends may not understand my journey, though I am uncertain and timid at every turn, I am fully persuaded that God is well-able to do just what was promised and exactly as God wills for me to do.



As for the rest of my time in Div School, I pray to spend it constructively – working out my faith, my call, my passion, with God's heart and Jesus' mission of deliverance and healing. I know it won't be easy and at times it seems like re-piecing and replacing the shards of my faith is impossible. But I truly believe that God enjoys using those of us who are broken in some places. Why? Because. That means there are just more pieces for God to work with. [For any of you on this journey with me, or any of you struggling with allowing God to help you wrestle with your faith/being your most authentic self, check out this book: Daring Greatly by Dr. Brene Brown. It has been an awesome, in-depth look at the power of transparency and vulnerability.]



Tuesday, November 5, 2013

The Gravity of Racism: A Weight You Can't Escape

In my junior year at Vanderbilt University as an Electrical Engineering major, I took the formidable Differential Equations math class required for all engineering majors. Though my freshman year with Calculus and Chemistry had been a bumpy one, I rather enjoyed Differential Equations because it was such a highly useful tool for the world of Engineering that I desired to be one day be employed. Plainly stated, Differential Equations are mathematical equations of variables and functions used to describe a deterministic relationship between continuously varying quantities and their rates of change in space or time. For instance, these equations can be used to find the velocity of a ball falling through the air considering the gravity and resistance the ball experiences[1]. To me, the best part (oddly I found this to be slightly fun at the time) of solving these equations was being able to use constants in which a certain value was already known. Therefore, in the aforementioned example, the gravitational constant (which is 9.81 m/s2 – and, yes I still remember this by heart) was easy to factor into the equation. Having constants made dealing with unknown variables a bit more bearable and provided more insight as to how to navigate the problem in finding the proper solution. Though I only ever thought that Diff EQ (differential equations) was suitable in application with science and engineering, I think that its concept fairly communicates the ultimate truth of Derrick Bell’s work The Faces at the Bottom of the Well. It has been a supreme goal of the United States to posit racism as a variable that is ever changing and evolving; however, Bell postulates the grizzly truth that racism is not some variable that has decreased or improved over time. Instead, racism is a constant – ever present, never erasable – impermeable and permanent facet to the American backdrop of society.

In Diff EQ, the constants we were able to use in solving problems were not some issue of question; rather, they were well-proven and widely used both historically and presently. As a nation, whose foundation was forged on the very backs of Black people, racism is both well-proven and widely practiced historically and presently. Yet, there has been a hesitance to classify its existence as a permanent earmark of our society. Bell provides clear justification as to why racism has been verifiably immortalized in America, saying:
…the continued viability of racism “demonstrates that racism is not simply an excrescence on a fundamentally healthy liberal democratic body, but it is part of what shapes and energizes the body.” Under this view, “liberal democracy and racism in the United States, are historically, even inherently, reinforcing; American society as we know it exists only because of its foundation in racially based slavery, and it thrives only because racial discrimination continues.” The apparent anomaly is an actual symbiosis. The permanence of this “symbiosis” ensures that civil rights gains will be temporary and setbacks inevitable[2].
Therefore, since racism is a constant in our society, it must be factored into the equation as such instead of being viewed as something that is unknown throughout space or time. Then, and only then, will Blacks in America ever be able to assess our place in society and what to do about our plight with the knowledge that racism is not a function that can be minimized or zeroed out with a stroke of pen or calculation of laws.

                As innately as the gravitational constant comes to my mind now, after using it in numerous equations and observing its theorem proved time and time again, how do you explain it to someone who has been privileged enough to live outside of the pull of gravity, so-to-speak? My Momma always used to tell me, “that ain’t gone make sense to a man on the moon” when I would try to explain to her my warped since of teenage logic at the time, and, perhaps, this cliché saying fits here as well. As we evaluate racism in America, for Whites they have literally been on the moon – outside of earth’s gravitational pull of the ugliness of racism since they have the normative privilege of being “superior” to anyone considered Other. Even mere discussions of racism as a constant, permanent schema of the American fabric would simply not make sense to them. What is more, is that even for those of us who have never had the privilege of escaping the effects of discrimination under the gravity of racism due to the color of our skin, we still believe that certain hierarchies of elevation allow certain pockets of us to experience less gravity than others. For Derrick Bell, this is all blasphemy. Denying the permanence of racism is like denying God is real.
Perhaps those of us who can admit we are imprisoned by the history of racial subordination in America can accept – as slaves had no choice but to accept – our fate. Not that we legitimate the racism of the oppressor. On the contrary, we can only delegitimate it if we can accurately pinpoint it. And racism lies at the center, not the periphery; in the permanent, not in the fleeting; in the real lives of black and white people, not in the sentimental caverns of the mind[3].
In his work Faces at the Bottom of the Well, Bell implores us similarly to the famous Spike Lee line to WAKE UP! The time for seeing and calling racism the spade that it truly is, is now.

                The thing about racism is that it is such a touchy subject – kind of like Jesus. You bring His name up in these times and people will pause and wait to see what you will say and do next. The same is true with racism. It is that taboo thing that you want to keep as some ideology rather than a way or part of life. So, imagine not only having to write an entire book on racism, but also having to explain why it’s here to stay. That seems like a ridiculously negative and counter-productive task, especially to those who have worked so hard and long to eradicate it. However, Derrick Bell navigates this weighty topic with ingenuity and clarity. He presents several fictional, other-worldly stories that encapsulate an aspect about the shape, size, and color of racism in America that are undeniably eerie once confronted. For example, with the chapter on Racial Preference Licensing – he presents the idea that business owners buy a license to legally discriminate as much as their hearts desired and that a portion of their profits go to a fund to help Black people with their own living and professional expenses. The point of his story was not that the U.S. should actually consider employing this strategy but rather the grim reality that if this law were in effect much less discrimination would actually happen as we are accustomed to today. In another chapter, Bell presents the outlandish idea that all the Black faculty and President of Harvard University were killed in an explosion. In the final letter written by the President of the University, he speaks of the effort to hire more Blacks and equalize opportunities for higher minority recruitment. As a means to pay homage to those lost in the explosion, the community decided to honor the President’s wishes and increase the number of Blacks on faculty at Harvard. Bell wished to show how outlandish it is that a tragedy would serve as the precipice for doing the right thing – something that should have been done all along. Then, the question is – why does Bell use these stories rather than using real life examples of racism? Because of the jarring and sensitive nature of racist experiences, he uses these other-worldly anecdotes to serve as a mechanism to create distance between the audience and the topic. By doing this, the reader would be able to see through to the truths of each example without having to necessarily make an emotional connection.

                What strikes me about the chapters written in Bell’s pages is the realism hidden within each character. Though one such story wasn’t captured within his chapters, Fruitvale Station, or the life and death of Oscar Grant, may as well have been another account in Bell’s book. I found myself getting lost between the fantasy worlds he was creating and the real lived racist experiences that even I have had a Black woman. I experienced this same ambivalence when I watched Fruitvale Station. I kept thinking to myself, ‘I know this is a cinematic portrayal, but this is everyday life.’ When 22 year-old Oscar Grant was murdered, martyred, lynched, it was as if the earth’s gravitational pull curled itself up into a wrecking ball and slammed into my gut. I remember vividly walking out of the movie theaters panic-stricken, unable to breathe, and sobbing uncontrollably. The gravity of racism – its ugliness, consistency, and permanence – became real all over again in that moment. Just like the O2 held within the atmosphere, racism is everywhere permeating every being, every crevice and corner.

                Rather than continue on in stubborn denial of the staying power of racism, Bell would have us all confront the truth. It is not that that he wishes for people to feel defeated by the existence of racism, but he finds that acknowledging the truth is enlightening.
Armed with this knowledge, and with the enlightened, humility-based commitment that it engenders, we can accept the dilemmas of committed confrontation with evils we cannot end. We can go forth to serve, knowing that our failure to act will not change conditions and may very well worsen them. We can listen carefully to those who may have been most subordinated…We must learn from their example, learn from those whom would teach.[4]
When we are able to rightly identify the agency and entity of racism with accuracy about its gravitational pull, we will be able to better evaluate our stance in dealing with it properly. In a lecture this semester, Dr. Stacey Floyd-Thomas taught about the genius of discrimination – it is genius because it poses itself as many different other ills, so that you end up only treating the symptoms while masking the true source. The sickness is not a gland problem or a hormonal imbalance. It is cancer, called racism – and, it is terminal. Now that the diagnosis is clear, the regimen for treatment can be formulated.

                As mentioned earlier, there is plenty of viable proof that racism is a constant aspect of daily life in America. Off the top of my head in my lifetime I can name several terrible examples of the impact and implications of racism: Trayvon Martin, Oscar Grant, Marissa Alexander, Hurricane Katrina, caricatures of President and First Lady Obama, caricatures of the Boston Bombers, black face costumes for Halloween 2013, disproportionate number of Black students placed in Alternative Schools or Special Education, the number of Black men and women in prison, the number of Black men and women in poverty and/or on welfare, the number of Black men, women, and children without healthcare, etc. I can honestly keep naming more, but the amazing thing is that anyone reading this list most likely already knows these events are racist – it is just a matter of dislodging oneself from the socially irresponsible location of de-sensitivity and/or privilege. And even if you didn’t know that the aforementioned people or events have to do with racism, the same course of action applies – dislodge yourself from the socially irresponsible location of de-sensitivity and/or privilege and WAKE UP!

                As I have engaged in dialogue with several of my friends about the year’s most recent racist happenings, most of my friends have lamented at how little they actually get upset anymore by the silly things racist people do. On Facebook I even saw one Black young man virtually giving his permission for White girls to dress in Black face costumes. I would love to complete a survey in which different racist pictures or media images are shown to Black people of all ages and have them rate how angry the picture makes them. I would like to conduct this research to observe how much Black people have become de-sensitized to racism. Conversely, I would like to conduct this same study on White people to see if a correlation between the level of White privilege, or the ability to ignore racism, and Black de-sensitivity, or the ability to become numb to racism, is evident and/or similar.





[1] “Differential Equation,” October 28, 2013, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Differential_equation
[2] Derrick Bell, The Faces at the Bottom of the Well: The Permanence of Racism, (New York: BasicBooks, 1992), 9.
[3] Derrick Bell, The Faces at the Bottom of the Well: The Permanence of Racism, (New York: BasicBooks, 1992), 198.
[4] Derrick Bell, The Faces at the Bottom of the Well: The Permanence of Racism, (New York: BasicBooks, 1992), 198-199.

Monday, October 14, 2013

Scandal, The Black Church, and What (Still) Needs to Be ‘Handled’


I read a blog post recently, Why I Hate Scandal (and Other Negro Bed Wenches), spelling out one viewer’s disdain for the premise of the storyline surrounding Olivia Pope. The writer of this blog, whose penname is Grits Capone, basically provides a back-history of the Sally Hemmings/Thomas Jefferson affair saga and explicates the fact that Scandal looks to compromise the integrity of Black women by objectifying main character Olivia Pope into a role which is controversial due to her sexually adulterous affair with the very married, very White, and very powerful President of the United States.[1] I am not completely convinced of this blogger’s comparison of Olivia Pope to a Negro bed wench, yet I am neither unconcerned about the image the show projects into society as to the identity of Black women. Nonetheless, I offer the subject of Grits Capone’s personal blog not as a sacred text into the proceeding conversation, but rather as a precipice for euphemism. Imagine with me the White House as the typical racist-sexist-capitalist patriarchal society, the President as the personification of the Black Church, and Olivia Pope as the Black women who are members of that institution – you then find yourself in the reality of what it means to navigate the sexual-gender myths and socially constructed oppressions waiting in heat for the next person to seduce.

Let me be clear, I am not typecasting all Black women into the role and character of Olivia Pope or categorizing all Black Churches as the adulterous POTUS. However, I am lodging the argument that many Black women find themselves in a crisis between identity and integrity, love and labor at the hands of the male dominated Black Church. I believe that this is the anatomy Scandal writer, Shonda Rhimes, is speaking to – the societal rules that made the premise of Scandal provocative and available. I posit that this is precisely the dichotomy of the sexual-gender struggle as outlined by Marcia Riggs in her work Plenty Good Room: Women Versus Male Power in the Black Church. Shonda Rhimes does an eloquently masterful job at portraying the codes and structures that exist as the social construct for who the President should appear to be to the public and who Olivia Pope should NOT be. It is the same idea of social construction that leads to sexual-gender myths within the Black Church that exist as a means to dictate who Black men should appear to be and who Black women should not be. Marcia Riggs includes a poignant argument by bell hooks stating:
Once the [civil rights] struggle was perceived as won…then one assertion of our new freedom was to make mainstream socialization about gender roles the norm in black life. In the age of integration, black men asserted masculinist subjectivity not by vigilantly challenging white supremacy but by first insisting on the subordination of women, particularly black women. Suddenly, black men who would never have access to jobs within this capitalist framework that would allow them to provide for families could still feel themselves to be “men.” Manhood had been redefined. Manhood was not providing and protecting; it was proved by one’s capacity to coerce, control, dominate.[2]
It is along this vein that many Black women and Black men find their strained relations within the Black Church. According to Riggs, it is the racist-sexist-capitalist patriarchy that maligns the Church pews with dogmatic strictures forecasting Black men to perpetuate the subordination of Black women and compelling Black women to attempt the subversion of oppression.
In sum, the sexual-gender relations of African American women and men are mostly reactive rather than creative responses to racist-sexist-capitalist oppression under which they both labor. Indeed, their sexual-gender relations are “a kind of social reproductive shadow work” that sustains white racist-sexist-capitalist patriarchal norms for womanhood and manhood.[3]
From my vantage point, this reactive response that leads to ‘social reproductive shadow work’ is what many overlook in the argument over the acceptability of Scandal. The argument is not really about the sexual prowess of a Black woman subverting the power of the land, nor the exploitation of masculine ideals of power; rather, it is the reactive response to the oppressive structure set in place that necessitates such behavior on both parties that should be in question. This same misjudgment happens in the Black Church. Many people are stagnated in argument over the conduct of Black men or the conduct of Black women; however, it is imperative that we investigate “the way that social myths describe and prescribe reality.”[4]

                According to Marcia Y. Riggs, the reality is a “moral corruption...[that] refers to the inconsistency between the black church’s steadfast pursuit of justice with respect to racial and economic oppression while not pursuing sexual-gender justice, and consequently [the church] becom[es] a site of sexual-gender oppression.”[5] When it is understood that the Black Church is a place in which social myths are often times taught and tethered to its traditions, it is clear that its members, then, are left with little choice as to the parts they will play in its dramatic scenes. Not unlike the complexly woven script of Scandal, Riggs includes a critical assessment of the Black church saying:
…this man and this woman enact prescribed roles for being male and female – sexual-gender scripts – into which they have been socialized according to the values operative in this context. In the sexual-gender oppressive African American church, the values inconsistency – justice versus “control of women” – that stands at the heart of the church’s moral life becomes the driving force behind why male clergy and laywomen have relationships that deny their own self-actualization.[6]
To combat this moral corruption lurking in the Black Church, Riggs proposes the requisite to re-socialize and transform the sexual-gender morality held captive in the institution. Therefore, it is the moral imperative of the Black Church to invest in the “counter-socialization of African American women and men with respect to sexual-gender mythology and roles.”[7]

                While Marcia Riggs discusses the pivotal moments reached in sexual-gender relations dating back to as recently as 1999 and 2000 (during which a female minister “won a sexual harassment case against the African Methodist Episcopal Church” and the “same denomination elected its first female bishop”), I found that it was difficult to find empirical data that illustrates disparity between the sexual-gender relation in the Black Church.[8] While the General Commission on the Status and Role of Women reports that clergywomen earn 13 percent less than clergymen, this is inclusive of all ethnicities and does not speak to the more specific sexual-gender struggle on-going in the Black Church.[9] The woman who was elected first bishop of the AME Church, Bishop Vashti Murphy McKenzie, writes in her book Not Without A Struggle:
In spite of these achievements, patterns of institutional discrimination continue to limit women in ministry. Clergywomen still face an uphill battle for pulpit assignments. Resistance to change has become more subtle than overt. Distant locations and low wages continue to plague both women and young men in ministry.[10]
I believe that the lack of statistical data illustrating the sexual-gender issues in the Black Church is a direct reflection of how much opposition the institution lodges against working toward more inclusive change and how much more re-socialization of moral codes needs to be handled by its leadership and members.

                Plenty Good Room may as well have been my own personal diary written indelibly on the pages of my life as a Black woman preacher/minister. Even as I begin to consider where to break the placenta of the impregnated womb of my experience with discrimination within the Black Church, I can hear the voices of Black men and women of old begging me to hold off on delivering my truth. But it is time for the water to break, time for the truth to be told. Though some of Marcia Riggs’ scenarios could have been read (and dismissed) as fictional or hypothetical accounts that were only isolated instances or fabricated fables, they capture the story of my life in a very real and honest way. I remember when I first informed my very conservative Baptist Pastor of my calling into ministry. I didn’t think that this would come as much of a surprise to him – seeing as though I was Youth Director (Youth Minister in all actuality) and actively involved with the Young Adult ministry as well – but still, he looked back at me with such a sad bewilderment.  He answered me with a well-rehearsed soliloquy about the works of Apostle Paul and the proper role of a woman within the Church.  He brought out a King James Version Bible, and read all the Scriptures of, or relating to, the idea that women should not usurp authority over man. He did not leave one Scripture out, having to do with women, either. He read every single one. I suppose it wasn’t the content of the message he was relaying back to me; rather, it was the tone with which he felt compelled to correct me. Instead of hearing my heart and using spiritual discernment, he immediately stiff-armed me with an antiquated Baptist adopted doctrine. I felt so voiceless. Since when had accepting a calling been made to feel like blasphemy? And why were Paul’s words so much more important than those of Jesus?

                It quickly became apparent to me that even Jesus was preached into a realm of double standards. After all, the same man that had taught me how to know Jesus, love Jesus, and be like Jesus was the same man who was now telling me that Jesus did not speak to me or permit me to do the same things as men. How, then, would I love a Jesus who denies me? And, how would I ever be like a Jesus who rejects me?  Needless to say, when I answered my call to ministry it was anything but exhilarating. As evident in the meeting with my Pastor, I could tell he probably never wrestled with his theology on women in ministry. That much was an obvious observation with how stoically and quickly he attempted to abort the truth of my calling. Yet, in all honesty, I was no different than him.  I had been half-way avoiding, half-way aborting my calling for months. Not because I didn’t know Who was calling me. Not because I didn’t understand what the calling was. But, simply, because I had never wrestled with knowing that it was okay for me to accept a calling for myself.  The thought of it, accepting a calling as a woman, made me feel as though I was spiritually in error due to the tradition in which I had been raised my whole life. I think that this is the substance Marcia Riggs works so diligently to unmask in the Black Church – the “values inconsistency” that allows both men and women alike to continually limit the work of God by limiting one another. These self-imposed and opposite-gender imposed limitations continue to fain the forward progress of the Church because it postures itself as a part of the tradition. However, we must come to understand that it is not tradition at all, rather it is traditionalism. What is more is that it is "traditionalism that is the dead faith of the living, and tradition that this the living faith of the dead."[11]

                I have many other grievous personal accounts similar to the scenarios of discrimination written about in Plenty Good Room, but I am more convicted to share my hermeneutic of disclosure as a Black woman preacher and theologian-to-be. In Scandal, the President’s wife, Mellie, is antagonistic and intent on protecting Fitz and provoking Olivia Pope.  She reminds me, interestingly, of Peninnah as found in 1 Samuel chapter 1 of the Holy Bible. Peninnah, one of two wives of Elkanah, focused on provoking her sister-wife, Hannah, who had not been able to bear Elkanah any children. Referring back to the aforementioned euphemism of Scandal, if the President is the Black Church personified, then I like to view Mellie as the traditionalism, alive through both men and women, that attempts provoke and poke fun at women who have not been able to successfully bear forth ministry within the Black Church. Mellie experiences satisfaction knowing Olivia Pope cannot have what she really wants. Similarly, Peninnah relies on the fact that “Lord had closed [Hannah’s] womb”[12] much like oppression in the Black Church relies on the fact that women are not supposed to bring forth ministry. But here is where my hermeneutic of disclosure comes into play. Read this closely: Peninnah’s efforts of antagonism DO NOT WORK. Mellie’s efforts of antagonism do not work. It is already being shown in Scandal that Olivia Pope continues to defy Mellie’s attempts to provoke her. And, we see in the Bible that Hannah defies Peninnah’s pestilence by doing exactly what she said she could not.  Both Mellie and Peninah discount the fact that they are not in control. Likewise, those who continue to perpetuate harmful social myths and sexual-gender oppression within the Black Church are overlooking the fact that they, too, are not in control. Antagonism of God-ordained progress will never prosper in what it set out to do. It is this disclosure, understanding that my Peninnah (i.e. the sexist traditionalism of the Baptist Church) did not get to decide if I accepted my calling or not, that elevated me into doing exactly what sexual-gender oppression said I could not. Who is the judge? The judge is God. Why is He God? Because He decides who wins or loses. Not my opponent.[13] And certainly not my oppressor either.

                As I related earlier, there is not much accessible data in existence which corroborates the stories of Black women who are very much the Soles of the Black Church. I would be very interested to create a cadre of Black women in ministry and leadership in various locations within the mainline Black Church traditions who would conduct surveys into the perceptions and participation of Black women relating to sexual-gender oppression in the Church.  I would also like to conduct the same study as to the perceptions and participation of Black men relating to sexual-gender oppression in the Church. Approaching this topic from both genders would be helpful in appropriating how men and women view relations in the Black Church and in identifying how one another is complicit in the discrimination of certain parties.





[1] Grits Capone, “Why I Hate Scandal (and Other Negro Bed Wenches),” May 23, 2013, http://deeperthangrits.com/2013/05/23/why-i-hate-scandal-and-other-negro-bed-wenches/
[2] Marcia Y. Riggs, Plenty Good Room: Women Versus Male Power in the Black Church, (Eugene: Wipf and Stock Publishers, 2008), 42.
[3] Riggs, 54.
[4] Riggs, 41.
[5] Riggs, 86.
[6] Riggs, 87.
[7] Riggs, 99.
[8] Riggs, 10.
[9] Kristen Knudson, “Women by the Numbers,” November 2011, http://www.gcsrw.org/WomenClergypersonsofColorEarnLess.aspx
[10] Vashti Murphy McKenzie, Not Without A Struggle: Leadership Development for African American Women in Ministry, (Cleveland: Pilgrim Press, 2011), Location 1274.
[11] Jaroslav Pelikan, 1989 interview, http://harpers.org/archive/2008/12/hbc-90004089
[12] “1 Samuel 1 (New Revised Standard Version)” in Bible Gateway, http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1%20samuel%201&version=NRSV
[13] The Great Debaters, DVD, directed by Denzel Washington (2007; Metro Goldwyn Myer)

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Little Black Boy Lost: Imitating Identity



Last week, I interviewed a very important person to speak to the formation of the Black male identity – my nine year old nephew. Though he is certainly not a Black man yet, his little brain is already forming around what he thinks a Black man should be. The interview went as follows:
Me: Nephew, do you know anything about Trayvon Martin?
Nephew: Yeah, I know who that is.
Me: Well, what happened to him?
Nephew: He got killed.
Me: How did he die, Nephew?
Nephew: Well, Trayvon wasn’t doing nothing but Zimmerman said it was self-defense. Trayvon only had some skittles and tea though.
Me: So, if Trayvon wasn’t doing anything, why did Zimmerman kill him?
Nephew: Because. He’s racist.
Me: What does racist mean?
Nephew: That means he don’t like Black people.
Me: Well, why are people racist?
Nephew: Because Black people are different than them.
Me: How many best friends do you have?
Nephew: I have 3. CJ, DJ, and Terrance.
Me: Are they Black?
Nephew: Yeah, they’re all Black.
Me: Do you have White friends too?
Nephew: Yeah, I do. At school, I do.
Me: Well, are you different from them?
Nephew: No. It’s not like that – it’s just that I do different things than them.
Me: Oh, okay – so we are different because we DO different things. So, what did Trayvon do that was different?
Nephew: It’s because he had on a hoodie.
Me: So, if Zimmerman had seen any other person, like a White person or someone that wasn’t Black, wearing a hoodie would he have shot them?
Nephew: No.

It is interesting to hear what my Nephew said. It is even more interesting to read between the lines of his very pre-adolescent mind. While my Nephew may not know what the word stereotype means, he seems to already know the basic premise of what it is. He assesses that racism is based on Black people being different yet appropriates the difference is tied to our actions. What is more, intriguing and also problematic, is that he rightly stated that any other person doing the same thing that Trayvon Martin did (i.e. wearing a hoodie) would not have been shot and killed. My Nephew realizes that certain bad things happen to Black boys who wear hoodies – but he seems to think that the hatred found in racism is tied to the hoodie and not the wearer. His beautiful innocence has not allowed him to connect the dots yet. But what happens when he does? When he realizes that the very being of Blackness may trump the things he does. What happens when he begins to modify his behavior because of his being? Who will he become as a Black man if stereotypes already infiltrate his pre-pubescent pores?

In the laws of physics, one refers to a frame of reference as a method to represent and measure properties of objects such as their position and orientation[1]. In a layperson perspective, a frame of reference provides one with a context, or basis, in which one can then make proper comparisons and conjectures about an observed object. In the laws of White men, a stereotype is swiftly elevated and permeated as a frame of reference by which all subsequent perceptions of Black men are achieved. From his frame of reference, rooted in White, male normativity, the White man can comfortably suggest the Black man’s position of perpetual inferiority and his orientation of engendered criminality. And, while the White man may rest, the Black man must wrestle – with who he is and who society has created him to be.  James Baldwin, in Notes of a Native Son, goes to great lengths to accurately describe this ethical tap dance all Black men must tirelessly perform.

The black man insists, by whatever means he finds at his disposal, that the white man cease to regard him as an exotic rarity and recognize him as a human being. This is a very charged and difficult moment, for there is a great deal of will power involved in the white man’s naïveté…the white man prefers to keep the black man at a certain human remove because it is easier for him thus to preserve his simplicity and avoid being called to account for crimes committed by his forefathers, or his neighbors[2].
And, this is where an American society’s frame of reference becomes the fiercely entangled framework where many a Black boy is heuristically lost and even more Black men are heavy laden with futile resistance begat by lifetimes of foundational reinforcement.

                Beyond the recent inquiry of my less than a decade old Nephew, I polled five more opinions of Black men, ages 22 to 35, from different walks of life. A junior high vice principal. An industrial engineer. A medical doctor/surgeon. And two fellow divinity school students. Out of these five men, all five men admitted to being a cognizant participant in what they called the game. The game is the White man’s world, which laid out like a chess board, must be navigated with cunning strategy and ingenuity by any Black man seeking to successfully provide, protect, and procreate for himself and his family. Baldwin affirms this Black-man-code, stating:
I knew very well what Americans saw when they looked at me and this allowed me to play endless and sinister variations on the role which they had assigned me; since I knew that it was, for them, of the utmost importance that they never be confronted with that, in their own personalities, made this role so necessary and gratifying to them, I knew that they could never call my hand or, indeed, afford to know what I was doing, so that I moved into every crucial situation with the deadly and rather desperate advantages of bitterly accumulated perception, of pride and contempt. This is an awful sword and shield to carry through the world, the discovery that, in the game I was playing, I did myself a violence of which the world, at its most ferocious, would scarcely have been capable[3]
It is not that I was not aware of this game – as a Black woman, I must know it and engage in it as well – yet, I was keenly unaware of its stakes before talking to my male counterparts. I asked them how continuing to play this game and modify their behavior, based on stereotypes, to keep the White man comfortable was helping the Black man’s cause. They all, in a rather matter of fact manner, educated me in spelling out each of their individual causes to feed their families. In other words, half a century ago, Black men were united together fighting for the common goal of freedom and equality and they were willing to lose their lives or go to jail to achieve it. But, today, in 2013 there is no real unified effort within the Black community that would serve as the impetus for outright defiance of society’s rules because the cost would ultimately be the loss of his job and his livelihood. It seems clear to them that working subversively within the structures of the White man’s proscription is the best solution to gaining access to position where he would be powerful enough to effect change for other Black men and women.

            Maybe this is where political correctness within the Black community stems from - a desire to change, but never offend, the world from the inside out, rather than the outside in. But is this even attainable? It seems feasible. Obey the rules. Play the game. Work your way up. Once at the top, make decisions to uplift others who look like you. Yet, I must argue the truth stated by Audre Lorde which says, "...the master's tools will never dismantle the master's house. They may allow us to temporarily beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about genuine change[4]." In this effort to overcome racism and, simultaneously, understand his true self, the Black man is left with the perilous task which indicates he must come over who the White master's intended him to be and stand under the weight of a society that would rather he bow down.

It was his necessity, in the words of E. Franklin Frazier, to find a ‘motive for living under American culture or die.’ The identity of the American Negro comes out of this extreme situation, and the evolution of this extreme anxiety in the minds and the lives of his masters[5].
Therefore, it is the moral obligation of the Black man to divorce himself from the facade of imitation of identity and, instead, completely marry himself to the ferocious inspiration to identity.  This means that he must allow each of his experiences, whether bad or good, to work in and through him both restoratively and retroactively. For without willingness to undergo journey, there can be no rupture in the disk of a crooked, American vertebrae.

                James Baldwin, perhaps prophetically, speaks very candidly about an incident he had involving a White female waitress after being chased by an angry mob of White people. He ducked into a restaurant, only to be met with another refusal to be waited on because he was Black. He describes this instance as one in which he was ready to kill this woman to assuage the rage burning him inside:
…I had been ready to commit murder. I saw nothing very clearly but I did see this: that my life, my real life, was in danger, and not from anything other people might do but from the hatred I carried in my own heart[6].
Baldwin introduces rage as if it is another person who might be living inside of him, and, possibly, inside of every Black man. I think immediately to Aaron Alexis, the Black man who is also the recent Navy Yard shooter. Alexis claims to hold “the delusional belief that he was being controlled or influenced by extremely low frequency electromagnetic waves[7].” With mass shootings on the rise world-wide, observing the past 30 years of occurrences, approximately 67.5 percent included White male shooters. In addition, there is a strong correlation of mental health issues plaguing those responsible for mass shootings with approximately 63 percent having a history of a mental illness[8]. Yet, the Office of Minority Health has published some harrowing data about the demographics of African Americans, confirming that Black people living below the poverty level are three times more likely to report psychological distress, Black men and women are 20 percent more likely to report having serious psychological distress than White people, and the death rate from suicide for Black men was almost four times that of Black women in 2009[9]. I do not know Aaron Alexis. I have only ever seen him on the news or in the newspapers. But reading Notes of a Native Son begs me to ask if Mr. Alexis even knew himself? James Baldwin discusses his father’s death and is saddened because his Dad never knew that he was beautiful – he just knew that he was Black. Do Black men, who allow rage to engulf them, know who they really are or that they are lovely and beautiful, not lewd nor beastly. It is unfair to judge Aaron Alexis without knowing him, his identity, or his humanity. In the words of Baldwin, “thou knowest this man’s fall; but thou knowest not his wrassling[10].” I am forced to admit that just as my own brother could have been Trayvon Martin. He could have just as easily been Aaron Alexis.

An old hymn says, “There are some things I do not know. There are some places I may not go.” One thing my Dad always taught me was to never venture into a place you cannot handle. I do not know that I have ever really stopped to consider the peculiar, particularity the Black man finds himself smashed in limbo between; and, I don’t know if this is a place that I would want to handle.
At the root of the American Negro problem is the necessity of the American white man to find a way of living with the Negro in order to be able to live with himself… the white man’s motive was the protection of his identity; the black man was motivated by the need to establish his identity[11].
I would be interested to engage and research Black men (and women as well) who have lived, are living, or have a predisposition to mental illnesses. I have never flown into a rage or wanted to murder anyone or anything (besides insects and rodents), but there is a very present reality that the weight of the world can trigger an imbalance in the mind that the Black community has not been open enough to talk about nor treat effectively. I fear our Black men are becoming the disposable by-product of constricted demands and constant setbacks.

                As for me, I plan to translate what I have learned from the prolific James Baldwin into a personal space that includes the Black men who are in the sphere of my influence. It occurs to me that I have fallen victim to aiding and abetting the mass assassination of the Black man’s morale – maybe not intentionally, but rather ignorantly of how my voice, my desires, and my actions could be further alienating or beating my Black counterparts. It is my hope to affirm you and, to this end, I write this letter to all my sons, nephews, brothers, fathers, husbands, and friends:

Dear Black boy/man,
I realize that every day, when you leave home, you put on your armor.
To protect you. Shield you. And, perhaps, even keep you warm. The world is cold – you know this firsthand.
I know that America never meant to be your friend; and because of that, you have a hard time knowing how and when to trust, live, and be.
When you return home, I do not want you to feel as though it is necessary to leave those guards up. Those guards that you must employ while navigating the game in a White man’s land.
Instead, let down your guards. Your sarcastic tone. And your well-used defense mechanisms.
Here, at home, you are safe to cry. You are safe to laugh. You are safe to be scared, from time to time.
You may enter into my prayer closet with me. And pray to a God who understands you.
You can leave all your pieces, your pawns, your rooks, and your bishops, in the car.
Here, at home, we are the King and Queen, who answer to no one but the Divine.
I will never overlook you. Look through you. Or look upon you with hatred.
I will ever look to you.  Look for you. And look like you, fearfully and wonderfully made.
I will love you. I will challenge you. And, I will push you for better.
I will harness all the freedom I can muster. And liberate you from the outside world, if only just for a little while.
Most of all. Maybe…no certainly, I will carve out a space for you to simply be you. Black man. Forever powerful. Eternally beautiful. Into Paradise, everlasting.
Gratefully yours,
SRH








[1] “Frame of reference,” September 16, 2013. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frame_of_reference
[2] James Baldwin, Notes of a Native Son. Revised ed. (Beacon Press, Boston: 2012), 169.
[3] James Baldwin, Notes of a Native Son. Revised ed. (Beacon Press, Boston: 2012), 147.
[4] Audre Lorde, “The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master’s House,” Sister Outsider, (Crossing Press, Berkeley: 1984), 112.
[5] James Baldwin, Notes of a Native Son. Revised ed. (Beacon Press, Boston: 2012), 173.
[6] James Baldwin, Notes of a Native Son. Revised ed. (Beacon Press, Boston: 2012), 99.
[7] Greg Botelho, Joe Sterling, “FBI: Navy Yard shooter ‘delusional,’ said ‘low frequency attacks’ drove him to kill,” September 26, 2013. http://www.cnn.com/2013/09/25/us/washington-navy-yard-investigation/index.html
[8] Philip Bump, “There Will Be Another Mass Shooting: This Is What the Data Tells Us About It,” September 17, 2013. http://www.theatlanticwire.com/politics/2013/09/there-will-be-another-mass-shooting/69508/
[9] “Mental Health and African Americans,” The Office of Minority Health. http://minorityhealth.hhs.gov/templates/content.aspx?lvl=3&lvlID=9&ID=6474
[10] James Baldwin, Notes of a Native Son. Revised ed. (Beacon Press, Boston: 2012), 107.
[11] James Baldwin, Notes of a Native Son. Revised ed. (Beacon Press, Boston: 2012), 176.