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Holy Blackness: The Matrix of Creation
Photo by Julia Rekamie on Unsplash
We share this sermon from Rev. Dr. Wil Gafney to nourish your soul and your biblical imagination. The sermon was originally preached at All Saints Church in Pasadena, CA on December 1, 2019 and follows the readings from A Women’s Lectionary for the Whole Church, Year A.
Scripture Passages: Genesis 1:1-5; Psalm 8; Romans 8:18-25; Matthew 24:32-44 (Women’s Lectionary for the Whole Church, Year A Advent 1) (full text translations at the bottom of this post)
In the velvet darkness of the blackest night
Burning bright, there’s a guiding star
No matter what or who, who you are
There’s a light (Over at the Frankenstein Place)
There’s a light (Burning in the fireplace)
There’s a light, light in the darkness of everybody’s life.
Let us pray:
God of fire and light who dwells in thick darkness,
the light and the dark are alike to thee,
open the eyes of our hearts that we might see. Amen.
In the velvet darkness, darker than a thousand midnights down in a cypress swamp, this luminous darkness, this radiant blackness, the wholly black and holy black womb of God pulsed life into the world against a tapestry of holy life-giving darkly radiant blackness, shaping, molding, knitting, coalescing earthstuff from starstuff from Godstuff. All before uttering the first word.
This more than binary God articulated in the binary idiom of Iron Age folk recalling the testimony of their Stone Age forebears, limited to two gender signifiers but using both to signal to the best of their ability that neither was sufficient even if some would use one more, to the near exclusion of the other, this pluripotent God whose breath-crafted children would bear her, hir, his, zir, our, their image, this God, conjured, confected, and crafted creation out of holy darkness.
The Poet and poetry of creation birth a story made of stories that tells us who we are, who we have been and, who we could be. We are born of blackness, starry night and fertile earth, our first human parents in science and in scripture have Africa’s soil on their feet and in their skin. But somewhere along the way we were taught to fear the dark, to fear the night, to fear the holy blackness that is the swaddling blanket of creation.
Some of our fear of the dark is ancient and instinctual from a time when we were not sure the sun would return from setting or storm or eclipse: Stay with us Lord of Light for the night is dark and full of terrors. The prayer to the Red God on Game of Thrones is in many ways the perfect embodiment of this and perhaps a worthy Advent prayer, (at least in a service where There’s a Light Over at the Frankenstein House from the Rocky Horror Picture Show is the Advent hymn). But some of our fear of the dark is carefully calculated and mercenary.
Some lost sight of or chose not to see the beauty of the diversity of creation having lost the memory of their own ancestral African roots and, when encountering a suddenly much larger world saw that our black beauty was valuable, profitable, salable. Then beginning in 1619 on this continent those ancient fears were seized upon and weaponized to build this nation on a foundation of slavery and genocide and the rhetoric of blackness became all that was wrong in the world just as Malik el-Haj al-Shabazz taught us when he was Malcom X: blackball, black sheep, blackmail, black hearted, black people.
My over-used but nowhere near retirement Black Lives Matter sign says, “Black Lives Are Sacred.” Blackness is sacred. But the world has lost sight of the goodness and sanctity of blackness. That is why it is so easy to kill us and our children and so easy to justify our deaths with fear, fear of the dark. Public Enemy prophesied rightly on Fear of A Black Planet. Fear of blackness. Fear of black people. All in service to a divinization of whiteness and light to the point of idolatry. To this Bishop Stephen Charleston says:
I have heard that the afterlife is a place of perpetual light. That’s a problem. Heaven needs night. Darkness is not evil, but a realm of mystery and imagination. The day is constant, but the night is creative. The stars dance. The moon dreams. The comets write poetry of fire. Without the night there is no dawn or twilight, no moments of sacred ambiguity, no subtle changes of perception, no promises kept or just made, a holy pledge of healing or of hope. No, please, we need the night in heaven. We need that glorious darkness, that obscure beauty, drifting on wedding gown clouds of white across an obsidian sky.
Thus, this the darkest time of the year is one of the holiest times of the year. The bleakest shadows of solar night hold the light in passionate embrace, and where they touch, shades of gray and, every color of the rainbow prism including those we cannot yet see. Our encultured fear, our tribalism, have kept us from seeing that all creation is inherently good. All God’s creatures are good by design. All of God’s children are good, born good, created good, created for goodness, good enough, even when they, we, fail to live up and into the goodness of God within us, it is still there.
We start this new Christian year in this Advent season with the goodness of God and the poetry of creation manifest in the liturgy of the earth. God is Poet and this good God-given earth is her poetry. Indeed, the earth is also both poet and poem, poetry groaning in creation. The liturgy of the earth, its cycles of sun and shadow, ripening and rotting, blossoming and blowing away, drenching and drying, feast and famine, storm and stillness, deep sea and desert wide are fluid ever-changing witnesses to and stanzas in the poetry of our lives, of our world. For we too are her poems, sonnets and ballads, dissertations of rap, rhythm and, rhyme and, more than a few limericks, quatrain and haiku and, forms for which there are yet no names. This great liturgy of creation is a liturgy of transition and transcendence. And so it is with life and death; they are not two separate polar realities for between them lies living.
It is into this life that brown baby Jesus comes to dwell, inhabit, teach, guide, accompany, heal, forgive, redeem, love and, live. And thus are we too called dwell in this good earth in our good incarnations, living, loving, forgiving, healing, accompanying each other on our pilgrim journey. We live in the waiting for the second Advent. Live in a world waiting for the fullness of redemption, restoration and, reparation. Live in this world where people don’t always see our poetry, our obscure beauty, our incarnations as Godstuff, our loving as the goodness of God in this world.
This earth is given into our care and we are given into each other’s care. Advent prepares us to encounter a God who dwells with us in the waiting earth. And Advent tells us that we are loved and worthy of love. Most of the world outside of a very specific set of churches doesn’t know that it is Advent. It is pre-Christmas sale season which began after, or even before, Halloween. Even in the Church Advent is often crushed into Christmas and the first Advent, the Nativity of black baby Jesus, often overshadows the second Advent, the return of the rainbow Christ, the fullness of humanity encompassing the poetry of all flesh, all kinds of flesh, transformed, human and divine, yet retaining enough of the poetry of the past to be recognized as the very same person, Mary’s baby.
Mary’s poor brown migrant baby. Christians the world over will sing their love for the baby Jesus for the next five weeks. But for many their love will not extend to Guatemalan baby Jesus or Muslim baby Issa who share his name. In far too many churches the stories of Advent and Christmas are used to sanctify white supremacy in the church. Introducing children to and reifying adult belief in a white Jesus who is not simply an aesthetic choice but a statement of power and domination. White Jesus is a colonized and colonizing Christ. Until the deaths of black and brown mother’s children mean as much as the deaths of white parent’s children and the windows and walls of our churches do not silently whitewash the brownness and Jewishness of Jesus, his family, friends and followers and his ancestors, the whiteness of Christian art and nativity plays will always be in service to white supremacy.
When Christ returns every system that holds people captive, dominates and subordinates will be unmade. And so we long for the second Advent. But I don’t think we’re all waiting for the same thing. The Church has been waiting millennia and in that waiting, has not only not healed the ruptures that form when we forget that we are all a handful of the same dirt, but in some cases has dug and deepened those fissures. And in some parts of the Church, the more you believe in the literal return of Jesus, the less you believe in or care about climate change because Jesus will just fix it after while.
Some read today’s gospel and see the immanent and unexpected return of Christ and all they can think of is who is going with him and who will be left behind. But that’s not the Jesus I know. The Jesus I know is in the field with the agricultural workers in the gospel. He’s with the women doing undervalued work in that same gospel. He’s not making a list and checking it twice. That’s someone else’s bag. And, I believe he is telling us this story so that we will take notice of who is around us and might not be able to make it alone.
We already live in a world where some people get left behind. In this world, people are left behind if they’re black or brown or poor or gay or trans or women or femme, or felons, or, or, or. But it won’t always be that way. While a traditional Advent reading might focus on Jesus’s return, I want to offer another reading. I don’t believe we have to wait for the return of Jesus for things to get better. I don’t believe that our problems are so big that only God can sort them out. I don’t believe that there is nothing that we can do about the quality of human life or the capacity of the earth to sustain life.
Jesus showed us by how he lived and died and lived again on the other side of death that nothing is too big, too much, too hard for God, that human dignity and flourishing are God’s dream for us no matter under what oppressive systems we find ourselves. The Jesus who allied himself with the poor and disenfranchised by becoming poor and disenfranchised will not abandon us to a world that does not love us, fears us and seeks to harm us. Rather Jesus stands with us as we remake the world that is our heritage, our sacred trust, as we rediscover its poetry and the poetry inside of each of us.
The time between the Advents is a pregnant time, indeed the earth is already in labor in apostle’s view. Now is a waiting time. Now is a watching time. And now is a working time. Jesus calls our attention to the people the world, and sometimes the church, says will be left behind. For much of human history women have been kept behind if not left behind. But the One for whose Advent we wait chose the flesh of a woman for the glory of the incarnation, that intimate bleeding flesh that the world of men wanted to leave behind, thus forever sanctifying woman-flesh and all human-flesh. And, for much of our history folk have wanted to leave gay folk and queer folk behind, yet Jesus comes to us through a miracle that transcends and queers gender roles, God-beyond-gender yet disclosed as the feminine spirit conceived a child with a human woman. From as soon as one person had two sticks while another had only one, we have left people behind in poverty and inequity. Yet Jesus came to us poor and under-housed. We are building walls – lying about building physical walls – while building legislative walls and the border-crossing Jesus is an asylum seeker. If we are not careful, we might just leave Jesus behind, not recognizing him because we’ve lost the sight and sound of the divine poetry in every human person.
We wait for the Advent return of the One whose incarnational gender poetry transcends the grammatical categories of frail human poets and translators, with that Advent will come the majesty of God, the manifestation of God’s perfect justice and love, for where God is, there can be no injustice. And dare I say, in God’s perfect justice none will be left behind.
The Scriptural Texts for the sermon from The Women’s Lectionary:
Dr. Gafney selected and translated the readings using an expansive gender-explicit approach and, in the Psalms, explicit feminine language and pronouns for God.
Genesis 1:1 -5
When beginning he, God, created the heavens and the earth, 2 the earth was shapeless and formless and bleakness covered the face of the deep, while the Spirit of God, she, fluttered over the face of the waters. 3 Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. 4 And God saw that the light was good; so God separated the light from the bleakness. 5 Then God called the light Day, and the bleakness God called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, day one.
Psalm 8
1 WOMB OF LIFE, our Sovereign, *
how exalted is your Name in all the earth!
2 Out of the mouths of children and nursing babes *
your majesty is praised above the heavens.
3 You have founded a stronghold against your adversaries, *
to put an end to the enemy and the avenger.
4 When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, *
the moon and the stars you have established,
5 What are we that you should be mindful of us? *
the woman-born that you attend to them?
6 You have made us a little lower than God; *
you adorn us with glory and honor;
7 You give us mastery over the works of your hands; *
you put all things under our feet:
8 All sheep and oxen, *
even the wild beasts of the field,
9 The birds of the air, the fish of the sea, *
and whatsoever walks in the paths of the sea.
10 WOMB OF LIFE, our Sovereign, *
how exalted is your Name in all the earth!
Romans 8:18-25
18 I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us. 19 For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the daughters and sons of God; 20 for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope 21 that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the daughters and sons of God. 22 We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; 23 and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. 24 For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? 25 But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.
Matthew 24:32-44
32 Jesus said, “From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. 33 So also, when you see all these things, you know that the Son of Woman is near, at the very gates. 34 Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. 35 Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.
36 “But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Creator. 37 For as the days of Noah were, so will be the coming of the Son of Woman. 38 For as in those days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day Noah entered the ark, 39 and they knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so too will be the coming of the Son of Woman. 40 Then two will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left. 41 Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken and one will be left. 42 Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Redeemer is coming. 43 But understand this: if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, the owner would have stayed awake and would not have let the house be broken into. 44 Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Woman is coming at an unexpected hour.
Sources for opening:
Richard O’brien, “There’s a Light (Over at the Frankenstein Place)” Rocky Horror Picture Show, 1975 © Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Sources for first paragraph in order:
Richard O’brien, Rocky Horror; James Weldon Johnson, “The Creation,” Howard Thurman (title, This Luminous Darkness); “black and radiant,” Rabbi Marcia Falk trans. “The Song of Songs”; “darkly radiant,” Mia McKenzie, The Thing About Being A Little Black Girl In the World: For Quvenzhané Wallis.
Rev. Wil Gafney Ph.D.
Womanist biblical scholar, the Rev. Wil Gafney, Ph.D. is the Right Rev. Sam B. Hulsey Professor of Hebrew Bible at Brite Divinity School in Fort Worth, Texas. She is the author of Womanist Midrash: A Reintroduction to Women of the Torah and of the Throne, a commentary on Nahum, Habakkuk, and Zephaniah in the Wisdom series; Daughters of Miriam: Women Prophets in Ancient Israel; and co-editor of The Peoples’ Bible and The Peoples’ Companion to the Bible. She is the author of a Women’s Lectionary for the Whole Church and translator of its biblical selections; the first two volumes, Year A and W (a stand alone volume) were published in August. Volumes B and C are due in 2023 and 2024. She is currently writing a second volume of Womanist Midrash focusing on women in the Prophets. She is an Episcopal priest canonically resident in the Diocese of Pennsylvania and licensed in the Diocese of North Texas, and a former Army chaplain and congregational pastor in the AME Zion Church.
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Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.
The Faith of the Floyds
On June 1, 2020, after commanding law enforcement officers to use tear gas and riot control tactics to clear a group of peaceful protesters seeking justice for George Floyd, a Black man who was killed in Minneapolis on May 25 by former police officer Derek Chauvin, then-President Donald Trump marched to the front of St. John’s Episcopal Church holding a Bible.
Standing with Trump in front of the church for a staged photo op were members of his family, including Jared Kushner and Ivanka Trump, and members of the military, including the secretary of defense and the chairman of the joint chiefs of staff. Trump’s Attorney General William Barr also joined him.
Trump did not mention George Floyd on that day, nor the legion of other Black men and women killed by American law enforcement since the days of slavery and Civil Rights. Trump did not mention the ugly history of racism and the Ku Klux Klan and white supremacist ideology infiltration into American law enforcement, including the Minneapolis Police Department where Chauvin worked, notably its union president, Bob Kroll.
Trump didn’t mention these things because Kroll and his ilk were among Trump’s greatest supporters. And though he stood in front of a church holding a Bible, the only Gospel that mattered that day was the Gospel of Donald Trump, and of power.
Trump did not pray. He did not open his Bible. He walked away after the photo was taken, leaving in his wake injured protesters with burning eyes, crying children in the streets.
***
For a majority of white Americans, particularly white Christians, this was their “Christian” president. He brought megachurch pastors and Evangelical Christian musicians into the White House. When I traveled across the country to interview Christian Trump voters for my book Red State Christians, in 2018, people told me again and again they were so glad to have a “Christian” President in the White House again, that they believed Trump was praying.
His comments about his lack of need for forgiveness and his “little white cracker” and “2 Corinthians” notwithstanding, for a majority of white American Christians, Trump’s wealth, his white skin, his conservative social politics, these were enough to consider him their Christian President. Some white Christians told me that they assumed former President Barack Obama had been a Muslim, despite a well-documented track record of attending a Black church in Chicago, and Obama singing Amazing Grace at the funeral of a Black pastor, the Rev. Clementa Pinckney, who was killed during Bible study by white supremacist youth Dylann Roof.
The white Christians I interviewed never mentioned Roof, that he’d been confirmed in an overwhelmingly white denomination (the same one I serve in as a Pastor), and they never mentioned America’s history of terrorizing Black people, particularly Black Christians in Black churches.
On June 1, 2020, an American faux-Christianity was on full display: a Christianity that had forgotten its brown-skinned Savior, who died poor and forsaken and killed by his own government as an enemy of the state, for daring to proclaim liberation and justice for the poor, and in doing so getting crosswise with the religious leaders of his day.
***
Somehow, just as the stone was rolled away against all odds that first Easter morn, the Gospel finds a way to endure nevertheless. After four years and many more decades and centuries of a whitewashed Christianity that abuses women and practices financial grift of its church members, on April 21, 2021, a more ancient Christian Gospel elbowed its way to the forefront of American Christianity.
It did so without overwhelming political power or money or a whole cottage industry of Christian books, music, and culture. It did so against all odds, in a family rooted in Houston’s Third Ward, a historically Black neighborhood where residents like George Floyd faced growing up with “aging housing, underfunded schools, health-care disparities, high unemployment, and other forms of systematic inequalities,” according to an April 10 article in the Washington Post.
Much of the popular white Christianity voiced in America in recent years has oozed with bitterness: the idea that Christians were under attack from the “culture wars,” that they couldn’t say “Merry Christmas,” that their beliefs and traditions were being squelched, that their liberties and freedoms were being trampled upon, most recently by government edicts requiring the use of facemasks during a global pandemic.
George Floyd’s family could have easily swallowed this same pill of bitterness. And inside, I’m sure they did feel bitter: bitter at the ways American law enforcement targeted people of color, especially those living in neighborhoods without a lot of options. Bitter at the ways that America criminalized addiction. Bitter that their brother, their cousin, had gone North to find better opportunity as an ex-felon, only to die at the hands of the police for allegedly using a counterfeit $20 bill.
I’m sure the Floyds felt bitter when politicians who could not bear to utter their brother, their cousin, their nephew, their friend’s name instead chastised the millions protesting over his violent death to “go home” and “be quiet.” They condemned the riots but did not condemn George Floyd’s death, even though the world had watched Chauvin kill him on cellphone video shot by a 17-year-old girl.
Many white Christians across America went to church that week after George Floyd’s murder and heard sermons that called for peace but ignored Biblical edicts for justice; they read passages about quietism and calm but did not listen to the command of Genesis 4, when God hears Abel’s blood crying out from the earth and God will not be calmed, because Cain had betrayed his responsibility to his brother by killing his brother.
Too many white American Christians never saw Black Americans as their brother or sister or sibling in Christ.
The Bible has always been holy words in human hands, interpreted in human minds, and the Bible is too-often twisted to support a narrative that defends an American status quo that keeps white Christians comfortable.
Anyway, the Floyd family did not owe America its grace. They had every right to return bitterness with bitterness, the bitter fruit of a poisoned tree.
As Paul writes, “I will show you a still more excellent way,” however.
On April 21, 2021, Philonise Floyd reacted to the Minneapolis jury’s finding of Derek Chauvin guilty on all counts with words like these, as I quote from memory: “The name we lift up this day is Jesus. Thank you Jesus!”
Philonise Floyd had prayed silently in the courtroom: without a photo op, without a prop Bible, without tear gas or riot control. He’d prayed alone and without his brother. He bowed his head and simply prayed, even though he’d been told in America that the Christian God was not for him. That God’s justice was not for Black lives.
Philonise prayed anyway, and in his words he resurrected again the Savior who rose 2,021 years ago on Easter morning. Jesus was not at the Law and Order photo op after all. Instead he was wounded, crucified, and eating with so-called sinners, speaking to Samaritan women, and proclaiming for all to hear that he had come to “proclaim release to the captives … to let the oppressed go free.”
This Jesus — the God who humbled Godself and took on human form to save the world through weakness — this Jesus spoke in America this week, through the faith and the grace of a Floyd family who white Christians in America didn’t quite deserve.
Philonise’s prayer was a protest; his words a proclamation.
No, God did not ignore my brother’s death. No, God is not on the side of violence and human power and wealth. No, God does not ignore the cries of the oppressed. No, God does not tell us to help ourselves. No, God does not wield a gun. No, God does not silence those who cry out for justice. No, God does not claim peace where there is no peace.
Again and again, in their grief and in their brief moment of forcing accountability in American policing, the Floyd family talked about prayer, about faith, and about Jesus. In doing so they issued a challenge to the prevailing wisdom about Christianity in America, about those lily-white paintings of Jesus that hang in churches where Pastors once claimed enslaved people were less than fully human because of the color of their skin.
It is that pernicious lie, the lie of racism, that is destroying the American church, wrapping itself around and squeezing the life out of parishioners, fostering the seeds of hatred and sexism and homophobia and abuse.
Standing in the breach is the faith of the Floyds: the irreproachable witness of centuries of African American Christianity, a protest against the hijacking of Jesus, and a reminder that an America that was truly rooted in the Gospel would never have done the things it did to Black people.
To view America through the lens of the faith of the Floyds was to see both a desolating sacrilege and also an almost impossible hope for justice, love, and maybe finally peace.
The guilty verdicts were not justice. But Philonise Floyd called upon the name of Jesus anyway, because in this truthful telling about America, and in this final honoring of the value of his brother’s life, Philonise Floyd heard Jesus speak.
And then, as they had since May 25, 2020, and long, long, before, Black Christian leaders in America, Black Lives Matter protesters, and people from every race, faith, and ideology all over the world, grounded their movement for justice and equality in the power of prayer.
They reminded all of us, as we stared at an America so devastated by sin, a reflection of an America too long ignored by white eyes, of Jesus’ words to the disciples in Luke 9:14-29.
Jesus’ disciples had tried everything to heal a boy who was brought before them. But they could not do it. They believed the boy was dead. Then, Jesus took the boy by the hand, and suddenly he lived.
Jesus’ disciples asked him why they couldn’t cast out the demon.
“This kind can come out only through prayer,” Jesus said, and in these words I think about a country and a Christianity we sometimes think is dead — and an original American sin we are trying so hard to cast out.
May we learn anew to pray, in the wake of a tiny step toward justice, in the powerful example of a family whose faith turns American Christianity upside down, and reverts it back to Jesus.
Rev. Angela Denker
Angela Denker, author of Red State Christians: Understanding the Voters who elected Donald Trump (Fortress: August 2019), is a Lutheran Pastor and veteran journalist who has written for Sports Illustrated, The Washington Post, Christian Century, and Christianity Today. She has pastored congregations in Las Vegas, Chicago, Orange County (Calif.), the Twin Cities, and rural Minnesota.
Twitter | @angela_denker
Facebook | @angeladenker1
Blog | http://agoodchristianwoman.blogspot.com
Website | https://www.angeladenker.com
Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.
Healing Our City Reflection
Editor’s Note: Church Anew is honored to share the words of Nekima Levy Armstrong spoken on April 13, 2021 at the Healing Our City Virtual Prayer Tent. On April 21, she reshared the video on social media with the following introduction. Used with permission by CLNE.
Our partner Center for Leadership and Neighborhood Engagement (CLNE) continues to offer the Healing Our City Virtual Prayer Tent. Each morning at 8:00 AM Central Time join with people from all over the country for approximately 20-minute prayer experience which begins with a timely reflection by a different religious/spiritual leader each day and followed by a period of 9 minutes and 29 seconds of silent prayer/meditation.
Friends, Good Morning. I feel as if I can breathe a little better in light of yesterday's powerful and historic guilty verdict against Derek Chauvin on all three counts. For those who are people of faith and/or those who could use some inspiration, here is a video of a short message I gave last week during Healing Our City, in which I referenced the circumstances surrounding the murder of George Floyd, and the spiritual insights that were present.
I hope this message provides you with further encouragement as we remember the life of George Floyd and as we press forward in the fight for justice.
Nekima Levy Armstrong
Nekima Levy Armstrong is a civil rights attorney, national expert on racial justice, former law professor, activist, and legal scholar. She previously served as a Professor of Law at the University of St. Thomas Law School for thirteen years, where she founded and directed the Community Justice Project, an award-winning civil rights legal clinic.
In 2017, she was named 100 People to Know by Twin Cities Business. In 2016, she received the Distinguished Service Award from the Governor’s Commission on Martin Luther King Day. In 2015, she was named one of “40 Under 40” by Minneapolis/St. Paul Business Journal. In 2014, she was named a “Minnesota Attorney of the Year” by Minnesota Lawyer and recognized as one of “50 Under 50 Most Influential Law Professors of Color in the Country” by Lawyers of Color Magazine. She previously served as president of the Minneapolis NAACP, and ran for Mayor of Minneapolis in 2017.
Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.
We All Have Something
My son wanted to talk about the death of rapper, producer, and actor Earl “DMX” Simmons. He reminded me of the various number one, platinum albums from this prolific artist. I noted that DMX, “Dark Man X,” even wrote music detailing his relationship with God. Yes, he struggled with drug addiction, but his walk with the Divine was just as pronounced. He was in and out of prison, but he never understated the presence and power of the Holy One in his life. “Lord Give Me Sign,” “Jesus Loves Me,” and “Prayer” are just a few of the songs boldly revealing his spirituality. DMX also declared he was a deacon and later a minister.
As a New Testament professor, I often interrogate of how the Bible appears in pop culture. Movies, literature, poetry, art, and music pepper my course syllabi. I engage these sources as means of connecting a historical document to this current context.
I also seek to find synergy between the past and present. While not an aficionado of rap per se, I admit DMX helped do some of this heavy lifting. His rough tone, verbal gravitas, and intense lyrics not only provided a path for connecting in the classroom, but opened a door to peeping into his own struggles. As artistry does, there was space to contend with my own challenges and idiosyncrasies. Say what you will, DMX reminds us that we all have something.
We all have something with which we are struggling. There is an addiction Achilles heel or an issue that is not a reflection of our best self." In II Corinthians 12:6-7, Paul calls it a “thorn in the flesh.” We may not wrestle with repetitive cocaine or crack engagement, but it could be anger, domestic violence, or alcohol use proclivities. We all have something. It is pointless to parallel life circumstances or equate personal vicissitudes. Such existential Olympics is unnecessary.
The bottom line is there is an issue that makes us triangulate individual shame, guilt, and embarrassment. If we are honest, on our best days the matter or matters lie just beneath the surface. On our worst days they erupt in volcanic fashion spewing fire and singeing all in our paths whether intentional or not.
The past year’s Covid-19 context has no doubt exacerbated whatever was and is the troubling in our soul. Isolation, social distancing, limited forms of connectivity, and the loss of loved ones due to the virus have been sources of emotional, mental, and spiritual agitation and dishevelment. An increase in domestic abuse, assault, and other acts of violence, particularly in the home, attest to this.
Yet, the coronavirus condition has provided a place of pause and pensive positioning. The forced abating of some activities has coerced us to slow down and think on many matters. Even in the midst of the chaos, there have been opportunities to creatively reconsider who we are as a people and as individuals.
We have had time to ponder the something rubbing like sandpiper in our lives.
The death of DMX proved to be another personal and theological watershed moment. May his words call us not to judge each other, but to lean in and lead with gentleness. For the truth is, we all have something.
“Life or death, live or die (Uh)
I will never live a lie (Uh)
I'm gon' get because I try (What!)
I won't quit until I die (What!)
I'm gon' make it, wrong or right (Yeah!)
And make it through the darkest time (Yeah!)
And when the morning comes, you'll see
That all I have is God in me (Lord give me a sign!)”
-“Lord Show Me A Sign” by DMX
Dr. Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder
Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder, author, speaker and teacher, is a Baptist and Disciples of Christ minister who holds a Ph.D. in New Testament from Vanderbilt University. Her latest book is When Momma Speaks: The Bible and Motherhood from a Womanist Perspective. This #WomanistMomma currently serves as Associate Professor and Academic Dean at Chicago Theological Seminary.
Facebook: Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder
Twitter: @stepbcrowder
Instagram: StephBuckhanonC
Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.
Pondering Black Women’s Bodies
As a Black woman prepares to become the first Black, first woman, first South Asian to occupy the U.S. vice presidency, Black women’s bodies have been on my mind. My own body has been on my mind. I have been thinking about self-care, wellness, and the importance of never negotiating boundaries. I am aware that not all hold my beliefs about my body in such high regard. Society at large tends to devalue and diminish Black women’s bodies. Who we are and what we represent and how we re-present remain cause for celebration and consideration.
I watched the television series P-Valley. Judge all you want. Say what you will. I was glued to the tube for every episode. The show about a strip club captured me because of its Southern flavor and flair. Its setting is just miles from my hometown of Memphis, Tennessee. The show’s creator, Katori Hall, hails from the Bluff City as well. Episodes are peppered with dialogue and cultural references to this area in the Mississippi Delta.
To say P-Valley is about Black women in a strip club is a gross understatement and artistic interpretation. Its messaging centers on self-provision and agency. It pivots around a place where Black women can use what they have and make it work for them and their families. At The Pynk, Black women’s bodies is business. This gentleman’s (and gentlewoman’s) club in Chucalissa is also the source of theological ecstasy and spiritual release. The club owner, a Black transgender woman named “Uncle Clifford,” acts as priest using the strip mainstage as altar.
Sexuality. Theology. Sociology. Pecuniary Security. Black women’s bodies have been on my mind.
Whatever affirmation and existential prowess P-Valley depicted, reality quickly took away. The images of Anjanette Young’s naked body surrounded by numerous Chicago police officers is well … arresting. In a botched raid, men in blue broke into a Black woman’s home while she was undressing. Fearing for her life, Young did not have or take time to cover her body as officers rushed her and her home. For over two minutes, there was this Black body exposed while police rummaged her personal belongings looking for something, someone not there. The police disregarded Young’s more than 43 shouts of “You have the wrong house.” Even more painfully, they disregarded her nude Black body.
Unlike the women in P-Valley who freely, unashamedly share their physical giftedness as they choose, Young believed she had no option. Stand there stark naked or lose your life. The Mayor of Chicago, a Black lesbian, has promised accountability, more than likely fiscal compensation. However, what can pay for Young’s humiliation in what is supposed to be her place of safety? Breonna Taylor too reminds us of a recurring theme that a Black woman’s house is not always her home.
Sexuality. Police brutality. Sociology. Accountability. Black women’s bodies have been on my mind.
The United States stands on the cusp of another historical presidential inauguration. Vice President-elect Kamala Harris will become the first woman of African descent to walk the halls of the White House. While Michelle Obama resided there, Harris will be in the room — the room where deliberations of national impact are made. Her Black female body will grace 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue also known as 1600 Black Lives Matter Plaza.
There were other Black women who put their bodies on line to pave the way for Vice-President-elect Harris. Charlotta Spears Bass was the first Black woman to run for vice president of the United States. In 1952, she ran on the Progressive Party ticket with Vincent Hallinan after rescinding her Republican affiliation. Post becoming the first Black woman elected to Congress in 1968, “unbought and unbossed” Congresswoman Shirley Chisholm became the first Black person to seek the Democratic party’s nomination for president in 1972. The present state of Vice President-elect Kamala Harris pivots from the past activism acumen and the political prowess of these two Black women.
Sexuality. Politics. Gender. Possibility. Black women’s bodies have been on my mind.
Of course, the biblical scholar in me would be remiss not to draw from this textual well. The story of the Queen of Sheba is worth noting. The narrative in 1 Kings 10 and 2 Chronicles recounts her traveling to see King Solomon. She does not come hat in hand, but with a great caravan and spices, gold and precious stones to boot. What is intriguing is that this Ethiopian woman comes to Solomon and “tells him all that is on her mind” (1 Kings 10:2). She has been wondering if the word about Solomon is true and wanted to see for herself. Ancient texts attest to the power of Black women having something on their minds.
When moments of imposter syndrome seek to wash over me, I am reminded that it is my Black woman presence folks are reacting against. It is their overreaching into me that instigates my wanting to question me. It is their confusion about what I embody that strives to make me doubt me. Nevertheless I persist. Black Cinderella has left the building and refuses to be belle of the diversity, equity, and inclusion workplace ball.
Black women’s bodies, my body have been on my mind. I want this body to be around to hug and nurture my children’s children. I want to be eye candy for Black girls and yes, Black boys to not just dream, but see what is possible. With the self-sufficiency and curiosity of the Queen of Sheba, in the spirit of Bass, in the legacy of Chisholm, with the audacity of the women at The Pynk, steeped in the anger over Young and Taylor, in the hope of Harris and from the womb of my Black grandmother and Black mother — may it be so.
Brown girl brown girl
How are you so strong
'Cause I got Queens in my blood
To help push me along
-Lesle Honore
Dr. Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder
Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder, author, speaker and teacher, is a Baptist and Disciples of Christ minister who holds a Ph.D. in New Testament from Vanderbilt University. Her latest book is When Momma Speaks: The Bible and Motherhood from a Womanist Perspective. This #WomanistMomma currently serves as Associate Professor and Academic Dean at Chicago Theological Seminary.
Facebook: Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder
Twitter: @stepbcrowder
Instagram: StephBuckhanonC
Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.
More Pandemonium in a Pandemic
When my sons were in elementary school, I constantly told them, “You can’t do what white children do. The consequences for you will be different.” My afternoon pickups were filled with trepidation and angst when I asked them, “How was your day?” I always feared there would be report of “misbehavior” from a white teacher or a detention note for an “infraction.” A small slight from a white boy or girl was an almost criminal act for my then small children.
The acts of insurrection last week proved the refrain is still true: “Black people cannot do what white people do. The consequences will be different.”
In June 2020, innumerable armed guards phalanxed the Capitol ready to pounce Black Lives Matter protesters. However, this past Wednesday was a stark contrast as white seditionists overpowered police officers, desecrated legislative halls, disrespected federal offices, and demoralized congresspersons and senators alike. With the statue called “Freedom” looking down, extremists took much liberty, looted, and ran amok on Capitol Hill. The images of mayhem and chaos from that white, pristine edifice are quite different from those in Ferguson and Baltimore. Why? Race in America makes the difference. Race in America is the difference.
Before some of us could celebrate historic victories in the Georgia senate races, our attention was diverted to efforts to circumvent and upend democracy.
While thousands of Americans were dying, still dying, from COVID-19, a narcissistic, political sickness begged our focus. As the liturgical calendar turned the page to Epiphany, a manifestation of mayhem, madness, and selfish motivation demanded center stage. And yet, this is the messiness of humanity. This is the messiness of the season.
Epiphany is the showing, the appearance of the magi, a group of Persian travelers, who come to pay homage to a baby born in Bethlehem. The Gospel of Matthew in chapter 2 records “fear,” “terror,” and “lies” as colors painting broad contextual strokes of the arrival of Jesus. Herod is anxious. The people under him are grossly apprehensive. Herod prevaricates. The magi sniff him out. Herod kills innocent babies. Jesus is born — born in pandemonium. The Prince of Peace appears, and Persians bow when all of Jerusalem is in a panic.
What is striking about Matthew’s lens is that the magi still bow. Although Herod takes herculean efforts to thwart what is beyond his control, angels still speak. Humanity is no match for divinity. The Creator knows what to do with and in chaos. Creation has chaos in its DNA. The late Toni Morrison’s words ring just as true now:
“I know the world is bruised and bleeding, and though it is important not to ignore its pain, it is also critical to refuse to succumb to its malevolence. Like failure, chaos contains information that can lead to knowledge — even wisdom.”
I am not offering some in the sweet by and by theology. This is not a clarion call for a Kumbaya convening. We are frustrated. Some of us are afraid. We are angry. I am furious. What I told my children years ago does not have to be redacted. What is problematic is that little boys and girls whose entitlement goes unchecked grow up to be men and women who know no boundaries and who are not afraid of the police.
Dr. Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder
Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder, author, speaker and teacher, is a Baptist and Disciples of Christ minister who holds a Ph.D. in New Testament from Vanderbilt University. Her latest book is When Momma Speaks: The Bible and Motherhood from a Womanist Perspective. This #WomanistMomma currently serves as Associate Professor and Academic Dean at Chicago Theological Seminary.
Facebook: Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder
Twitter: @stepbcrowder
Instagram: StephBuckhanonC
Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.
Kamala and Her Converse
Official portrait, 2017
I have been thinking about my mother quite a bit. This is her birthday month. She was only 44 when she committed suicide over twenty years ago. The older I get, the more and more I look like her. I have her complexion, her eyes, and her nose. I have her intellectual drive. I also have my mother’s feet — flat, fat, and stubby.
My mother and I share the same foot structure. Yet, our paths were quite different. The roads we traveled and traversed were quite different. She did not live to reach my age. We have the same DNA, but our destinies were distinct. I am clear that I would not have walked this road were it not for her clearing a way.
There is much conversation about Vice President-elect Kamala Harris and her affinity for Converse sneakers. Yes, the first Black, first woman, first South Asian to hold the second highest office in the United States dons Chuck Taylors. Not Louboutins, Ferragamos, Louis Vuittons nor even my favorite, Nike Air Maxs, but tried and true All-Stars. Perhaps this adds to her list of firsts.
Harris contends she wears the sneakers for comfort. Pictures showed her on the campaign trail and at various rallies in either black leather, white, or tan low tops and occasionally blinged out high top Converse gear. A more dressy platform style would pair with pantsuits. I imagine this shoe game will be a staple once she takes the oath of office. After all, the White House and Number One Observatory Circle are pretty spacious with very extending hallways.
One cannot forget the uproar over Harris stepping off a plane in Timberlands. She was not wearing tiny, kitten heels or stilettos from hell, but beige rugged boots. I surmise Madam VP-elect is embodying the dawn of a new shoe day. When it is time to get to work, lead with your mind and your feet. The professional can also be very practical.
Nonetheless, I consider Harris’ footwear as more than a call for women to rub against sartorial mandates. Political history compels us to call the names of Black women who paved the path for Harris. Looking over America’s shoulders, we must summon the sisters and herald the matriarchs on whose shoulders Harris stands, and yes, in whose shoes she now walks.
Charlotta Spears Bass was the first Black woman to run for vice president of the United States. Disgruntled and giving up her Republican affiliation after thirty years, Bass was nominated to the Progressive Party ticket in 1952 with presidential candidate, Vincent Hallinan. Bass had a vibrant career as a newspaper editor for The California Eagle. The Eagle sounded Bass’ platform of social justice related to housing and education discrimination. In her acceptance speech for the Progressive nomination, Bass declared:
We support the movement for freedom of all peoples everywhere—in Africa, in Asia, in the Middle East, and above all, here in our own country. And we will not be silenced by the rope, the gun, the lynch mob or the lynch judge. We will not be stopped by the reign of terror let loose against all who speak for peace and freedom and share of the world’s goods, a reign of terror the like of which this nation has never seen.
The road to a Harris vice presidential election also advances through Shirley Chisholm. Chisholm holds a double first. Representing a district comprised of Brooklyn and Bedford-Stuyvesant, she was the first Black woman elected to Congress in 1968. Four years later in 1972, Chisholm became the first Black person to run for the Democratic Party’s nomination for president. “Unbought and Unbossed” Chisholm bulldozed doors that had been closed not only to Black women, but to Black people in general.
As a New Testament scholar, this metaphor of feet-walking-paths summons a particular biblical passage. Hebrews 12:1 states, “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us…” The phrase “run with perseverance the race that is set before us” is striking. It could mean to run or pursue a path that is one is facing. I posit it references that which has already been established. The interpretive lenses are mutual. What is in front or is set infers someone or something had to assist in putting it into place. The present state relies on past activity.
The present state of Vice President-elect Kamala Harris pivots from the past activism acumen of Charlotte Spears Bass and the political prowess of Shirley Chisholm. Bass and Chisholm labored and sacrificed to “set before us” and set before Harris the race for Harris to run. In the spirit of Ubuntu, she is because they were.
The Converse sneakers Kamala Harris wears are made from the soles and souls of Black women who ran the race before her — and for her. Here’s to running to see what the end will be.
Dr. Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder
Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder, author, speaker and teacher, is a Baptist and Disciples of Christ minister who holds a Ph.D. in New Testament from Vanderbilt University. Her latest book is When Momma Speaks: The Bible and Motherhood from a Womanist Perspective. This #WomanistMomma currently serves as Associate Professor and Academic Dean at Chicago Theological Seminary.
Facebook: Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder
Twitter: @stepbcrowder
Instagram: StephBuckhanonC
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Providing spiritual leadership and comfort for church leaders (clergy, lay, and volunteer) and a space to grieve, lament, and reclaim the prophetic hope of this season.
Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.
Stacey Abrams: A Reversal Through Rejection
Win or go home. This is most every competitor’s mantra. Whether in the arena of sports, academics, or politics, defeating one’s opponent is not optional. It is a mandate. No one enters a race eyeing second place or a participant’s trophy. Bring on the gold with all its glitz, glamor, and glory. Better yet, a platinum prize will take it up a notch.
In 2018, the nation watched and the state of Georgia more closely as Gubernatorial candidate, Stacey Abrams, lost by 55,000 votes. In a heated race that would have made her the first African American woman governor, Abrams did not win the prize. Neither did she concede. Allegations of voter suppression at the hands of her opponent saturated Abrams’ comments some ten days post the election.
Still, Abrams did not fade into political oblivion. She did not leave the scene sulking and licking her wounds. Instead, this founder of The New Georgia Project rolled up her sleeves and went back to work. Rather than merely harboring on what she deemed was Georgia’s systematic voter displacement, Abrams made a concerted effort to do something about the matter. She engaged in never again praxis. While not throwing her hat into another political race, she labored to correct the system that denied her. Abrams turned a personal rejection into purposed rigor so to ensure future candidates would have a “fair fight.”
Forward to 2020, for the first time in 28 years, the state of Georgia turned blue. Not since 1992, when Bill Clinton was elected President, had The Peach State voted for a Democratic candidate. So profound was the political prowess and reach of Abrams and millions of African Americans that President-elect Biden paid homage to this demographic during his victory speech. Her being refused a “first” in the U.S. cleared a path for Kamala Harris becoming the first Black, first woman, first Asian Vice President. '
Abrams turned an individual loss into a national win.
How should we handle rejection? As a New Testament scholar, I tend to place biblical texts in conversation with the present. This exercise in rejection reminded me of a particular passage. In the Acts of the Apostles (1:15-26), the 11 remaining apostles must choose a replacement for Judas. Judas, the one who betrayed Jesus for financial gain, committed suicide (Matthew 27:3-10). There are two candidates, Joseph Barsabbas, also called Justus, and Matthias. After prayer and conversation, the apostles select Matthias. Joseph Barsabbas is rejected.
Both men have credentials. Both have what it takes. Yet, one gets the vote. The other gets the boot.
I contend Mary, the mother of Jesus, and Mary Magdalene should have been on the ballot. After all Mary is listed among them who were “constantly devoting themselves to prayers (Acts 1:14).” Additionally, as “certain women,” although unnamed, are noted in this passage, Luke does not hesitate to mention them in the first of this two-volume work (Luke 8:1-3). Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Susanna are followers of Jesus who give out of their own resources. However, patriarchy has a short memory and ultimately carries the day.
None of these women are even considered to fill the twelfth apostle slot. Sounds vaguely familiar.
What does one do to reverse a rejection? First, acknowledge that it happened. Abrams did not offer a concession speech, neither did she conceal losing. It is one thing to face rejection on a small scale with knowledge of just a few people in one’s circle. However, this was as public as public gets. For more than a week after the 2018 Gubernatorial election, Abrams retreated to private quarters. Perhaps she needed time and space to wrestle with and reconcile what everyone was talking about — her not winning.
It is no doubt Abrams was qualified. She was a politician. She had public service receipts. Yet, like Mary, Joanna, Susanna, and Mary Magdalene, perhaps certain male-centered systems were not ready for her gubernatorial giftedness in female form.
Second, Abrams teaches us that we do not have to always be politically correct. Well, she did not congratulate Kemp. She did not pretend to be okay with what happened to her. Women are often supposed to be gracious, guarded, and demure. However, I say with the fire of Fannie Lou Hamer and the zeal of Shirley Chisholm, we need to lift a stentorian voice to all oppression, suppression, -isms, and phobias. No, I do not aver impertinence or character demonization. We have had more than enough of that the past four years. Yet, if we see something, we must say something. We ought to do something.
Lastly, turning rejection around means we protest with our prayers and pray with our feet.
Yes, we do something. Our inward gaze must be a catalyst for outward action. A year after her loss, Abrams drafted a sixteen-page manual detailing Democratic trends in Georgia. Additionally, she wrote a book, produced a documentary with Amazon Prime, and founded a second organization dedicated to registering voters. In essence, Abrams kept it moving.
Only Stacey Abrams knows if she has recovered from her rejection. We can surmise our own level of recovery from such public and private, personal and professional loss. Even if we do not earn the wreath, may we be encouraged and empowered to fight the fight.
Dr. Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder
Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder, author, speaker and teacher, is a Baptist and Disciples of Christ minister who holds a Ph.D. in New Testament from Vanderbilt University. Her latest book is When Momma Speaks: The Bible and Motherhood from a Womanist Perspective. This #WomanistMomma currently serves as Associate Professor and Academic Dean at Chicago Theological Seminary.
Facebook: Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder
Twitter: @stepbcrowder
Instagram: StephBuckhanonC
Christ | Christmas | Covid
Providing space to grieve and lament, while reclaiming the prophetic hope of this season.
Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.
The Imposition of Imposter Syndrome
“At first passing seemed so simple … She hadn’t realized how long it takes to become somebody else, or how lonely it can be living in a world not meant for you.”
—Brit Bennett, The Vanishing Half
The quote from Brit Bennett’s latest novel refers to twin sister, Stella. Although she is Black, her light complexion fools people into thinking she is white. After posing and “passing,” she secures a job at a department store — never to reclaim her Blackness. For over forty years, Stella pretends to be someone she is not. In her mind the advantages she receives as a white woman far outweigh any degree of racial obligation, allegiance, or honesty.
Recent stories of white women posing as Black women speak to a different type of passing. It is doubtful cultural critics or race scholars would even label the actions as such. The narrative is that white women do not have to pretend or prove proficiency as they automatically get a “pass” per se. The Karens, Beckys, Susans, Rachels, and now Jessicas are presumed innocent and right without inquiry or second glance. The systemic advantages garnered them thrive on systematic racist moves. Thus, a fictional character in a book and persons in history shift to a lighter side in order to glean some racial fringe benefits. The irony is palpable.
What is moreover disturbing about these reverse-passing machinations is the imposition it places on Black women.
As if we do not have to stand in the professional judgement seat enough, as if we do not have to demand the title of “Dr.,” “Professor,” or “Ms.” in the classroom, as if our ideas and data are not second-guessed, and our presence called into question, now any imposter syndrome Black women experience is layered with the imposition of real-life, true-to-form imposters. Because persons pretending to embody a Black woman’s existential reality have been weighed and found wanting and lying, there is bound to be more burden of proof on us. This is the imposition of the imposter syndrome.
Coined in the 1970s, imposter syndrome is described as an “internal experience of intellectual phoniness in people who believe that they are not intelligent, capable or creative despite high achievement.” It is the constant scrutiny, self-critique, position of doubt, posture of “don’t belong,” and rewinding of unsure and uncertain. Imposter syndrome evinces wherever a person feels they are not qualified, notwithstanding credentials to testify otherwise. Despite the StrongBlackWoman epithet, experts note that racism is generative in imposter syndrome causing it to manifest more in women of color.
Representation is also a contributor of imposter syndrome. As a partner of racism, representation and efforts to control the dearth of diversity impact feelings of adequacy. Environments where Black women are the only one add to performance pressure and imposter syndrome. In such solo contexts, Black women are the model that they are looking for and need. With no professional paradigm, there is a tendency to wonder of one’s worth. Whether in the classroom, boardroom, workplace, the arts, the public square, or on the screen, the inability to see people who look like us can lend toward both subliminal and stentorian messages of outsider and other.
This is not to say that women of other racial and ethnic groups do not experience imposter syndrome. Sexism has its hand in this self-debasing mental anguish. Yet, As Black women navigate the bottom of the social ladder, the trickle-down effect means the internal wariness is exacerbated. We straddle the intersectionalities while learning to live, move, and have our being.
As a biblical lens proves helpful in my personal pursuits, I lift two places where a potential reading of “imposter syndrome” could be applicable.
I Samuel 15:17 records Samuel saying to Saul: “Though you are little in your own eye, are you not the head of the tribes of Israel? The Lord anointed you king over Israel.” Saul is the first king over a people who were once in bondage. They requested a king. God reluctantly gave them Saul. Yet, Saul relishes in apprehension. Although he was a renown warrior prior to ascending the throne, this background was not enough to boost him. With royal scepter in hand he has identity vacillation. He is small, insufficient by his own characterization.
The Gospel of Matthew (15:21-28) registers an intense conversation between Jesus and a Canaanite mother. The mother is a non-Jew seeking healing for her daughter. Jesus a Jew is visiting her non-Jewish territory. He is the ethnic outsider in her hometown. The mother publicly makes a request on behalf of her ailing child. The conversation quickly spirals from courteous to curt as there are declarations of treating the mother like a dog. In the Greek, it is actually a play on the word “dog/Kynaria” and “Canaan” — the latter elicits memories of a people the Jews battled to get their Promised Land. In either case there is gender and racial denigration. The mother acquiesces to the canine epithet for the sake of her daughter. She yields to the racism and sexism. In the end, Jesus heals her daughter. The story does not paint Jesus favorably.
The Canaanite mother shouts, kneels, and makes internal mental modifications. She wrestles with Jesus and within herself. Although holding a place of geographical advantage, she relents it. Her imposter syndrome as self-deprecating becomes a bargaining tool.
The I Samuel and Matthean texts are places to pause and consider imposter syndrome. No, neither text employs nor anywhere in the Bible is the phrase used. Yet, as Saul belittles himself despite his regal status and as the Canaanite mother revisits her posture and place for her daughter, both can help the reader to consider their own pejorative internal speak.
The imposition of imposter syndrome is imposters who dwell in the mendacious abyss of professional facade make life harder for others. The imposition of imposter syndrome is we suffer, society is compromised, our giftedness does not illuminate a dark, dank world when we doubt and dare not show up fully. The imposition of imposter syndrome ought to conscript us to get off the mental merry-go-round of inadequate, insecure, and insufficient.
We do not need to pass. Just fight like hell to be in the skin we are in.
Dr. Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder
Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder, author, speaker and teacher, is a Baptist and Disciples of Christ minister who holds a Ph.D. in New Testament from Vanderbilt University. Her latest book is When Momma Speaks: The Bible and Motherhood from a Womanist Perspective. This #WomanistMomma currently serves as Associate Professor and Academic Dean at Chicago Theological Seminary.
Facebook: Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder
Twitter: @stepbcrowder
Instagram: StephBuckhanonC
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Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.
As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.