The Nerve

Tonight I saw a breathtaking performance of Frederick Douglass: The Making of an American Prophet at the National Civil Rights Museum. The music, the acting, the writing, and the dancing were hauntingly beautiful.

You may guess that the performance included historically accurate language and power dynamics. Dr. Noelle Trent was right that we must face the past, even if it makes us uncomfortable, so that we can learn from it and move forward. As a scholar of Black religious history and of the Civil Rights Movement, I am familiar with these historical narratives such that I am rarely surprised by their depiction. Moved yes, surprised no.

But tonight, I was caught off guard. There were numerous scenes where the slave owner beat his slaves, spoke to them with dehumanizing words, and tried to break their spirits. He would rape slaves, then sell their children away from their mothers "for both his pleasure and his profit." Haunting.

A nerve was hit tonight. Something resonated for me, something familiar. There is a way about people like that.  I don't know the word for it. Entitlement? Brutality? I know it when I see it. They are the people who see you for what you can do for them, not as a person. They are the people who carry themselves like they are gods unto themselves, accountable to no one for their actions. Have you encountered people like that?

I remember being berated by words meant to hurt me, meant to break my spirit. I remember being isolated from support systems, being bullied, being insulted for the things that I valued. And why? Because I was acting like I was somebody, not somebody's. Because I dared assert my personhood in the image of God.

All along, I suspected that God meant things to be different. And when I finally said that out loud - what Frederick Douglass would call "praying with my legs" - it felt like LIFE. It felt warm, like blood coursing through my veins, like beautiful music on my tongue. It felt like dancing, like the wind in freshly trimmed hair, like the freshest most decadent bread ever eaten.

Even now, I have these little moments where I tap into that, where I give myself permission to feel joy again. In brutality, it's not safe to feel joy or hope. Those are expensive. Survival is enough.

But in freedom, there is dancing and singing and LIFE.

The performance tonight brought those feelings back to me, both reminiscences of brutality and celebration of new life.

Frederick Douglass's critique of Christianity, that it perpetrates brutality against other humans and dares call that God's will, is spot on. You cannot preach a revival with your Bible in your left hand while whipping slaves with your right. You cannot preach the love of Jesus as you tear babies from their mothers, whom you have raped. You cannot promote a politic of domination and brutality and call that Christian freedom.

That quality I can't quite describe is still extremely prevalent in Plantation South. It manifests itself in things like opposition to women's health care, police brutality against Black people, and domestic violence. That same air of entitlement to dominate others still dares blame its brutality on God. As Rev. Dr. Prathia Hall often said, "The living God is not a bigot!"

If you vote based on your spiritual identity, you have every right to do so. But please think carefully about what is really happening. When politicians throw around words like "freedom" and "rights" and "Christian" while executing people, disregarding Black lives, tolerating rape and then blaming women for it and its consequences, criminalizing poverty, limiting access to health care and social services, and doing absolutely nothing to protect innocent people from gun violence by terrorists or police, rest assured they are not talking about the God of the Bible. They are talking about a white male privilege world where women and minorities are to be kept in their place by any means necessary. They are talking about greed, not justice. They are talking about evil, not love.

Tonight, a nerve was struck. Through Douglass's prophetic leadership and strength of spirit that could not be broken, I remembered a piece of my journey. I witnessed a glimpse into the journeys of others who have faced brutality far worse than I will ever know. But I also witnessed a glimpse of hope - even joy - that cannot be overcome. I witnessed a powerful reminder that often the margins have a better grasp of the revolution of the gospel than the center. I witnessed a room full of strangers merge into one heartbeat, one rhythm, one song.

Lord, in your mercy, let there be justice, let there be love, let there be true freedom. Lord, in your mercy, let all churches proclaim in word and deed that Black Lives Matter. Lord, in your mercy, let male dominance over women end, that we may truly be one in Christ. Lord, in your mercy, bring peace where there is discord, justice where there is injustice, and hope and joy where there is sorrow. Lord, hear our prayer.