To Plant a Seed

In the early years of my life, the ones I can remember at least, nobody in my family ever talked about God or religion farther than to pray before meals and at bedtime, to 'thank God, I made it home before that storm'. Things like that.

It was always surface level, almost performative displays of faith.

As I got older and the world got colder, I started to delve deeper into the word of God, I grew closer and closer to Him with every book and sermon and this, this when certain things about the people around me started to attract my attention.

At my cousin's fourth birthday, my uncle Riley, an older man with a heavyset to his brow and a past that weighs on his shoulders, snorted derisively when I suggested that we pray over the food.

"You gotta stop with all that white folk stuff, Andre. We don't do that 'round here."

"What?" I asked, I could feel the disbelief colored all over my face. "Pray?"

"Don't look at me like that, boy. Not when you're trying to pray to the same God that sat around while our people—your people were enslaved. It's just not right."

A sense of hurt welled up in my throat and when I got home that day I was at a loss. I'd always looked up to my uncle, tall and strong, the same man who used to walk me and ma to church on sundays.

How could he feel like that about God, the God I love so much? It was tempting to just be angry but my eyes caught on my bible and I remembered the book of Judges specifically, how generations of the Israelites turned their backs on God over and over again simply because they didn't know about God and all he'd done for Israel. They weren't aware of their history with religion. Ignorant is the word that pops into my head.

Then, the next day at school my teacher quotes Dr. Martin Luther King, "Nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance," she says, "we must learn about our history and our pasts, so that we will not repeat the mistakes of our ancestors and so that we can reclaim things that have been taken from us. Education, religion, and most importantly, freedom."

Something about the contents of today's lecture feels intentional so after class I stay behind to talk to Dr. Greening. She's incredibly helpful and at the end of our conversation she looks to me, eyes twinkling with intelligence. "This has been an incredibly enlightening conversation, Andre. I actually have something that you might be interested in."

Ruffling around in her bag, Dr. Greening pulls out two thin textbooks. "Have you ever heard of decolonial theology?"

Shaking my head I accept the books and rub my thumb over the title.

"Well, take these and do some research on black theology as well. I think you'll find it all…" She pauses, then smiles. "really eye-opening."

And she wasn't wrong.

At home I spent days flipping through those books and learning about things I didn't even know existed. Black theology. Jesus committed to liberation and freeing black people from racism and oppression. Reclamation practices. Religious education.

My mind was opened in so many different ways that when my mom's birthday came around and she made plans to have a party, I knew what I was going to do and I had most of the insight I needed to be able to do it.

The day of the party my family came over, we celebrated my beautiful mom(who didn't look a day over forty), and then the music came on and everyone got into their own thing: eating, dancing.

I went in search of my uncle Riley, who I hadn't seen since my cousin Cassie's birthday party.

I found him on the porch, staring out at the lake with a cigarette hanging between his fingers. For a long moment I just stood there watching his back. It was nerve wracking, the conversation I was about to start, I didn't know if he would even listen to me, if he wouldn't just laugh in my face and ruffle my hair like I was a kid again, talking nonsense and doing underwhelming cartwheels.

For half a moment I considered going back inside, uncle Riley is a stubborn man and without meaning to he can be cruel. I don't know if I can take cruel, not when it comes to something so incredibly important to me.

Before I can decide on anything the direction of the wind changes and suddenly uncle Riley is turning his head toward me, grinning.

"Hey, Dre, what's good witchu kiddo?"

Here goes everything.

Walking over, I brace my arms on the banister and inhale slowly.

"I'm good, unc, I was…I was actually meaning to talk to you about something."

He's quiet for a long moment, then, "Me too, I uh, the way I talked to you at Cassie's party was uh…I could tell that I hurt your feelings and I'm sorry, kiddo."

"Do you really feel that way? About God, I mean?"

"What?"

"Do you really feel like Christianity is the white man's religion?"

"Why're you brin' this up, Dre? We're at yo mom's party havin' a good time. I already apologi–"

Holding up my hands, I shake my head. "No, no please, please just listen to me. Just hear me out. This is really important to me and I just want to know why you feel the way you do about Christianity."

Uncle Riley stares down at me and I feel all of two feet tall. Then he sighs and flicks his cigarette, sending ashes fluttering over the side of the banister. "When I went to prison we had this uh, what's it called…optional mass on Sundays and Mondays and bible study on wednesdays. I never went but the guys I shared a cell with always did."

He exhales and it sounds heavy, burdened. This isn't something that's easy for him to talk about. "One day a fight broke out, some dude swears my bunkmate stole his cookie and in pen stuff like that don't fly. We ain't got much in there and what we do have is all we have. Guards came in after the guy's face was beaten swollen, all white men and can you…can you believe that they watched–they watched that man suffocate on his own blood. Stopped and watched like we were a bunch of animals. They swear by the cross that hangs around their necks and run the mass every fuc–" He cuts himself off with a sharp swear.

"They called us savages, scoffed over that kid's dead body and said that we were black savages who would rot in that hell just like God intended us to. Where was God when that boy's mother came and cried herself into a panic outside the cell block? Was He with those guards? Because He wasn't in there with us. He's never with us. White man''s God only ever answers the white man." He's angry but it's all kind of muted, his voice is soft and I hate that it feels like he's just given up. Without allowing myself to cry, I wrap my arms around my uncle and hug him like I was a kid again.

He makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat before a hand settles between my shoulderblades.

"I'm so, so sorry." I mumble, "but please listen to me when I say that God doesn't not belong to any specific race. He is with us all the time and the way those detention officers handled that situation was an example of ignorance and cruelty. God is always with those who need him. CHristianity doesn't just belong to one person or the other. You've been to church with me and ma before. You've seen the way we worship God. The way we've reclaimed something that was formed against us. That's black theology, uncle Riley. Back then they had their own interpretation of the bible and now we've got ours. A Lord who fights for our liberation and freedom. A God who would move mountains for you. When you were locked up we prayed for you everyday. That God would keep you safe. I know it's hard uncle Riley, and the church hasn't been the best in the past. But Christianity didn't start in Europe. It was taken and reformed the same way we have taken it and reformed it into something beautiful. Please, please don't give up on God, because I know for a fact that he hasn't given up on you."

When I pull away, uncle Riley is facing the lake again, his face is passive but his eyes are thoughtful.

I might not have shaken his world view but I know that something in what I said, it had to or else he wouldn't have shown up at our door early sunday morning later that week.

Research Summary:

For my project I wanted to answer the question of whether it was possible to reform Protestant Christianity in the eyes of African Americans while also acknowledging the church's dark past. I first had to find out why my people had the view that they did of religion. I had to research and figure out how to communicate these reasons through my short story. As well as that, I wanted to really dig into the history of Christianity using decolonial theology and figure out the origin of the religion to try to use the concept of reclaim practices with my characters. I also had to figure out how I was going to try and incorporate the findings of my research while still keeping the short story format and not shifting into an essay style story. Ultimately, with my story the answer to my question was answered. It is possible to reform Protestant Christianity in the eyes of African Americans while also acknowledging the church's dark past. While it might not be possible for every person, because a lot of people are really stuck in their own ideologies and refuse to be even a little open minded to it, it is possible. This relates to foundational knowledge from the first half of this course because I used the synodal process, if on a small scale, with two of my characters to create an open space for them to discuss their views on a topic that isn't the easiest to talk about. I also bring up how back in the 1500's people were saying that what the church was doing was wrong(destroying other's cultures and trying to reform their beliefs to the 'right' one). That you should respect people no matter what religion they have, because God calls us to not judge others and to love the poor( this is not explicitly said but it's the general idea). With my research I have advanced our understanding in this area because I have explored a concept that isn't the most talked about or paid attention to. A lot of African Americans have a negative view of the church because of the fact that slave owners were Christian's and they went to church, a lot of Black people feel like the religion was forced onto their ancestors by the white man(just like a lot of our last names, Johnson, Williams, etc). It's seen as the white man's religion which isn't true at all and it is sad to people pulled away from God because of it. It is something that needs to be talked about in the church and in general. Really though, what I have truly taken away from all of my research is a quote that I used in my story, "Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance…"(Dr. Martin Luther King jr). I learned that if you just researched and made an effort to learn things about the past and history then you can have an entirely different outlook on something you've believed your entire life. So the synodal process is truly a good tool to use to talk about hard topics. Everyone knows different things and to share that knowledge with someone ignorant is, in my opinion, an act of kindness to the poor. An objection to my view could probably be argued by someone who does not believe in religion, an atheist. They could argue that it can't be reformed because it is a fanatical social construct. It is something that was used against African Americans to destroy their senses of self and to make them believe that God created them as 'lesser beings'.