Remembering Rev. Prathia: An Interview with Rev. Dr. Teresa Fry Brown

On this last day of Women’s Herstory Month, I’m celebrating the Rev. Dr. Prathia Hall Wynn. After all, it was Rev. Prathia’s deeply held sense of “Freedom Faith”–which she worked out in her roles as both minister and activist–as well as her staunch commitment to the lives of black women, that inspired the creation of this online network. To find out more about her (beyond the pat informationavailable on the internet), it seemed best to go to one who knew and loved her. Dr. Teresa Fry Brown, herself a professor and lioness of a preacher woman, was a mentee of Rev. Prathia’s and continues to be guided by her life, legacy and wisdom. What follows is a brief interview I conducted with Dr. Fry Brown (affectionately known to many as “Dr. T”) about her experiences with Rev. Prathia, what she knew about Rev. Prathia’s values and commitments as well as Dr. T’s own musings on the topic of women in ministry.

Q: The Rev. Dr. Prathia Hall was one of your mentors. Tell me a bit about how you met her and how the two of you eventually developed a relationship.

Dr. T: I first met Dr. Prathia at a revival in Denver, Colorado in 1986. She preached “When the Hurts Don’t Heal.” I was recently divorced, in seminary and raising my daughter. The coordinator of the revival invited me to have dinner with them following the service. I was immediately struck by the measured warmth of her voice, the womanly gentleness of her pulpit presence even in the “hoop” at the end, her big sister hand on top of my hand as she spoke connecting our souls, the way her eyes took in the entire person as if only the two of us were in conversation in the midst of many and her honesty in self disclosure, not as bragging but as Mother Wit. Her pastor’s heart was ever present even when she was in pain or overburdened.

Q: From what I’ve read about her, Rev. Prathia had a burgeoning sense of socialconsciousness and commitment to justice at a relatively young age. This consciousness was interwoven with her faith and life in the church, such that it was an extension of her faith (as opposed to something wholly separate from it). Can you say more about the ways that Rev. Prathia’s social justice commitments, such as her early work in SNCC, worked in concert with her understanding of God and God’s presence in the world?

Dr. T: Dr. Parthia explained to me that social justice was calling just like pulpit ministry. It was as natural as breathing to her even as her father tried to protect her from the realities of evil in the world. She was born to it, however, and even in life’s threatening situations, she had an inner push that sought to birth freedom.

Q: As she worked against racial discrimination, Rev. Prathia was also keenly (and personally) aware of how racism often converges with sexism in the lives of black women. Briefly tell us what you know about her identity as a womanist and how it informed her work in fighting sexism, particularly in the black church.

Dr. T: I believe that what I first experienced in Denver at initially meeting Dr. Prathia is what I saw her do repeatedly: ground work, in the trenches demonstration of her abilities rather than railing against things. She was passionate about justice yet projected a deeply spiritual engagement with issues of equality. Perhaps I met her at a time in her life where the stresses, strains, injuries and disappointment had mellowed her, but I believe that her dream involved a subtle yet wise approach to her “freedom faith.” There is an old song that says “may the work I’ve done speak for me…” In my estimation, her womanist sensibilities were most evident in the doing, her presence, her head up, eyes fixed carriage even when her back ached, rather than talking. More praxis than mere discourse.

Q: I like to think of Rev. Prathia as a “border-crosser”; that is to say she was both a prolific preacher in the church and an astute scholar in the academy. I also think the same can be said of you. There are many who find it difficult to (successfully) straddle both institutions. In what ways did you witness Rev. Prathia operating as a “border-crosser” and how did it inform your own experience?

Dr. T: Prathia told me that I should never put God in a box or allow others to place me in a box. Her insistence that I call on all the gifts and graces God instilled within me to “do more” resonates even today. I believe that thought and action, faith and education, the academy and the church, are theory and praxis that are inseparable. Our brain and musculature are composed of different configurations of our cellular DNA. Society seeks to cordon off land and control life into discrete categories as if one area, person or place should be privileged over another. I have learned, from not only Prathia, but my other mothers and sister friends, that our lives are enriched with a critical yet affirming exploration of all aspects of life on both sides of the “borders.”

Q: Like many women in ministry, Rev. Prathia wore many hats. She was a preacher, a pastor, an activist, and an academician. She was also a mother. How did you see her juggling these roles? Did you ever get the sense that she sought to balance or prioritize aspects of her personal and professional lives?

Dr. T: Like many multiple hat wearing women, one seldom balances and rarely juggles without occasionally dropping something. I think she prioritized as she was led by God. There are, of course, consequences for prioritizing. But as much as she could, she let her children know that she loved them and that she was accessible even as so many others pulled on her for mentoring, leadership and service.

Q: Given your relationship with Rev. Prathia as well as the book that you’ve written on the subject of mentoring, I’m sure you can attest to the importance of these types of relationships to any black woman navigating her way through ministry. Can you say more about the critical role mentoring and intergenerational conversations play in constructing and preserving a history of black women in ministry?

Dr. T: I believe there would be fewer toxic relationships between women in ministry if we allowed each other to breath, to make mistakes, to be ourselves, to give each other space, to imagine what that sister has to do to even think of entering ministry, to listen to the voices of those who have been where we are trying to be, and to pray for the actualization of each others’ call even if they are significantly different than our own.

Q: Though black women continue to face various social ills in ministry, the terrain of ministry has changed quite a bit since Rev. Prathia was ordained in 1977. Considering what you know about her journey as well as your own, give us your thoughts about the collective trajectory of black women in ministry. Does this particular time period require anything different from us than what was required of clergywoman before us? What aspects of the groundwork that has already been laid should current and upcoming clergywomen build on in order to leave a contribution during the time that is ours?

Dr. T: While I agree that some things have changed dramatically such as the number of women in ministry, I still think we cannot afford to be complacent in seeking justice and equality for all women in ministry. In 2010 there are more women than men graduating from seminary, but that does not necessarily equate to senior pastor or even administrative appointments at local churches. Women are still being called on to clean up someone else’s mess at churches only to be moved when the church is again healthy. Women would benefit from studying persons like Rev. Prathia or other womanist to learn how to name themselves, chart their own space in ministry and address injustices for those whom sense they have no voice or backup.

A very special thanks to Rev. Dr. Teresa Fry Brown for partnering with me in honoring Rev. Prathia and, most especially, for participating in the intergenerational sharing of stories and perspectives that I believe to be central to legacy-building and history-preserving among black women clergy and activists. I offer this interview as not only an informative resource, but also as a form of meditation as we continue to reflect on our own lives and work during this last week of Holy Week. Ashe.

And the Oscar went to…Mo’nique

Written and Submitted by Victoria

It’s always so much more fun and intriguing to watch the Oscars when our sisters are nominated and I had the pleasure of being surrounded by many friends and loved ones as we anticipated the oscar announcements for Best Supporting Actress and Best Actress. Needless to say, we were ecstatic when Mo’nique won! She looked stunning, her makeup flawless and she acknowledged our ancestor Hattie McDaniel. Yes! All that to say, I was really proud of her! But of course, there is a lot of criticism and anger! As I read a few other blogs, I read the disappoint that many sisters shared for Mo’nique winning an oscar for a controversial and stereotypical role as an abusive welfare mother. I hear you sisters, that has been the trend with the Oscars. Whenever we have won, it has been for a role that has showcased a marginalized and oppressed figure in our community. There’s just no denying that…but I can’t say that I share in that disdain this time. In my eyes, what the movie Precious did was tell a story that needed to be told! Controversy, rawness and all! That authentic heartbreaking story of the reality of so many young girls and mothers that is often shooed away or told to be kept a secret that no one talks about. Telling the story is so crucial to achieve the healing that’s needed and I believe that Precious, has helped those who have been victims of abusive to become victors over abuse! Thank you Mo’nique for giving your all in this performance! As Mo’nique said, she was able to portray this character so exquisitely because of her own abusive past. She became her abusive brother in order to show the world and expose to those who don’t know that this is what abuse can look like! Mo’nique made you hate her character “Mary” and hate what she did to and allowed her daughter “Precious” to endure. Don’t get me wrong, I’m tired of us always winning for the roles that do not showcase the achievement and triumph of the black community…but in this case the portrayal of this gut-wrenching story needed to be told in its boldness and painful truth.

As for Miss Gabourey Sidibe, the incredible young actress that portrayed and captured the character “Precious,” I couldn’t be more proud of her either. Standing with confidence and poise on the stage of the Oscars! She’s not letting anything stop her! Her role and rise to stardom has given voice to all the young girls who have not had one and when Oprah spoke about her, it brought tears to my eyes too! I hope that this story has stirred the souls of those who watched and made all of us see the utmost importance of not ignoring abuse because that’s a sign of acceptance. This story grabbed abuse by the horns and would not let it go…Well done Gabourey and Mo’nique! Well Done!

I welcome your comments as well…

Women’s Her-Story Month: A Tribute to Black Women Healers

So, how do you make a little black girl believe that all she has gone through does not determine her ability to take flight? How do you “teach” her that her wings are beautiful and that the risk of flying is a marvelous growth enriching endeavor? How do you make her see that her caged song and flight will one day inspire others to freedom? How do you “teach” a black girl to fly?

You see, it’s not an easy endeavor because so many things seek to clip their wings, silence their voice, and keep them cadged. It takes a special kind of spiritual intervention to release little black birds. It is not a task for the faint of heart or for those who benevolently (i.e. good white women) “swoop” in to save de Negro children from the pathology of their colored communities. Hmmmm . . . it is a task well suited for wise black women like Baby Suggs inBeloved who said, “Yonder they do not love your flesh. They despise it . . . No more do they love the skin on your back. Yonder they flay it. And O my people they do not love your hands. Those they only use, tie, bind, chop off and leave empty. Love your hands . . . You got to love it,” and Minnie Ransom in The Salt Eaters who said, “Are you sure, sweetheart, that you want to be well? Just so’s you’re sure, sweetheart, and ready to be healed, cause wholeness is no trifling matter. A lot of weight when you’re well,” and my 8^th grade colored school teacher,Mrs. LaVern Colvin, who said, “Now listen here, Fallon, if you do not know by now how much I love you . . . you will never know, dearie.”

Yes, Toni Morrison, Toni Cade Bambara, and Mrs. LaVern Colvin all understand the power of wise if not spiritually medicinal black mothers—godmother, other mother, adopted mother, lesbian black mother, church mother, or just an old colored school teacher—to heal the ailing souls of black women and black girls.

I know many of you reading this blog are probably saying, “Not all old black women are caring let alone wise,” perhaps not. But, it has been my experience and I will even venture to say the experience of many black women that we all have been touched by the wise words of old black women if not though the “chance” bumping into her in the hallway,
reading her words in books like Audre Lorde’s Zami, or eating pound cake at her table as she seeks to reassure you that no matter what ABC News says life does not end because you are single black woman in America.

Yep, these old black women will heal you by teaching you how to fly even if it means pushing you off the ledge limiting the choices you have—either you’re going to flap or you’re going to die the choice is yours. It’s that simple. And now that I think about it that’s how I learned to fly. I was pushed. I was shoved. I was called everything my godmother knew to say while playing spades. Because I did not want to leave my cage I did not want to have to deal with my father’s alcoholism, my mother’s desperate retreat, and all of the other things that come to scare you as a little black girl in a family of men. I wanted to be safe and my self-made cage gave me that reassurance. I was safe.

Hmmm . . . I know why the cadged bird sings.

But thank God for colored spiritual medicinal women like Marie Stewart, Ella Baker, Big Momma, Auntie Clara Mae, Fannie Lou Hammer, and my godmothers who have lived long enough in this society to know how it can make you sick and caged bound, but who also know how to heal you whether you want the healing or not. They would say, “Fallon, you have legs just walk . . . Fallon, do you want to spend your life being a 40-year old fried hair beauty queen . . .Fallon, your mother’s story is a part of your story, but it does not determine your fate . . .Fallon, you are stronger than you know you are . . . Fallon, Fallon, (shouting) Fallon.”

And somehow I started to see that I am something special and I deserve to be free. Mark my words; there is something special about wise old black women. But because we live in a patriarchal racist society, old black women’s knowledge and wisdom is greatly devalued. We see them as nagging forgetful asexual hags or as comical gun toting Madea(s) when their sheer age alone says that they sho-nuff know something about
weathering a racist and sexist society.

So, the question is how do you teach a black girl how to fly? You teach her to fly by finding her some old cantankerous soul to spend a little time with because I fundamentally believe that there is healing power in our grandmother’s stories. In general, teaching little black girls to fly is a spiritual enterprise where often older black women are simultaneously doctor, therapist, mother, teacher, disciplinarian, preacher woman, and healer.

So, today on this first Friday of Women’s History Month I honor Old Black Woman Healers because without them many of us would have spiritually, mentally, and physically died long ago. So, I ask you the reader to name an old black woman who said a word or two that enabled you to continue getting your degree, that taught you to continue to fight for love, that comforted you as you shed a tear or two, that
hugged you when you felt unlovable, that prayed for you when you thought you would lose your last strand of sanity, and that said, “Baby, you got legs just walk.”

So, let us honor our wise old black women today.

Compassion–A Lenten Devotion

Toni Belin Ingram
Mark 2:13-22
13Once again Jesus went out beside the lake. A large crowd came to him, and he began to teach them. 14As he walked along, he saw Levi son of Alphaeus sitting at the tax collector’s booth. “Follow me,” Jesus told him, and Levi got up and followed him.
15While Jesus was having dinner at Levi’s house, many tax collectors and “sinners” were eating with him and his disciples, for there were many who followed him. 16When the teachers of the law who were Pharisees saw him eating with the “sinners” and tax collectors, they asked his disciples: “Why does he eat with tax collectors and ’sinners’?”
17On hearing this, Jesus said to them, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”
18Now John’s disciples and the Pharisees were fasting. Some people came and asked Jesus, “How is it that John’s disciples and the disciples of the Pharisees are fasting, but yours are not?”
19Jesus answered, “How can the guests of the bridegroom fast while he is with them? They cannot, so long as they have him with them. 20But the time will come when the bridegroom will be taken from them, and on that day they will fast.
21″No one sews a patch of unshrunk cloth on an old garment. If he does, the new piece will pull away from the old, making the tear worse. 22And no one pours new wine into old wineskins. If he does, the wine will burst the skins, and both the wine and the wineskins will be ruined. No, he pours new wine into new wineskins.”

When I first started pastoring, a couple of homeless people and a few drug addicts used to come to the church and ask for food and money, I would give them work to do. We would sometimes sit for hours talking about who they were and their goals and dreams for their lives. Because of these two people, I gained the capacity to not look so much at who people were on the outside, but who they were striving to be on the inside. Those first few months helped me formulate the vision and mission of our church – to be a place where everyone is welcome. Only through the hospitality that Jesus teaches us are we able to truly reach the masses.

Let us Pray: Most gracious and compassionate God, convict, compel and challenge our hearts to have the capacity to seek out the lost, to encourage the weary, and have compassion for the downtrodden. Show us what it means to fully live out the mission that you put before us so long ago. In Jesus’ name Amen

The Only Devil in Here is You!

These words may have shaped my life as a pastor more than anything else. May of 2008, I was assigned to pastor an urban church that was in need of some tlc. I call it the girl church. The place no one else wanted to go, so they figured they
would send a woman. I absolutely love being the pastor and adore the membership, which has grown significantly in God’s favor over these past two years.

I had a little bit of a rocky start. I was the first woman pastor that the congregation ever had and I could tell that the people had varied expectations, just none very good. They had been trained as a congregation from previous pastor behavior, that I would either be a failure or I would use the congregation as a stepping-stone to go somewhere else. Over time, I believe they recognize that none of that was correct.

I was challenged often by the membership because I was a woman. Men and women alike wanted me to do things their way, the way things had always been done. I heard from several pastor friends that the first 100 days, I should not do anything. I didn’t listen.

My not listening developed into several members coming back to church and worshipping. Not listening also allowed me the opportunity to meet several of the church neighbors, many of which were homeless and/or drug addicts.

I would regularly get phone calls at home explaining how I should handle the members of the congregation as well as the way a man would run the church. Needless to say I spent a great deal of time in prayer seeking discernment and understanding. God does answer prayer although for me it rarely happens the way I imagine it.

One choir rehearsal, I called a meeting so that everyone could come together and we air out our grievances and then begin the process of healing. In the midst of what I thought was a very civil discussion, God decides it’s time for me to learn a lesson. We talked about how once we all start moving in the direction that God has for us, it seems that is exactly when the enemy comes to attack us.

Immediately the choir director/musician said “the only devil in here is
you”. Of course God with such a sense of humor decided at just this point to teach me discernment and understanding.

I found myself not able to speak. I heard all sorts of ugly comments being made about me by three people and when I tried to speak I heard God say this is not about you. Talk about understanding, it was horrible. I was humiliated and felt violated. God explained as I stood there being mauled by this woman that she was obviously experiencing her own pain and that if I lashed out I would not only offend my haters, but also those who have been caught in the crossfire. God was using this as a teaching moment.

The lesson was made even clearer over the next couple of weeks when more people started coming to worship. I realize that if I had spoken, it would have been about me. Staying quiet showed the congregation what it really means to operate in God’s will. We all learned that evening. I learned how to trust God’s will for me.

Out of the Mud and Mire

By now you’ve seen the images of devastation left by the earthquake in Haiti. You’ve heard the grisly reports of trapped, wounded and dead Haitian men, women and children. If you’re like me, you also saw the black and brown faces amid all the ruble and had immediate flashbacks of Hurricane Katrina. Only now, the impact is on a much larger scale that includes an entire country that has historically been pillaged and plundered by western and European superpowers to the point that 80% of its citizens lived below the poverty line before the earthquake.

Now, many of us will take to the pew and to the pulpit on Sunday seeking solace at a time when it is few and far between. We will fumble for words at a time when there are none. Yet, we will still gather together, remembering the most powerful image of them all this week: the one of Haitian men and women staging a rebellion against the silence left by death with the sound of collective singing and prayers as their only defense.

He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. (Psalm 40:2-3)

We join in their song this Sunday and believe that not only will Spirit prevail, but so will they. Birthed and bred on struggle and righteous revolt, the people of Haiti are a people who will not fall.

_________________________________________________

If you’re interested in liturgical resources to aid in addressing the devastation in Haiti during your worship service or Bible study, Pastor Roderick Belin has written a prayer and litany on his blog for use. You can also find additional resources on Bishop Vashti McKenzie’s blog.

For those of you who are looking to contribute to aid efforts in Haiti, you can find general information for organizations providing aid here.
CNN claims that most of these organizations have been vetted for legitimacy. But we strongly encourage you to do your own research before contributing.

A number of denominations and missions are also working to contribute aid:
African Methodist Episcopal Church
The Lott Carey Foreign Missions
United Methodist Church Committee on Relief

**If you know of other resources, please feel free to leave them in the comments section.

Take Back the Mic: R. Kelly, Tavis Smiley and the Gendering of Black Moral Leadership

Tavis Smiley’s decision to pull the curtain on the annual State of the Black Union (SOBU) conference after 10 years isn’t the only reason he’s been in the news these past few weeks. Evidently, the talk show host, political commentator and author will now devote his time to pursuing other projects, one of which includes publishing a memoir penned by R&B singer R. Kelly. According to the book’s press release, Kelly will detail his personal biography, including his music career and his six year legal “ordeal” that resulted from child pornography charges. Smiley claims that he is “thrilled to be the conduit through which R. Kelly will tell his own story.” He goes on to say that Kelly has “earned the right to tell his story his own way.”

As one who is deeply committed to folks having their say, my issue isn’t so much with Kelly writing a memoir. Smiley’s claims that Kelly has “earned” the right to do so makes my skin crawl, but I think Kelly has a right to tell his story nevertheless. My issue is with Smiley’s decision to publish the book. Yeah, yeah, I know he’s is an entrepreneur and publishing this book is an opportunity to broaden his media brand. Fine. The problem stems from Smiley’s efforts to establish himself through SOBU and the subsequent publication of The Covenant with Black America as a moral voice–if not the moral authority–in the black community who leaves no stoned unturned when it comes to holding people accountable (did you see the “Stand” documentary?). Despite valid questions among the public about the merits and motivations behind SOBU and The Covenant, Smiley has managed to create a brand out of this sort of moral posturing and it’s the same brand he’s now using to promote and publish Kelly’s book. But to position yourself as a moral and ethical gatekeeper in one breath and then uncritically become the mouthpiece for someone who notoriously preys on black girls in the next breath is beyond problematic. It’s down right irresponsible and indicative of sloppy ethical leadership. Moreover, it wreaks of that ages old stench left by leaders in the black community who bring their grandiose accountability tours to a screeching halt when it’s black women’s bodies that are at stake. Think Al Sharpton’s support of the Dunbar Village gang rapists. Or Louis Farrakan and other black religious leaders who faithfully supported Mike Tyson after his rape conviction while publicly vilifying Tyson’s victim, Desiree Washington. Or the slew of black leaders who maintained a deafening silence during the Anita Hill/Clarence Thomas hearings.

This pattern in black leadership certainly illuminates the short-sightedness in our moral conversations about sexual violence within our communities. By viewing these incidents solely through the lens of race in order to put their moral capitol and media brands behind the causes of these black men, Smiley, Sharpton and others effectively dismiss the experiences of the black women who are their victims. And as I see it, if anyone has “earned” the right to tell their stories, it’s these black women. But rest assured that it won’t be Smiley or Sharpton who will hand them the mic—or a book deal, for that matter.

Yet, there is something else this pattern points to: the dyer need for black women moral leaders who bring a gendered analysis to the helm of these conversations in the public sphere. As much as Smiley and crew are often the brunt of many‘a joke in the black community, there is a way in which they have maintained influential roles in “main street” black public discourse. Whether it be in the church, the barbershop or the nail salon, many of the core beliefs behind the norms and realities we discuss in these institutions are reflections of (if not defined by) the prognostications of leaders who refuse to see beyond a patriarchal lens.

But this is not to say that we don’t have black women moral leaders. We do. And it’s certainly not to say they aren’t using their influence to raise hell. They are. But I agree with journalist Farai Chideya. This is more than about raising hell over Smiley and crew. It’s also about more than any one woman getting “the” mic. This is about pooling our collective resources and putting them behind other forms and modes of media wherein critically thinking women not only determine who gets the mic, but moreover, begin to define the contours of public discourse. Smiley’s decision to publish R. Kelly’s book is a sobering reminder of the value placed on black girls, yes. But it is also a challenge to those of us who are committed to doing what it takes to raise the moral consciousness of our communities.

…Now, how I can find a way to contact Oprah and petition her to split the airtime she gives to T.D. Jakes on her talk show with Renita Weems? Better yet, how do we further promote the many conferences, independent radio shows, podcasts and other mediums created and produced by critically thinking black women who are invested in the value and lives of other black women and girls?

Remembering Zion: Reflections of a Divinity School Captive

Written and Submitted by Tiffany

How could we sing the Lord’s song
in a foreign land?
If I forget you, O Jerusalem,
let my right hand wither!
Let my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth… -Psalm 137:4-6a

I accepted my call to ministry when I was 15 years old. I was trained for ministry as an athlete trains for the Olympics. As a young preacher, I was taught to work with words as a potter works with clay. Most importantly, I was taught to regard the concepts of truth, faith, and belief, as seriously as a physician regards heart surgery. Ministry has always been a foundational part of my life. Therefore, there was never any question whether I would attend divinity school. I believed that divinity school would only further affirm my sense of calling and affirm the beliefs that I held as sacred truths. Thus, from the moment I entered college I did everything necessary to prepare for the continuation of my faith journey into divinity school.

I will never forget my first warning about divinity school, that attending divinity school would not provide the affirmation that I anticipated. At the end of my senior year in college, I excitedly informed one of my most respected theology professors which divinity school I would be attending. His only response to me was, “How can you sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?” At the time I did not understand; I could not see how a cryptic allusion to Psalm 137 could possibly be the appropriate response to receiving a full tuition scholarship to one of the highest ranked institutions in the nation. It was not until I completed my first year of schooling that I understood my professor’s question. Pursuing my divinity degree has been an arduous journey through a foreign land, a journey that requires me to cling to my beliefs and my tradition with all the strength that I can muster. Nevertheless, I am grateful for this journey because it has forced me to come to know truth, hope, and confidence. This journey has forced me to come to know myself.

Divinity school has challenged me to hold on to truth. My institution makes an intentional effort to indoctrinate students as to what to believe. Students are taught that there is only one truth, their truth. We are taught that the correct interpretation of the Word is the White European interpretation. I dare say that the Church Fathers like Martin Luther and John Wesley are held to a greater esteem than the words of Jesus himself. Furthermore, notions that trouble the “correct’ interpretation, such a Black Liberation Theology and Womanist Theology are frowned upon at best and dismissed as heresy at worst. Although I often find this indoctrination process frustrating, I have appreciated this system of learning for two reasons. First, this pedagogy has forced me to really consider what I believe to be true and why I believe it to be true. Second, this system of learning has taught me to clearly articulate dissenting opinions on theological notions that I do not align with.

Also, divinity school has challenged me to hold on to hope. My theological studies have made me keenly aware that the Bible is not a monolithic voice solely proclaiming the goodness of God. The voices present within its pages also give very strong messages about race, ethnicity, gender, and power- many messages that are neither edifying nor hopeful. Furthermore, I have become aware of how these dangerous messages have been used to justify the enslaving, killing, and oppressing of many throughout the history of Christianity. I have had to wrestle with how to identify and discuss difficult passages, messages, and themes that are present in the Bible outside the classroom and inside the church. I have had to figure out how I can be critical of the harmful themes that are set forth in the Bible (such as xenophobia, patriarchy, sexism, and divine violence) while still holding the Bible as the authoritative voice in the Church. Although I have done much wrestling and weeping, I have held fast to my belief that the Bible is a holy book, a sacred book, that is to be used to inspire hope within God’s people.

Finally, divinity school has challenged me to be confident in myself. It is truly a daunting task to be confident in my ministerial calling when my I am constantly being critiqued. Divinity school is unlike other professional schools, such as Law School or Medical School, because in divinity school there is absolutely no way to exclude my personal beliefs from my graded work. Every paper, every test, every presentation includes a portion of my heart, a portion of my inner-most being. And every critique is not only a critique on my academic abilities, it is a critique of my tradition, a critique on my faith. But I have learned to put confidence in the fact that God has called me into ministry. God is my judge and no one else.

I can honestly say that though divinity school is very difficult, it has helped me greatly because it has forced me to find self-actualization. And despite the challenges I face, my heart is strong, my convictions are sound, my mind is clear, and my faith is unbreakable.
I can sing the Lord’s song in divinity school. I can sing the Lord’s song, in a foreign land. If I forget my tradition, if I forget my calling, if I forget my beliefs, if I forget my hope let my right hand wither, let my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth.

Are You In A Spiritual Funk?

Written and Submitted by Wilhelmina

At the start of this new year I felt a strong desire to get out of the spiritual funk that I left in 2009. Upon prayerful reflection I realized that I had allowed others to define me. Although Christians and ministerial leaders mean well, they often don’t have a clue what God is working out in your spiritual life and vocation. I had not been in tune to the fact that it is very easy to march to the beat of another drummer without even realizing it. That’s why I posted the two Kirk Franklin videos - “Imagine Me.”Truthfully, I enjoyed both of them and couldn’t decide which one to post.

God has determined in His word – “I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” Physically, spiritually, and emotionally–fearfully and wonderfully made! Therefore if you are one of the many women ministers who have become lulled into a robotic step of another drummer, break loose so that God can get the glory from your life. Do as I have done–take Him at His word. Don’t let others keep you in bondage with the plans and ideas that they have for you. Say to 2009 “bye bye bye byebyebye.” Let go and imagine that God has ‘fearful’ and ‘wonderful’ plans in store for you.

Faded Freedom: A Poem

Written and Submitted by Alyssa

Blinking repeatedly,
her eyes danced back and
forth with the flicker of the lit candle
wick
in the bare night. She was numbed
By the sacrilegious ways of his love.
The same love, that
had once provided her heart with
unanticipated ecstasy,
like butterfly kisses on the nape of the neck.

For this mountain of a man, who
she submitted to and
idolized regularly,
had been reduced to a mere hill.
Her autonomy, once circumfused around pleasing
his every hedonistic request,
had now transformed with
every slap from his
heavy palms and with every cigarette burn he etched into her
supple skin, that repeatedly had her gazing into
her chipped-away-bathroom
mirror for hours at a time.
And so she had resolved herself,
finally, to the notion
That maybe his love,
This love,
Wasn’t love.

Every bruise on her body was
disturbed by a fractured bone or torn
tendon that had draped her meager silhouette with
an overwhelming sense of worthlessness.
For she had convinced herself that
This love,
His love,
Was love.

Yet in this night,
in their dimly lit room where
she only felt safe when
his body laid motionless from fatigue,
She stirred with an emancipative sensation.
Apart from her tiptoeing feet
scrambling towards her packed duffle bag,
the only other movement in the room
belonged to the fleeting tears of joy that
poured down her face
and faintly splashed the cold wooden floor
beneath her toes.
Because this love,
His love,
Wasn’t love.

And just as she thought she
would taste her freedom,
her body succumbed to the smoke fumes
which rapidly emerged from the zealous flames
that had quickly encircled her.

She looked over her shoulder only
to see his stark naked body standing above her.
Because if she wasn’t his love,
She would be no one’s.
For his love
This love
Was the only love she would ever know.

-Alyssa Martin