Black Last? Black First?: An Essay
“C’mon, man, it wasn’t that bad,” an old friend said as we recounted our time in youth ministry. “Our church wasn’t perfect, but you’ve got to be fair.” This was often in response to sharing that I didn’t quite enjoy those years. Sadly, I learned to suppress my feelings. It felt like a crime to question what I truly believed. Truthfully, it was fear. I understand this today. I spoke the language, played in the band, but inside I wondered if I was making a mistake. Critical thinking, in hindsight, was vehemently shunned. God’s ways, of course, were higher than mine. What did I know? That was often how I silenced the intrusive thoughts about Christianity and my church.
My identity was the church. My friend group featured those from the church. Many days of my life were spent in the church courtesy of my parents, who were active members themselves; my father was even co-pastor. He preached the importance of faith and having a value system rooted in Christ. My pastor, who often appeared “god-like” to the church, was a larger-than-life figure. He preached fire and brimstone from the pulpit. He positioned himself as a conduit of God himself who knew what was best for your life even before you did. If someone said he walked on water, many in my church would probably believe it without question. He was Black, but never touched on Black issues. What a shame, because most of the congregation were Black. In fact, I felt they were Black last, which is a sin against our nature.
I watched as Christians gave white supremacy a pass during the Bush years. “Pray for the President,” they’d say as our communities were being torn apart. They’d look the other way when it came to systematic oppression, because Christianity is built upon the same principles of control and domination. Their silence spoke loudly. Not much has changed today as Black people’s rights are being challenged and erased. Questioning God’s presence during these evil times invites contempt. Questioning God’s presence during slavery does the same. Asking why Children die is another uncomfortable topic that is hard to reconcile.
Choosing to confront what I believed for many years without question was challenging. It’s the path I chose. I used to be afraid to admit I struggled with my faith. What would they think of me? I worried about that a lot. I don’t know all of the answers, and I’ll never profess that I do. The unfortunate aspects of deconstructing are evident in how hateful, intolerant, and closed-minded some people are toward those they label unbelievers. This added to my fear. You’re dead to them, even to some friends and family. It encapsulates their entire being. Their identity becomes that of a mercenary whose sole mission in life is to convince others with different beliefs that they’re wrong and their beliefs are right.
Spirituality is deeply intertwined with who we are as Black people. It’s rooted deep within us and our culture. We’ve certainly come a mighty long way. Indeed, we have. Our faith in ourselves and our God is evident because we’re still here. I respect people’s autonomy. Religion is a choice; Blackness is not. It’s our gift. We must never lose sight of who we are as Black people and what we face collectively. You’re free to believe whatever you choose; that’s the beauty of personal choice. We should all strive to be open and accepting without turning our backs on each other. I have decided to explore what God means to me without casting aside my Blackness. I will always be Black first. To those on a similar path, I send my love and support. Life is most certainly a journey, a beautiful one at that, despite its thorns.