Lupus?! A wha dat?!

Just another emcee who gets free. Vessel of philanthropic vision fueled by theophilic purpose.

Month: January, 2015

Getting More Than You Meant To Get (Acts 8:26-40)

In college I spent a lot of time in the student union. Any time traveler or sitcom flashback would find me in my college days doing something in the union. I had meals there, was always in meetings there, and during my days in student government, often slept there. There were weeks when I saw that place more than my dorm. Of all my favorite things in the student union, the best kept secret for me was a quote outside of the room named in C. Shaw Smith’s honor. Smith was the college’s first college union director and his words struck me so deeply I asked a friend on campus to text me the exact words so that I could share them with you. Smith said, “The campus is a place of serendipity, education itself is, because you get more than you meant to get. Serendipity–making an unsought for but happy discovery by accident. Coming to the union for a burger and having a life changing experience. Looking for a bridge partner and finding a partner for life.”

Getting more than you meant to get. There’s elements of providence in serendipity. The coincidence, the life changing experience, all evidence of the Spirit moving. Those of us who can attest to these episodes of serendipity can share the joy of these beautiful encounters. Conversations shared, events witnessed and participated in that  you can just feel something click. Like, “Ahh, this is why I’m here.” You might have thought you were just getting a quesadilla but nah, serendipity brought you an encounter where someone asked you the right question.

How is God inviting you to participate in God’s life? It is presumptive I suppose to assume that you are invited to participate in God’s life but friends I am quite sure that you, yes you too are cordially invited to participate in God’s life.  When we look at Scripture, we do not see a Creator who is unaffected by human history. God does not choose to sit on the sidelines of human history, God places God’s self in the midst; comforting the afflicted, delivering God’s people, reminding them, through presence and power that they are not alone.

In the gospel of John, Jesus promises not to leave his followers alone. He promises that the Father will send the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, who will teach them everything and remind them of what Jesus said. And so we see evidence of this promise in our scripture today as Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch were beneficiaries of this promise on their encounter with serendipity. Their getting more than they meant to get.

Funny things happen in the wilderness. Moses encountered a bush that was burning but not consumed, voices cry out from there, the Savior is tempted there. But in this instance, on this wilderness road between Jerusalem and Gaza, the Spirit compelled Philip to go over to the chariot. Now I often appreciate how relatable characters in the bible are. They often prove, as the poet Propaganda once put it, that God often “uses crooked sticks to make straight lines.” But in this instance Philip is not like us. He doesn’t hesitate or explain to the Spirit why he couldn’t or shouldn’t approach the chariot. Philip does not ignore the spirit’s prompting; he is infused by it.

Running toward the chariot. Philip does not lean on his own understanding. He hears and obeys. Conversely, the Ethiopian eunuch responds to Philip’s actions by inviting him. Their encounter blossoms. The Ethiopian eunuch goes from reading scripture he does not understand to asking a transformative question. “What is to prevent me from being baptized?” This transformation leads the eunuch on his way rejoicing. The Spirit snatches Philip and he finds himself at Azotus proclaiming the gospel as he passed through the region.I thank God for this moment of serendipity. This conversion story, the first of three individual conversions in this narrative, is a powerful example for us.

The Lukan account is unafraid to deal with difference. It does not fake color blindness nor does it look amicably upon assimilation. We have so much to learn from Acts. So much to learn about how we ought to treat one another, how we extend hospitality to the other. I fear what we would do in Philip or the Ethiopian eunuch’s shoes. The assumptions we would make. The prejudices we would harbor. The deafening silence of purposes unrealized and relationships never made. What happens when we lean on our own understandings? What is the byproduct of neglecting serendipity? Why ignore the Spirit and let unreadiness rule the day?

I often wonder and sometimes worry about those times I let serendipity pass me by. Those times I should have said something but didn’t, those times I should have acted but could not work up the gumption to do so. Sometimes we reduce our brokenness and only focus on the wrong things we do. There is not enough said about the moments we miss. The opportunities to be a blessing that we forsake because we feel unqualified, unready, unwilling.

We cannot afford to reduce the calling Christ places on our lives. The Spirit resounds; what does the Lord require of you? What does it look like when we love mercy? When we do justice? When we walk humbly with our God? What sorts of healthy dissatisfactions begin to blossom? What happens when our righteous indignation speaks truth to power? When our love of mercy is magnetic our doing of justice is further kinetic. We cannot walk humbly with our God without walking with the least of these.

I’m fascinated by the scripture that the Ethiopian eunuch was reading. This introduction to Jesus as a lamb silent before its shearer, one who was humiliated and one who was denied justice. I hear this and know this tragedy is held in tension with Christ’s triumph. I hear this and am reminded that Christ’s life, death and resurrection is the greatest act of empathy I could ever know. I hear this and endeavor to share this message of hope in Ferguson, in New York, in Cleveland and every town where our black brothers and sisters know the painful delay and dismissive denial of justice. I hear the Spirit resounding in the words of our fallen brothers and sisters and while the temptation to despair is formidable, the Spirit imbues us with hope. Hope that answers the question, “How long?” by the confident response, “Not long.”

Brothers and sisters there is no room on the sidelines of Christianity. Ideally, when one hears Christ beckoning them to follow, they realize that this following is an active thing. Discipleship is poorly performed passively. In Dr. King’s “Drum Major Instinct” sermon he assures everyone, in spite of the seemingly insurmountable obstacles that they too can participate in God’s life. They too can be enabled to serve. Dr. King said, “Everybody can be great…because anybody can serve. You don’t have to have a college degree to serve. You don’t have to make your subject and verb agree to serve. You only need a heart full of grace. A soul generated by love.”

It’s no secret that Dr. King did not live the life he planned for. As portrayed in the film Selma, he and his wife Coretta had hopes to be in a college town, leading a small church there with ample space for their four children to grow. As tantalizing as that dream was with its trapping and comforts, Dr. King realized that it paled in comparison to the leadings of the Spirit. On April 3, 1968, Dr. King told that crowd in Memphis, “Like anybody, I would like to live–a long life; longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land. So I’m happy, tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”

As aforementioned I am encouraged by the broken sticks. The cloud of witnesses who were used as God’s instruments. They were not perfect. Did not have it all figured out. In many cases they did not even sign up for this. But the bush burns, the daughter in law refuses to leave your side, the teacher compels you to become a fisher of men. As a mentor of mine once advised me, “God does not call the qualified. He qualifies the called.”

Heatrock of the Week: Andy Mineo- You Can’t Stop Me

My Tribute- Andrae Crouch

A Year in Songs That Can Do No Wrong


STCDNW Artist of the Year- Christon Gray

The Final Episode of 2014 #STCDNW (Click and enjoy!)

Twas a great year of music, interviews and commentary. Now I know, everybody is out here giving their awards and recognition…but we been on! Check the episode to hear ten of my favorite songs from the past year.

Also went ahead and gave out some awards.

Top Albums of the Year

Christon Gray was not only artist of the year, in my book he had the album of the year. But School of Roses wasn’t the only strong showing in 2014.


Beleaf- Red Pills and Black Sugar


Mali Music- Mali Is


Trip Lee- Rise


Lecrae- Anomaly

Top Group of the Year

Social Club is the Tag Team Champion of Christian Hip-Hop.

Emcee of the Year

Beleaf is an emcee’s emcee. Great interview, great album and I feel like he’s just getting started.

Rookie of the Year

The good brother JGivens destroyed every feature he hopped on in 2014. Here’s one of my favorites:

2015 is gonna be great. Here are some artists to be on the lookout for.

Heatrock of the Week- Wordsplayed “Martinelli’s” feat. Andy Mineo

“Champagne glass with the Martinelli’s…”

Living for the City

manchester-city-fc-6Following footy was only a matter of time.

6 year old me got a soccer ball from my uncle in ’94 and I kicked it for years. Cousins and friends would have one on one matches where gears were constantly switching between offense and defense. Competition was fierce.

We kicked that ball into oblivion.

Didn’t give much thought to soccer over the years. My first love was #gettingbuckets and when I wasn’t on the court I was playing American football, baseball or practicing my sharpshooter.

I remember when I was in middle school, soccer came back into my mindset. The Reggae Boyz were poised to make noise in the World Cup (unfortunately more likkle than tallawah) and my gym teacher gave me props for my dribbling. Playing soccer, even though I called it soccer, made me feel in touch with something. Every game felt like deja vu but I couldn’t call it. I had not been there before.

I spent several weeks with my father in ’03. It was great to be in Jamaica again and being there took me completely out of my comfort zone with sports. No one in Portland was tryna play basketball, football (as my father was quick to correct…maybe adding a “real” before football) was the game of the land. In the multiverse of sports I had found the other West 4th. This cage was an open field where men gathered for pick up. The competition was nothing to ramp with.

My introduction to Davidson College came from African brothers who hosted me. Brothers from Ghana, Botswana and Ethiopia showed me hospitality and we played FIFA and tried to watch Premier League on a laptop. In college I continued the practice of caring about soccer a whole lot when the World Cup came around and then pretty much forgetting about it for three years.

I continued to dabble. From showing up in Little Brazil with my homemade vuvuzela to combing through websites with hopes of finding a fly jersey (Shouts to the Czech national team joint I bought in Prague). My fortunes would change going into the 2014 World Cup. I had begun watching Premier League on Saturday mornings when my beloved went to work. (True story: Whenever I watch soccer now I immediately smell pancakes.) It was refreshing to watch a sport simply for the aesthetics. I had no team to ride with so I was not tripping off every win or loss. Games were there for my pure enjoyment.

But I’m a sucker for story. My instincts taught me not to rock with Manchester United. I had already denounced a team from my youth (who I will be lowkey supporting this weekend!), the Dallas Cowboys. Living in a world where one is a Yankees AND Cowboys fan is just unacceptable. I had to choose and Jerry had to go.

I really love the color blue so on a visceral level I felt a connection to Everton. (Riding with Chelsea made me feel like a poseur for some reason, iono.) My man Tim Howard playing keeper had me intrigued so I paid extra attention whenever they were on.

Part of me wanted to find a squad that was really trash so no one could accuse me of bandwagon riding.

But nah. I’m a diehard Knicks fan and a Jets sympathizer, I’ve got enough heartache in my sports life.

Conversations with my Dad have always been choppy. I think in my mind we had to talk about feelings, reconciliation or other parental things (whatever those are). He isn’t really bout that life. And rather than pulling teeth I realized we’d do best to just talk as men. We share an unreasonable love for music and sports so that’s where we set up shop. And as much as I love the New York Knicks, my father had fallen in love with Manchester City.

He talked about the grief he’d gotten from friends as they suspected that he was a waggonist which he vehemently denied. No matter. I found hope in MCFC as common ground for my father and I so City found a new fan.

It was not love at first sight. I found myself looking at Manchester City games in the same way I look at college sports. I did not want to merely cheer for the team. I wanted to know the players, appreciate what they bring to the game. I needed reasons to care about each match. Premier League is a party that has been going on long before I got interested. And as I’d experienced whenever entering a new niche, it was important for me to feel like I was a part of the story. I wasn’t tryna dabble in cultural tourism, I was here to stay.

As it is MCFC and I came together at a good time in my life. My beloved Knicks are straight biodegradable, I’m getting ready to move back up top where I’ll be able to watch Man City’s farm team (I kid, I kid), and I’m a few weeks away from knowing whether my beloved and I are having a boy or a girl. People don’t believe me but I really don’t have a preference. I’m just looking forward to the little fella/little lady sitting on my lap Saturday mornings and carrying on tradition.

Brian Mooney

Educator, Scholar, Author

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