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Category: racism

God nah sleep

Zechariah 10 has been my comfort. A counter to the narrative that faith is anemic in times like these. Some take comfort in criticizing rage and pretend that God can be reduced to a justice less peace. This desire to preserve normalcy, this desire to have one behave one’s self while there are knees on our necks is borne in fear. Fear that your myopic readings of Romans 13 won’t be enough. Fear that you didn’t spend enough time with the prophets. All that book learning and you never took the time to see how much God cares about justice? You look for God in your things. You look for God everywhere but the margins. Where God always is. You speak of reconciliation. You have soothed yourself to sleep with the dream of bringing together. You refuse to acknowledge that reconciliation is the repair of the master-slave dialectic. You want to be woke now. You’ve commodified woke. Prolly will commodify non-commodifying soon enough. But all of it means nothing unless you confess. All of it means nothing unless you admit you are complicit. You cannot be the hero in this story, we already have One. Our hero hears our blood crying from the ground. Our hero weeps. And our hero nah sleep.

Skin in the game

Had a chance to write something for Wendy McCaig’s blog. Here’s a taste:

Enough work has already been done to make every claim of ignorance ring hollow. When I talk about the plight of black people in this country and receive a shocked response, I know I am speaking to someone exercising their privilege. Their ignorance takes me back to my first year in seminary when I first discovered how white supremacy is a religion unto itself. I remember standing in the bookstore, furious because books that talked about me and my experience in this country were not required for core courses. One could matriculate and graduate from my institution and never encounter the black experience much less contemplate their complicity in white supremacy. My rage was in the reduction. I loved myself enough to know I could never be an elective.

Forgiving Trump

Photo by Gage Skidmore/Huffington Post

Now I don’t normally want to talk about Trump because I consider his contributions nothing more than the dregs of our society. To call him a scoundrel is saddeningly as controversial as an announcement that water is still wet. To be honest I am enjoying his success in the political arena because it is an indictment on the country. White supremacy dies once Americans acknowledge our complicity. Systemic racism does not exist because of “them”, it exists because of “us.” (I mean, it’d be nice to just blame this all on white people–slow down respectability politics, I am not agreeing with you–but Ben Carson, Clarence Thomas and every other person of color who lets their self-hatred shine shows that white supremacy, ironically, is an equal opportunity employer.)

I first noticed this Trump video a few weeks ago and it made me pity him. In the video, Donald is asked if he has ever asked God for forgiveness and he is demonstrably uncomfortable. He speaks about how folks are often surprised to learn he is religious and then waxes poetically about his late pastor, name dropping his book, and reminisicing about how captivating said pastor’s sermons were.

The interviewer does not let him off the hook. The audience laughs at this show of authority and Trump eventually admits that he has never asked God for forgiveness. He assumes that his effort and desire to do better next time should suffice, or maybe even the elements of bread and wine at communion get the job done. 

Trump’s answer is perfect to me. It encapsulates the errors of human pride in a wonderful way. Here we have a man who regularly displays misogyny, racism and an utter disregard for others. 

(Two dope TV ideas: Iyanla needs to bring Trump and Rosie O’Donnell on “Fix My Life”. Like why is he so mad? Unlike other targets of his misogyny, his barbs come with the kind of intimacy birthed from a destroyed friendship. Why you so mad Donnie?! 

2. I want this whole campaign to be an episode of Unsung with special guest narrator, Herman Cain.)

With Trump I see a man who reminds me of the judge in the parable of the persistent widow (One who “did not fear God nor regard man” Luke 18:1-8). Trump tries to use his privilege and sidestep the conversation entirely. But name dropping a pastor cannot save you. Trump then talks about his own efforts, “to do better next time”, but this only exposes his misdiagnosis. The offense we each commit against God is far more severe than a misunderstanding. Perhaps when I offend you, I can strive to learn from that mistake and do better next time. But sin’s stains run deep. And no matter how much we endeavor, no matter how much we hope to learn from our mistakes, it is a complete waste unless we ultimately encounter our futility. How we cannot clean our own hands. How desperately we are in need of a Saviour. 

Trump proverbially enters the right building but is on the wrong floor when he speaks about communion. His description of communion turns it into a work of righteousness which sells the sacrament short. If communion is a mere work, the heavy lifting is done by us. After all, we are the ones who go to church. We are the ones who take the bread. We are the ones who take the wine. Yet communion is much more than that. It encapsulates what the Christian life is, participating in the life of Christ. The focus cannot and never should be on what we do (which if we are honest, is not much). One enters into the Christian life at the edge of one’s futility (“God, be merciful to me a sinner!” Luke 18:13) but one matures through worshiping God in Spirit and in truth (John 4:23). Trump, like all of us, must get dissatisfied with his own works. Lose the love he has for his own ability to make a way. This walk is not about showing God how well you are trying; we get nowhere until we humbly admit we can’t. 

Mi nuh know


(Picture taken from

Youse a stupid dog.

Wha yuh a look fah een?

Deh deh a look pon window…wha yuh tink?

Parousia nah start today, papa.

Yuh nuh see seh we nuh ready?

Bwoy mi tell yuh!

I think Jesus show up right ya now we’d kill him again.

In all a him glory (tell the story!)

We so fool fool, we see him and tink seh

Di big man fit di description.

Bwoy mi nuh know!

Yuh tink dem woulda stop and frisk mi King?

Have a picnic, put a fiyah pon a cross or wha?

Baptize wid di firehose.

Last supper wid skittles.

Iced tea a fi wi blood type.

Mi like him, me’d a show up as a dawg.

No mongrel to wi ting.

Haffi purebred.



Deh yah a wait pon mi Shepherd still.

A Review of Theology from the Trenches

I am affirmed and saddened reading James Baldwin’s words or listening to Ice Cube’s Amerikkka’s Most Wanted and seeing how relevant they are to the contemporary American experience. There is an agony in its resonance. I remember how earnestly I spoke in 2008 when I first arrived in Richmond. A new friend and I were speaking and I shared my hope that we as a society were on the cusp of realizing postracialism. My understanding of the gospel convinces me that all evil, including white supremacy, are impermanent. They have not always been and will not always be. I remain hopeful but am much wiser now. I believe we are witnessing white supremacy’s death throes but my hope has not blinded me to the perilous nature of these times nor have they numbed me to the betrayal of white brothers and sisters who remain painfully silent.

I say this to confess my rage and unwillingness to hear what Roger Gench had to say in Theology from the Trenches. I feared that this would be the memoir of a cultural tourist or someone unwilling to discuss white supremacy, justice or America’s desperate need to confess. He is clearly molded by his experiences in community organizing and has a respect for the balance between talking and doing.  “In my opinion, working interracial relationships are essential if we are to make any effective headway in our communities on issues of race and poverty,” (Gench, 118). These healthy relationships cannot reinforce the societal structures that oppress us all. It is equally exhausting when white people approach racism tabula rasa and when white people insert their guilt or victimhood into the conversation. Deconstructing racism requires self-awareness and the humility that allows one to acknowledge their own complicity in societal ills. Book talks and lunchtime conversations about race are a part of it but far from panacea. “King knew well that picking up one’s cross daily was a disruptive, destabilizing practice, yet one that opened up space in which one might grow strong and journey toward liberation.” (Gench, 109).

I appreciate Gench’s willingness to begin the process of vulnerability and name his fear. He does not position himself as a newcomer but I got annoyed in moments where I felt Gench was slipping back into the safety of distance. He spoke so well about the importance of hospitality and presents an argument aligning the importance of a fully embodied Jesus with the hospitality we must demonstrate to one another then says, “It is a fascinating argument, isn’t it?” (Gench, 105). In these moments I feel the white gaze is most over Gench’s shoulder and I wish he would turn around and say, “Don’t fly over, live with us.”

It is clear that Gench is committed to this issue but I found myself wanting to hear him have more of a conversation with the black intellectual giants he refers to. His mentions of James Cone, Katie Cannon and Brian Blount made my ears tingle but then I said, “Ok, what do you think?” Gench’s mention of these heroes sometimes struck me as a grasp for credibility but anyone reading the moments of story he has placed in this text knows that he is engaging in this journey. I am unsure and unwilling to assume why he still strikes me as insecure of his seat at this table. Perhaps he can’t win. If he seemed to know it all then I would be turned off by his arrogance. Yet I know I have found myself moved by white men like Tim Tyson and Tim Wise who speak about white supremacy and its suffocating hold on the United States intimately. I tire of white people speaking about race like they are trying to find the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Race is only a chapter in this book but it is a bedrock theme in this text. Frankly, if Gench did not come correctly with this chapter I would have no interest in anything else he had to say. Good ideas be damned. I am resolute in this regard because it is past time that ministers, do-gooders and anyone else who claims to prioritize justice work actively to destroy systemic racism. White supremacy is a grand central station of our societal ills. “Racism suffuses current political debates on immigration, health care, jobs, wealth, and poverty,” (Gench, 101). One would safely assume that theology in the trenches would be ill equipped without engaging systemic racism but I am willing to propose that no one in the American context is far removed. Racism is so insidious, its complicity so seductive that all Americans are molded by the stenches from the trenches.

It is more than conversations or surface level confessions of white guilt. Deconstructing white supremacy is heart rendering work that requires confession and tangible work. “Most of us came to the conversation expecting another dialogue on race, but what we ended up engaging was the reality of black rage at a key consequence of racism: the absence of economic opportunity,” (Gench, 116). It is not as if racism has only hurt black people’s feelings; black people, people of color, and all who live on the margins of society have tangible impediments in life that must be dismantled. Gench’s work is a model for white ministers and congregations who have demonstrated a willingness to shed unreadiness and do the work.

I did not walk away from this book encouraged. I am too angry to be satisfied by these steps. I sincerely appreciate Gench’s work and efforts but equally saddened that this work appears novel to so many white congregations. I cringe when I think of the congregations who will be satisfied by simply reading Gench’s book, perhaps even inviting him to speak, but will not transition into the doing that justice requires of them. This conversation requires all of us and Gench is wise in his recognition, “if the New York Avenue church had not had a history of ministry in the city I’m not sure we could have engaged an authentic discussion about racism,” (Gench, 118). This book encouraged me to continue the exhausting work of pushing my white brothers and sisters, particularly in leadership roles, to commit themselves to this work and build relationships across cultures. It is not something I want to do and my aforementioned exhaustion alludes to how little I enjoy this work. Yet, if I am truly going to be a good neighbor and demonstrate the love that God calls me to live, can I see my neighbor walking in darkness and do nothing? Surely not. What happens to the gospel when its proclaimers have no interest or ability to do justice? Perhaps this work will never be performed by all of the “good Christian people” in this country. As the Navajo proverb goes, it truly is impossible to wake someone who is pretending to be asleep.

Brian Mooney

Educator, Scholar, Author

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