As the semester has once more taken flight, I almost forgot for a moment the significance of this month until one of my classmates asked me a question as I settled in my seat for another rousing lecture time in Israel's Prophets.
"What's the proper name for Black History Month?"
Quite honestly, as I pondered this it could be many things for a people without truly a place to go home to. It could be African Heritage Descent Month or African American History Month, or simply Black History as it always has been. For me, the color black is a deepness and a void; our origins go farther than the dying embers flickering in the night yet our direction, our purpose is vast and seamless, almost lost in chaos.
We are a people without a country, without a religion, without our language, culture..without a cornerstone in our lives. We continually have roamed throughout the ages, restless, searching for acceptance and affirmation.
Our spirits are etched in a puzzle, where our ancestors love us fiercely not for us to lose our identity, to impart the wisdom that has bonded us to Creation and connected us with the stars.
It is a part of my very being that continues to haunt me, whispering "Never forget". Sometimes in our confusion we cry out to Our Creator and ask the question "What is the purpose that I am here now?" We lament why our people were torn from the serenity of our home and dragged across the waters, waters that were supposed to be life affirming, healing and instead turned into waters of despair in a river, an ocean of tears.
And yet, it is the drums that continually sing out the rhythms of grace and love from Our Creator, from God that give us hope. To walk out into the blackness of night and listen, listen! as Creation answers back pouring out the knowledge that is eternal...that God has not forgotten God's People.
I did not forget that it was the month to celebrate my ancestry, as my classmate asked that question, rather I live and breathe and carry my ancestors with me.
Lape Bondye, God's Peace.