Black Friday, Say Whaaaat?

Really Walmart? Really?

Recently an article in the Chicago Tribune's Business section stated that "families are looking to do things after the turkey is done and are eager to shop so its a great time to have the stores open."

Thanksgiving scoops up many different brushes and paints a variety of portraits and landscapes for many of us who travel toward this time of year with anticipation, of what lies over the beautiful horizons that captures the changing seasons. For those who boast a heritage that traces back to the troubled time of religious persecution and yearning for that freedom, this is a time of celebration and delving into traditions. Yet, for those ancient peoples who rightfully claim this land as their ancestral home this is a day of mourning and of sadness. For that matter, any people whose ancestors suffered and perished whether having their lands, their ways, their language and their spirituality and religion ripped from them, deemed incorrect or taboo as well as those who were dragged from the comfort of their own Motherland, this is not a day of rejoicing; this is a day of remembrance as well as of celebration that the Creator God has continued to journey with us, teaching and reminding us that He still cradles us close, teaching us who we are and what He has given to our spirits.

Several years prior, Thanksgiving eve was the mad rush enveloping long lines at grocery stores gathering what one needed for a healthy, filling Thanksgiving meal because on Thanksgiving proper, every store was closed so that the employees too, could rest and relax with those they loved.  Nowadays, it seems that we have tossed tradition, respect and sacredness to the winds instead, having those employees sacrifice sanity for the sin of greed. 

Every waking moment as dawn beats our hearts anew, as children of the Most High, we should shout joyful noises or lift our hands in lamentation and prayerfulness of how God continues to breathe life into our souls. This time of the year as we welcome in the season of Advent; for those around us who have lost their way or sheltering themselves as best they can from the battering life sometimes descends and surrounds us, we should reach out, taking hands and holding our fellow brothers and sisters in faith, In Christ, in love so close. This time of year we should be reminded that we should strive to do for others, as the Holy Spirit continues to inspire us and Christ continually teaches us.

Lape Bondye, God's Peace.

At the Feet of the Elders

What a way to celebrate a birthday.

As my pathways swerve deeper into the beauty of this ministry and of my call, I am privileged to be in the presence of theologians who shine as rare as luminous gems resting behind crystal glass.

It is apparent that this church of brothers and sisters perhaps does not always reflect who I am in the ethereal mirror which shimmers before me; the question is posed, for an ancient tribe of people so connected to the Creator why have we clung to Christianity throughout the ages?

When you are called, you are called.

Dr. James Cone, a premier African American theologian stated during the tumultuous and turbulent 60’s that “God is Black.” As we continue to explore voices that cry out for identification and liberation in the here and now, Dr. Cone reiterates, “I still believe that ‘God is Black ‘in the sense that God’s identity is found in the faces of those who are exploited and humiliated because of their color. But I also believe that God is mother, rice, red and a host of other things that give life to those whom society condemns to death.”

The Creator breathes justice within our spirits and it vibrates into how we can encourage and teach others.

So, Wednesday evening what could be more important than being in the midst of the Conference of International Black Lutherans as they celebrated their 25^th anniversary? Elders, some like Dr. Rudy Featherstone who was Dr. Perry’s pastor; Elders such as Bishop Holloway from the Southeastern Ohio Synod who brought his wit and humor as he reconnected with others; Elders such as Peter Nash who reminded us in worship that evening “the jar of meal will never be emptied and the jug of oil will not fail”. 

You can never have too much church...

Being among these elders of African descent awakened me to the fact that the next generation of CIBL  needed to arise from the dying waves that visit the shores in the deepness of the evening and as they listened to my voice I realized, proudly that I was one among them.

Lape Bondye, God’s Peace.

Things I Wish I Knew

Image source

I went on a retreat for Urban Servant Corps this past weekend and we did an activity called Cross The Line. We did something similar my junior year at LSTC during orientation, only with a circle instead of a line. The premise of the exercise is that everyone in the group stands in a line and a moderator reads out various situations. If you self identify as being a part of one of those situations, you step forward and are asked to think about how you feel about being part of the group that "crossed the line" and how you feel to be apart from the rest.

For example, the moderator read "If you identify as LGBTQ, cross the line." I, along with several others crossed the line. For me, in that instance, being apart from the others did not really affect me, nor did being with a group of other people who had also crossed the line, as I see my sexuality as something that just exists and I don't have any problems talking about it.

However, there was one question that made me start to cry because I had crossed the line. The statement was "If you do not know your ethnic heritage, cross the line." I stepped forward, along with many other people. Granted, I know that my heritage is part German and part Welsh, but there are also parts that I don't know...what I'd like to term EuroMutt.

As a white person with an exclusively European heritage, I'm part of millions of people who have little to no knowledge about their ancestry past a few generations ago...we see ourselves as Americans...something that saddens me greatly. I have friends who understand deeply the ethnic groups from which they come and how that has influenced who they are, and I don't have that, and likely never will. Part of my history, and indeed, part of myself was lost at Ellis Island not too many generations ago.