Black Lives Matter: Reexaming what it means to be a human sacrifice

Black people don’t play with biblical interpretation. 

You don’t play with the “Word of God.” It’s the same yesterday, today and forevermore. That’s the lesson I was taught from my earliest memories of Sunday School and Vacation Bible School. I was taught to trust a literal interpretation of the text. That meant avoiding exegesis not based on what the “Word” says. 

So, when the Bible says, “to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God – this is your true and proper worship” (NIV version), the literal interpretation evokes a willingness to die beyond a theological metaphor. It demands a willingness to die. By that I mean eulogy followed by graveside service and fried chicken dinner back at the church. 

It’s troubling how Black people demand death as a witness of faith. A perusal of the Black social justice movements, within the context of the Black religious experiences, reveals how Black bodies are used as a “living sacrifice. This expectation transcends age and gender. History shows how Black men, women and children have been used as human sacrifices to promote change. 

We witness it in pictures and videos of Black children walking to schools under the protection of law enforcement. We’ve examined the faces of elementary, middle, high school and college aged youth proudly marching to school while enduring the jeers of enraged white mobs.  

We’ve seen the pictures of Black men, women and children battling to escape police dogs and the evil baptism of water sprayed from fire hoses. We’ve heard sermons declaring the benefits of nonviolent resistance. We own it as a declaration of faith – a badge of honor – inspired by stories of biblical martyrs. With the Bible in our souls, dying for a cause is more than a strategic plan, it epitomizes true faith. 

What is the damage to the souls of Black folks? What price is paid in living a faith that measures devotion by a willingness to sacrifice this life for the freedom of others? 

In this sense, part of what comes with white privilege is the freedom not to die. White privilege is the freedom to not fight to live. Fighting for most white people, is an option. It’s a decision made to advocate for others. Not true with Black people. What are the consequences related to living, or not fully living, with the burden of being a human sacrifice? 

Look at videos and pictures of protestors throughout history. Examine the pain on the faces of the children. Watch them as they witness the rage of white people. Watch as they march in hope of being seen beyond their pigmentation. Watch as they fight back the tears – with each step - determined to discover what it means to be seen. 

This is why we cry Black Lives Matter. It’s a pledge to be seen when others refuse to see. It’s a declaration of pride wrapped in an unyielding will to be. Being embraces meaning beyond the slurs of a racist mob. 

Black Lives Matter inspires a will to live. No more dying. No more human sacrifices to fuel white shame. Black Lives Matter declares enough is enough. Sorrow remains, but we don’t have to die to convince white people we deserve to live. 

The Bible is packed with stories of Christians who sacrifices their lives to spread the Gospel. They died for the team. They became saints for those who followed. 

Grab your children. Stand tall and determined. 

I’m not a human sacrifice.  

Listen up! Black Lives Matter!

The good ones die in threes: John Lewis, Rev. C.T. Vivian, Emma Sanders

The old folks say the great ones die in threes. Congressman John Lewis, Rev. C.T. Vivian and Emma Sanders. You better listen when grown-ups start speaking. 

The three Civil Rights era icons are reminders of an age of resistance. The image of a bloodied Lewis fighting for his survival at the Edmund Pettus Bridge stirred the rage of Americans. After stopping more than 600 marchers to pray, Alabama State Troopers launched tear gas and beat demonstrators with night sticks. Lewis’s skull was fractured, but his determination for justice didn’t cease. 

Vivian began protesting in 1947. It happened at Barton’s Cafeteria in Peoria, Illinois, proving the need for change extends beyond the Jim Crow ways of the deep South. In 1955, he, along with other ministers, founded the Nashville Christian Leadership Conference. He organized sit-ins and marches in Nashville where he was enrolled at the American Baptist Theological Seminary. By 1965, Vivian became director of national affiliates for the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. 

Sanders was among the group who challenged an all-white delegation from Mississippi at the 1964 Democratic National Convention. She was a founding member of Mississippi’s Freedom Democratic Party, the group that disrupted the convention during televised hearings, forcing the party to seat the Freedom Democrats. 

The three are tied together like the Holy Trinity. Each organized voter registration in Southern states. After suing to place the names of Blacks on the ballot in Mississippi, Sanders ran for Congress as an independent in 1966. She lost to John Bell Williams, a segregationist, but she kept fighting. All three kept fighting. 

“We ran strong, and that was a revelation,” Sanders is quoted saying in Bob Moser’s book “Blue Dixie: Awakening the South’s Democratic Party. “The year after, in 1967, we were able to elect Blacks to local elections.” 

Lewis and Vivian were students together at the American Baptist Theological Seminary in Nashville. Both were mentored by the Rev. James M. Lawson, who, along with Diane Nash, formed the Freedom Riders.  Lewis, one of the original Freedom Riders, endured beatings by mobs, was arrested and imprisoned 40 days in the Mississippi State Penitentiary for his involvement as a Freedom Rider. 

“We were determined not to let any act of violence keep us from our goal,” Lewis is quoted saying in a September 24, 2012 article in the Smithsonian Magazine. “We knew our lives could be threatened, but we had made up our minds not to turn back.” 

Vivian was part of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s inner circle of advisors alongside Rev. Fred. Shuttlesworth, Rev. Wyatt T. Walker, Rev. Ralph Abernathy, Julian Bond and Bayard Rustin. Vivian led sit-ins at lunch counters, boycotts of businesses and marches in Selma, Birmingham, Jackson, Mississippi and other segregated cities.  

“People do not choose rebellion, it is forced upon them,” Vivian said. “Revolution is always an act of self-defense.”  

The great ones die in threes. I wonder what it all means. 

The deaths of Lewis, Vivian and Sanders feels like the funeral of an era. There’s was a time in which people were willing to die for equality. There’s was a type of activism unknown among today’s protestors. Some consider their brand of resistance a sign of weakness.  

Maybe their deaths rekindle memories of their strength. The will to take it – all of it – the dogs, the burning crosses, buses put on fire, the police, the guns, enraged crowds of white people, words like Nigger to remind you of white people unwilling to budge – can become a fading memory. They took all of it to protect voting rights. They endured the rejection. They refused to be defined by brutal resistance.  

You could see the wound from that day on the bridge on Lewis’s bald head. It was a reminder of his willingness to die for equality. 

“Do not get lost in a sea of despair. Be hopeful, be optimistic,” Lewis said. “Our struggle is not the struggle of a day, a week, a month, or a year. It is the struggle of a lifetime. Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble.” 

Lewis, Vivian and Sanders – the great ones die in threes. 

I pray their deaths isn’t the end of an unyielding thirst for freedom. 

I’m looking for some good trouble.

Rethinking cancel culture

I could have been the face of the Me Too Movement. 

It’s a truth that forced deep introspection after I witnessed a long line of heroes bite the dust. I was forced to think critically about every move, every word – both in private and in public – I've made with women. I considered every hug. Was it innocent or inconsiderate? Was I defying safe space? Hugs during church gatherings, public forums and small gatherings – did I cross boundaries? 

The simple answer is yes. The not so simple answer is I didn't know enough to know. I’m guilty of living with and abusing being a man. I’ve used that power to manipulate women. I took it for granted. I’ve said things. I’ve done things. You get the point. 

I could blame inculturation. Men my age were groomed to be misogynistic. I didn’t know the word existed until the Me Too Movement forced men like me to endure a personal inventory of past deeds. We, Black men groomed in how to “pull” a woman, a gross term used to relate ways to convince a woman to have sex, were taught women desired bad boys. Sad. Some men continue to embrace toxic masculinity. Pathetic.

I could blame it on “it’s what everyone did.” Everyone. Businesspeople. Doctors. Lawyers. Preachers. Yes, I said preachers. A level of cool was attached to the ability to convince women to do whatever you desire. I could blame it on the culture. It's what men were taught to do. Right? Doing that absolves me of personal responsibility. Owning your own mess is the first step. Now, that's truth.

Me Too is about changing cultural variants.  It forced men to face our pathetic treatment of women. It gave women permission to relate their truth. They are sick of the mistreatment. They’re tired of the manipulation and objectification. Brothers, we got to do better. 

Message heard and received.  

There is power in being heard. It’s called “cancel culture.” There is power in getting a person fired or dismissed because of shady behavior. Exposure is the great equalizer. The Me Too Movement began a trend of accountability that has radically changed the enforcement of justice. The courts might not get it right the first time, but Twitter, Facebook and their cousins will uncover enough evidence to shame and dismiss anyone for past or present indiscretion. 

Accountability is a motherfucker. Your ass will be cancelled within hours of reported indiscretion. 

Accountability is a wonderful word. It's why masses take to the streets upon hearing news of the death of another unarmed Black person. Accountability is what people wanted the Catholic Church to offer after the exposure of their child abuse scandal. It's what people wanted after Trayvon Martin was murdered. Accountability is what people desire in the Breonna Taylor murder. Arrest the police, damnit.  

Cancel Culture is the weapon of accountability. Bang, bang. Bye Karen. 

Watching people suffer feels like the great payback. Revenge. It feels good. Joy, unspeakable joy. It helps knowing the dirty bastards got what they deserved. That’ll teach them not to mess with us, again. Right? Yes, it matters when we lock up all the dirty bastards and fire all the racist people. It matters that people receive adequate punishment for failing to live by the lessons taught when they were in kindergarten. 

But can I, please, consider my “Me Too” stress. Indulge me. Can I ask, what is the goal? What type of society are we trying to build? 

Too much? Try this. What would it look like if we all began by acknowledging not getting it right? If the ultimate goal is in re-creating society – a point of clarity that matters in this deeply ah ha moment – can we find grace enough to share our stories of not getting it right? 

If the power is in the change, can we find enough grace for people, who deserve to be cancelled, to publicly declare a desire to listen, learn and change?

For everyone who called a person Nigger, for everyone who wore blackface or took a picture in front of a Confederate flag – tell the truth. For everyone who hurled a homophobic slur- tell the truth. For every man who touched a woman inappropriately – confess it. Say it. Every anti-Semitic thought, word and deed. Every racist, sexist, homophobic insensitive act you wished never happened – tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Yes, so help you God. 

Get it out! Say it for the healing.  Say it and dedicate the rest of your life to becoming an advocate for the people you dealt pain. Own not getting it right. Own being a part of the problem. Accept not listening. Acknowledge the power of your privilege and commit the rest of your days to sitting down, shutting up and learning lessons regarding how it feels to be on the other side of shame.

I pray you do not cancel me for my confession.  

Maybe others will do the same.