Living On The Interest

I have a stock account, meager though it may be, I definitely have a stock account ( two actually). One of the reasons I started buying stock is because I have a dream... possibly a delusion of granduer... I don't know, of being able to do something that people call “Living on the Interest ”meaning that you have enough stock in your porfolio, enough savings put away, that the interest alone will take care of you. It's part of my retirement plan.

I'm working on it. Right now I have a total of maybe oh... seven stock, only one of which is actually profitable, but that 's the goal. And hopefully, that will change for the better. And I'll keep putting a little bit extra away to make sure that I'm able to continue to build that account.

But I began to realize as I was sitting here... actually lying awake in bed at 4 o'clock in the morning... after having had a couple of surgeries and preparing for another one, that I have a different account and that that account is important, because with that account, I am currently living on the interest... and it's not interest on a treasure I've accumulated, but the interest earned by those who deposited before me. People, men and women in my family who have gone before me who made covenant with God... who have served Him, who have loved Him... who have received promises from Him and although they may be long gone, I am living on the interest of their deeds.

One was Charles Kirkman-Bey. He was my maternal great-great grandfather... my maternal grandfather's maternal grandfather. He was a leader of the Moorish Science Temple of America, a group started by the same founder as the Nation of Islam and he ran it in Chicago for almost 30 years.

Kirkman-Bey was a man that believed that truth transcended culture and religion and that there was truth in all of the major faiths. He took parts of Taoism, Buddhism, early Christianity, Freemansonry Islam and Gnostism. He looked at all of these faiths and saw truth in them all and combined them and helped to create the Moorish Science Temple of America, and lead the Chicago temple from 1929 to 1959. From all accounts, when he died in 1959, he left a legacy... a legacy that still exists ... a legacy of honor and compassion that exists to this day, and not just in the city of Chicago.

Another person in my family was my Aunt Willie. She was known on the northside of Chicago for feeding people during the Depression. She had a gift for talking to people, especially young men, and leading people into right action... to be an asset to their communiity instead of deficit. She had no official training, was not an official priest of any denomination, but she had the heart of one, and hated to see decent people suffer. She was single-handedly responsible for bringing our family to Chicago and she was able to do this on a cleaning woman's meager pay. When she died in 1977, there were so many cars in the funeral procession, you couldn't see the end, and these were not family members, but people in the community, black and white, rich and poor, who came to pay their respects. She left such a strong legacy in Chicago so that when I moved back to Chicago in 2007, there were still people that remembered her and because of her deeds, looked after me... I lived on her interest.

Another is my fraternal grandmother, Luna Gaddis, who was known for praying for people. Again, not in a denomination that honored women ministers, but who ministered. No title necessary. I didn't know her well, but when I went to her funeral, there was standing room only in the church and people overflowed out into the street and it wasn't just family. It was the people she had loved and prayed for and counselled who were in tears and weeped heavily at the loss of someone who had poured so much into their lives. I had the opportunity to hear person after person talk about how she had counselled them, how she had prayed for them, how she had helped them see that there was a call on their life. I live on her interest.

My great grandmother, ... my maternal grandmother's mother, Sophie Virginia Howard (her maiden name)... was the “family elder”. On my mother's side of the family, we have a designated family elder who is the head of the family and it's normally one woman. She was known for being a “holy woman” and not just by members of the family, but by the people in the community. She died before my mother was born, so I never got a chance to meet her, but I did get a chance to speak with my last “family elder”, Alene Matthews, Sophie's granddaughter, before she passed, who imparted some knowledge about Sophie Virginia, who I'm named after (Virginia's my middle name) and I understand that I'm living on her interest as well. Sophie Virginia was not just a woman of prayer, she was a healer. She was of Cherokee, English and African ancestry and although she attended a Baptist church, her faith was closer to Cherokee/Christian practices. She was known for being a godly and decent woman... and today I live on the interest.

Now I personally, have done some things to deposit into this account. I haven't just completely relied on the interest acrued by others deeds. I've attempted in my actions in my life, to make deposits myself, but I know that the reason I exist isn't necessarily just because of the deposits I've made, but because of the deposits that were made long before me... long before I was born... long before I was even thought of. Those deposits are covenant with God, made by members of my family for the care and well being of their bloodline... That “their seed shall remain [Ecclesiaticus 44:13] and God keeps His word. I live, because of their interest. I live because of those covenants. I live and move and have my being this day, because God honor's His word... because “God magnifies His word above His name” [138:21].

Long after the bodies are gone, long after the deeds are done, long after all this is said and done, what remains is what we have with our heavenly Father, what remains is that interest, that deposit that we made in faith, that deposit that we made knowing that we served a God that would never leave nor forsake us [Deut. 31:6] that God is true and cannot lie... that heaven and earth shall pass away before his word returns unto him void. [Matt. 24:35] Even when it seems like things aren't going well, the fact that we remain is evidence of that covenant, and we live on the interest.

The Verb "To Be"

“To be or not to be--that is the question” asks Hamlet... and that is indeed the question. But what does it really mean? What does it mean, “to be”?

I first became aware of the magnitude of this question while sitting in a Spanish class at El Camino College. We were going over our homework, an exercise on the two spanish verbs “to be”, ser verse estar. In spanish, one of the first things you learn is which verb “to be” to use. Ser is used in description, origin and time, as in “Yo soy Felicia” (I am Felicia); “Yo soy de Chicago” (I am from Chicago); “Es el martes, 23 de abril de 2013” (It is Tuesday, April 23, 2013). Estar is used in locations and conditions, as in “Yo estoy sentado en la mesa de la cocina” (I am sitting at the kitchen table); and “Yo estoy cansada esta manana” (I am tired this morning). :)

As I sat in class, listening to the instructor reviewing the rules for Ser vs. Estar, I had an epiphany. That “being” is far more complex than I had prievously imagined. That the state of being was important enough for an entire culture to desginate different words for various states of being, and that which word to use is determined by whether or not you, as an individual have the power to change your state of being. I am from Chicago, I can't change that therefore, yo soy de Chicago. I am sitting at the kitchen table, I can change that at anytime by moving, therefore yo estoy sentada en la mesa de la cocina. I am Felicia, I cannot change the essence of who I am (i.e., my history, my lineage, what I value, my likes, my dislikes, my personality, etc). All these things combine to make me uniquely “me” therefore yo soy Felicia. We are a recipe that has taken untold generations and combinations create. We do have choices of traits that we emphasis, but the very fact that we choose them is an indication of who we are... and of who's we are.

2 Corinthians 5:17 says “Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.” Christ is the only one who can change our nature and cause us to be something new. When we receive him in our hearts, we become “new creatures in Christ”, but even the desire to receive Christ has to connect with something that already exists within us. “Deep calls unto deep...” [Ps. 42:7], we have “an ear to hear” [Matt. 11:15], we then can receive Him in our hearts and then we can become something new... born again, but the desire “to be” fully was always there. We simply answer the call of that “still small voice” and we become fully God's children and not merely his creation. “For in him we live and move and have our being.' As some of your own poets have said, 'We are his offspring.'” [Acts 17:28]

I know this from my own personal experience. When I was a practicing Roman Catholic, as much as I loved the church and my faith, I knew there was “something” missing. I couldn't put my finger on it or articulate fully, but I knew there had to be something more. While visiting Love Fellowship Tabernacle and listening to Pastor Daryl Coley, who at the time was a family friend, I heard the altar call and it connected with something so deep within me, that I literally stepped on my mother's friend (accidently of course) to get to that altar. I HAD to get there. The depth that is God called to the deep that was within me... my deep need to know (gnosis) that God loved me, my deep need to feel whole and my deep need to no longer be sad, because depression was something that I had dealt with all of my life.

By going to that altar, and receiving Christ in my heart, I had been given the power to change my state of being, to change my “estar”, my condition, and to become the “ser” I was always intended to be from the beginning of time. “According as he hath chosen us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and without blame before him in love” [Ephesians 1:4] and that was my beginning in really knowing what it means “to be”. Now, in Him I live and move and truly have my being.

Things Aren't Always As They Seem

Isn't it funny how people think they know something and they really don't. I had a lesson the other day. I was at the beach, and was in worship and praise and crying (which is what I normally do when I praise/worship) and a Muslim lady passed by and smiled and nodded, as she passed with a young man who seemed to be a son or nephew. I smiled and nodded to her in response and I had a feeling that each of us understood. We smiled and nodded in agreement with the process... having an understanding, because we both love God, and recognized in each other the desire to share our love with Him, and appreciated in each other the expression of that love. There were no word exchanged, but the understanding was immediate and appreciated by both of us.

A few minutes later, a Christian lady with a young girl walked by, back tracking a couple of times, and eventually came up to me and asked if I was ok. She said that she thought I looked a little sad and that they (she and the girl) had prayed for me. The lady was very kind with the best of intentions, but I had to explain that I wasn't sad. That it is quite normal for me to cry when I worship or praise God and that I had come to the beach to do just that. That she had witnessed my process of praise, and that it was good. I was actually experiencing joy and tears were of gratitude. When I said this, the woman looked a little puzzled, softly patted me on the shoulder and walked away, but I never got the impression that she fully understood what I was talking about.

This isn't the only time I've had this experience. I had a similar experience with a Hasidic Jewish lady while riding on the bus in Chicago. We were both praying, verying quietly, mouthing the words under our breath, without volume, when we suddenly looked at each other and realized we were not alone. We were doing the same thing … she mouthing the words from her little silver-clad prayer book and me, quietly praying in tongues. She in Hebrew and me in a language not even comprehensible by man, and yet we knew...and there was a moment of recognition and relief and joy.

We assume... and I've been guilty of this myself... that because people are of different faiths, that they don't know “the truth”, whatever we believe that truth happens to be. But I am finding more and more that God is so much bigger than anything we could imagine, and that those of us who love Him are connected by faith and by the Spirit... we know Him. It doesn't take a doctorate of Divinity, Homiletics or Hermeneutics to understand what we're doing when we pray... we become one body. The Spirit unites us and we sing His praises. We become apart of that “all the earth” spoken of in Psalms 97, rejoicing and declaring God's glory as we worship Abba Father.

Some may not yet know Him as Abba, and I'm not saying that “all roads lead to God” far from it, but for those of us who are His, our road is paved with praise. “We enter into His gates with thanksgiving and into his courts with praise” (Ps. 100:4).

Now I'm not saying that the Christian lady was somehow less faithful or less sincere, she wasn't. I'm actually glad she asked so that I could explain what I was doing, but she was in need of growth and many Christians are. We need to be able to better express our lack of knowledge, so that we can get a better understanding... of our own faith, and the faith of others in this world that we share. I learned something that day... well I think I already knew, but it was confirmed that day... that things aren't always as they seem, and that God's people are of every race, creed, color... and yes, religion and because we love Him, we should be able to find a way to love and understand one another.

Learning To Let Go

What should we do when the vehicles we've used in the past to steer our lives no longer work? We learn to let go.

When I was about 16, I got a bike for Christmas. A little late I know, but I was excited. Excited to have the freedom it provided... to go to the store... to go to a friends house... or just to go and explore.

One day, as I set off on my way to the store, I put my foot to pedal and began to pump. My foot slipped off the peddle and became wedged between the spokes of the front wheel. This caused my front wheel to come to a screeching halt, and my rear wheel to fly up into the air, propelling me forward.

As I, in a state of panic, looked at the ground getting closer and closer, I came to the realization that I had to make a decision, and make it fast. I was either going to hang on to those handle bars and plunge face first into the pavement, or I was going to have to let go... and see what happens. I decided that letting go was the only chance I had of averting a disaster.

At that moment, I let go of the handle bars, put all my weight on that foot wedged (sideways no less) in the spokes of my front wheel, swung my other leg over the handle bars as they came down, holding on to nothing, and somehow to my amazement... landed on my feet. The whole thing happened so fast, but to me it seemed like an eternity... as if it were happening in slow motion.

There are times in life when we just have to let go of the handle bars... the steering mechanisms of our life and trust... trust God that He will provide what we need... trust ourselves that we made the right decision and trust the process... the letting go... the taking that first big step...believing that we will land on solid ground... in one piece.

My neighbors, who had witnessed the whole event, came over to see if I was ok.  One said, “I've never seen anything like it! How did you do that?” They were amazed and to be honest, so was I. I had not even come close to falling. I didn't even twist the ankle of the foot caught in the front wheel... it had somehow managed to work it's way out. I'd landed flat footed, like a gymnast's dismount and the only answer I could give my neighbor's then... and the only answer I have now, is that I let go and stepped out.

When Peter saw Jesus walking on the water and asked to come out to him, the only answer Jesus gave him was “Come” (Matt. 14:29). Peter had to have the courage and the faith to take that big first step, letting go of all he knew about the world, letting go of reason, and trust that if Christ said “Come”, it would be alright. Jesus only chided Peter when he began to look at the circumstance... the stormy sea... and believed it more than he believed His command to “Come”, and Peter began to sink.

Since that first lesson I received in letting go, I have had many others. When I left Los Angeles and moved to Chicago at the spur of the moment... without even packing a bag, I had to let go. When I began teaching for the first time and equipment began disappearing making my lesson plans for that day useless... I had to let go. When the job market dried up in Chicago, I had to let go. Each time I had to trust that God would provide what I needed, that my decision was right and believe in the process, knowing that I would land on my feet...I've had a few stumbles when I looked at the circumstances, but for the most part, I have. I've even reclaimed a few good things along the way.

Learning to let go, and let the Spirit be my teacher, life be my classroom and God be my leader, is the scariest, most exciting and most wonderful experience I've had. I highly recommend it. Enjoy the journey.

What I'm Thankful For...

While going through some old writings, I ran across a journal entry I wrote a couple of years ago. The entry addressed some of the challenges I faced in Chicago, and my deep appreciation for the people of that... my city. I can't express how deeply I love that place, even though I almost died there. I was hit by a car there and developed enlarged heart, just from the stress of being there, but it will always have special place in my heart.

Chicago is an amazing place... a place of extremes. Good and evil, beauty and decay, order and corruption. And on a good day, no city in this country shines more, but it's people are its real treasure. Amongst all the evil and corruption, people still find the courage to try and protect what good they find. People still attempt to protect those who do them good, who show them compassion and who speak the truth.

This entry was written May 31, 2009, after being hit and the enlarged heart and a number of other things but on this Thankgiving Day, the sentiments in this entry are just as true today and they were two years ago. And it is what I am most thankful for today:

Well... it's Sunday again! And for the first time in a long time, I'm not depressed about it. I've actually had a good Sunday. I woke up this morning and had my worship. It started in an unusual way, but I went there after all. I was able to worship and that means more to me than anything! It's such an important part of my life... of most people's lives actually, but many don't know it. I can't imagine anyone wanting to live without it. It gives me peace and joy and gives my life meaning.

I also finished “In Hanuman's Hands”... finally! I think what took me so long was all of the drug stuff. Sounds funny since without it, his story wouldn't have made as much sense, but it was so depressing, some days I just had to put it down and read something else. I eventually finished it because I loved to hear him speak about Hanuman. I look at the way Hanuman was with Cheeni, how long-suffering he was, and I know that's just like God. That's real love, but he always honored his will. Hanuman never left his side, always instructing and guiding gently, never overbearing. That's what I love about God. How could you not love Him when he takes so much care with you. When the one who holds heaven and earth in His hands, who created the moon and the stars and still takes time to come see about you... because He first loved you!

For me, it wasn't drugs, it was loneliness. Having been alone all of my life as an only child, I always longed to have someone who wouldn't leave me... that I actually wanted to stay. I went through periods when I thought that I would find an end to that loneliness with people, and for a short period of time I did with Kevin. But then we broke up and He died, and I was alone again, or so I thought. When I finally began to seek God for my peace and solace, for my comfort, I felt complete for the first time in my life. There's something so wonderful about worship and prayer, it just blesses the person worshiping so much, that I just can't see why anyone would want to live without it! I know I keep saying that, but it's just the truth. I begin to cry every time I say it cause it means so much to me. The tears are my hearts offering to God for being there with me and for me... always. I needed to know that no person could satisfy the longing that was in my heart so that I would seek God and truly know the love of my life. Jesus, I will praise you always for giving me that gift. I cherish it always and forever more.

Now, you might be wondering about the paradox I've gotten myself in. The one where I see the similarities between Hanuman and Christ and to be honest, I'm wondering about that one myself. I believe God transcends culture. Christ taught that but no one in church seems to be able to grasp this. He (Christ) was never interested in making people adopt a culture, it was always about faith in Him and the belief that God loves them. Why the church seems to need to strong-arm people into believing as they do is beyond me. Jesus never did. If Christ is supposed to be in them, then why don't they behave like Christ? This is the question that really tugs at my heart and is causing me to look at other things. I know that if people of other faiths hadn't prayed for me, and I know they have, I would not be here now. I wouldn't have made it these past two years in Chicago. I can't ignore or forget that and I thank them for their love, in the truest since of the word, that they've shown me. I bless them for listening to God's voice, and having mercy to look out for me. God will not forget their labor of love. I know they may have had other reasons for being there and looking out for me, but their acts of compassion have taught me so much, about this city, the people in it and that with all the evil that's here, God is here too and the mercy and the love that they've shown me, God will give back to them a hundred fold. You can't beat God giving.

Tweet

As Our Worship Goes... So Goes Our Work

Well, I went to church on Sunday for Easter Service, and it was really interesting. At first, I was a little afraid. Afraid of seeing my former pastor again, since the last time I saw the pastor, it really wasn't all that great, however, it really wasn't that bad. I was shocked at how dead the service was. The praise team started with joy, at least a little, but ended on a real sour note. The service never took off at all and I was really very disappointed. The pastor's message was off, I was really shocked. It looks like I left that church at just the right time. The soloist was ok, but just ok. The way I heard others rave about how good they were, I was shocked to see just how mediocre they were. Their voice was strained, they didn't know how to use the mic (how to move it back and forth from the mouth to control how forcefully their voice came across) it was just really sad to see how bad it was. More importantly, there was no feeling behind the words. Sometimes that's actually more important than the persons ability. The pastor's attempt at preaching was dismal at best, and I'm not talking about their delivery. It was the point she was trying to get across... there wasn't a clear one. The point was convoluted... AND the delivery was choppy as the pastor stumbled over words and at times laughed nervously. It was a real train wreck.

Now my reason for bringing this up and writing about it was to make a greater comment on the state of the church as a whole. What I saw at my former church On Easter Sunday (Resurrection Sunday to some) is pretty much indicative of what I've seen in the church as a whole today. I've been to several churches, in several states, and seen the same thing repeatedly. As the quality of worship and teaching diminishes, so does the ability and expectations of its congregants.

I believe that there is a direct correlation between the intensity and quality of the worship/word we experience in our spiritual lives, and the intensity and quality of the work we produce in our daily lives. Both require passion. One cannot produce anything of value without it. It saddens me to see leaders in the Body intentionally leading their congregants to less passionate, and sometimes downright depressing worship and understanding of the word. Life is depressing enough. We need our worship to transcend the evil and mundane nature of this life. To shed the “grave clothes” of humanity and come into the presence of our Heavenly Father and enter into “His courts with praise.” Not doing so diminishes every aspect of our lives.

Instead today we see the church becoming stratified... by denomination, by class, by race, by gender and a host of other variables that have absolutely nothing to do with God. The Easter service I attended reminded me of what my students in Chicago talked about when they would report to me on Monday morning, what had gone on in their Sunday services. The inaccuracy of the teaching they received, or in some cases the lack of teaching all together. It was very disheartening to see, especially as the behavior of the students became more and more erratic. It seemed the greater the need for good teaching, the worse it got.

As I looked and listened to the pastor struggle to try to pull together a sermon, and the praise team struggle with the only job they have, to lead the congregation into worship, I began to see that my leaving my former church was the best thing I could have done. I DID “obey the prophet”, by that I mean the visiting Apostle, when I stopped attending that church. That I would be just as empty and hollow as many in that church have become... with a form of godliness, but without any of the power thereof, if I had stayed.

I thank God that He communicates with His people. That If we listen and obey, we will always be prepared for what is to come. That He prepares all those that He calls... even when we don't know it. That if we listen to that “still small voice” and move in faith, we will always be where we need to be, when we need to be there and equipped to do what we need to do, no matter how unqualified we (and the rest of the world for that matter) think we are.

Tweet

Know your history... because it knows you!

One wouldn't think that a blog dedicated to the arts, culture and religion would be interested in U.S. History, but nothing could be further from the truth. History is the foundation of culture. Everything that we see and do and who we are, has its foundation in the past, whether we know it or not. This is why today's blog entry is entitled, “Know Your History... Because It Knows You”. We are formed by our history.

Now, you may wonder, “What has U.S. History got to do with me?” Especially if your family recently immigrated to this country or if you are unaware of any personal historical connections. Well, it has a lot to do with you. Speaking personally, I wasn't aware of any historical connections between my family and the history of this nation, except for the fact that a portion of my ancestors where slaves in the south. For a long time, I believed that was the only connection. I've recently come to find out that this is not true.

I was born in Chicago, Illinois in the late sixties, to parents who are 0 and 1 generation removed from the south. My mother was born in Chicago, but her mother was born in Columbus, Georgia and my father was born in Talladega, Alabama and moved to Chicago when he was 17. These facts were known to me for most of my life, however, I didn't realize how Chicago, the place of my birth, factored so prominently in my southern ancestry and would alter my future in California. I had to move back to Chicago in order to find the connection.

December 24, 2000, my mother and I started a church called, Agape Love Fellowship International Church in Hyde Park, a community in South Los Angeles. My mother was pastor (and still is) and I was support staff and “Jane of all trades”. We rented from and shared facilities with Hyde Park Congregational Church, a now defunct member of the Congregational Church, a denomination who is deeply rooted in American Abolitionist History and this is where my past and present began to connect.

We shared facilities with Hyde Park Congregational Church from Christmas eve, 2000 to November 2006 when the property was bought by another church. During our tenure there, I was fortunate enough to develop a relationship with its pastor, Pastor Kringle, read some congregational materials and really develop a relationship with the church. Now you might ask, “how does one develop a relationship with a church?”, and I do mean “the church”. My connection with Hyde Park Congregational was deeper than just my fondness for Pastor Kringle or the building. The church became a second home for me. Sometimes more of a home then where I was actually living. I spent many hours there, reading, in communal prayer, on the altar singing praise or alone just talking to God. The church seemed to embrace me at a time when I really needed to feel like I belonged somewhere. I knew as soon as I walked into the sanctuary, that I belonged there. When the building was sold, I was devastated and I missed the altar terribly. We were not able to find another facility to have services and Agape wound up having services at different members homes and the park for over a year; however I left Agape Love Fellowship International Church December 25, 2006, exactly six years after our first service.

December 25, 2006 began a year of exploration and movement for me. On that day, my mother became ill, and I knew it was something more serious than a cold. I knew that I had to step away from Agape, and venture out on my own, for my own benefit as well as for my mother's and that's exactly what I did. The first six months of 2007, I hopscotched from job to job, from Los Angeles to Chicago, from ministry to teaching. But before I left Los Angeles, I met someone whose family history would connect with the history of this nation, with abolitionism, inadvertently with congregationalism and to some degree, with my history and what I would experience in Chicago.

I met Danielle Crothers January or February of 2007. She was the girlfriend of my friend's son. While having a chance conversation with her boyfriend, I discovered that she was the descendent of Abolitionist, John Brown. For those of you who don't know, John Brown led a small band of abolitionists, black and white, who attacked an arsenal at Harper's Ferry in the state of Maryland on October 17, 1859. Brown and his band of men, waged war against the institution of slavery and the attack on the arsenal at Harper's Ferry was just the first of many battles the group planned. One might call it the first unofficial battle of the civil war.

Danielle Crothers,

Descendent of John Brown

John Brown,

Led raid on arsenal at 

Harper's Ferry, 1859

At the time of my meeting with Danielle, I simply thought, “How cool! It must be nice to know that your related to someone who fought and gave his life to a cause that drastically changed this nation.” I didn't immediately make the connection between Brown and congregationalism, but the information stayed in the back of my mind.

June 14, 2007, after arriving at work about an hour early, I was sitting in the roof-top garden of the highrise I worked in, and while dreading the thought of going in and crying uncontrollably, I had an epiphany. I didn't have to go in, or stay at that job, or for that matter stay in California. I picked up my cell, called my father and booked a flight and a rental car. By 2:30 that afternoon, I was on a plane to Chicago.

Once I landed in Chicago, it seemed as if the city was happy to see me. I picked up the rental car, and drove all night. I hadn't lived in Chicago since I was twelve, and hadn't visited in twelve years, yet I immediately knew my way around. I stopped at Michael's North, a diner that used to be on the corner of Clark and North Ave., and was greeted by a friendly, quirky wait staff, and a sign posted over the register that read, “I know my thoughts towards you , of peace and not evil, to give you a future and a hope.” This quote from the book of Jeremiah, really resonated with me. To me, it meant I was on the right path. God confirming that my seemingly impulsive move was in fact me being lead, back to the city of my birth.

My time in Chicago was a real education. I call it Jesus Univ., because it seemed everywhere I went, I learned something about my history, the city's history or Illinois' role in this nation's history, specifically, the Civil War. While preparing reading lessons for my students, I found papers written on the abolitionist movement in Illinois. While attending a classical concert at the Chicago Cultural Center, I stumbled upon a photo of the First Baptist Congregational Church of Chicago, which was formally the First Congregational Church of Chicago, a stop on the Underground Railroad. While doing some personal research at the Chicago History Museum, I stumbled upon The Manual of the First Congregational Church of Chicago which was written in the 1870's. This document included the original statement of faith for the Chicago church and the scriptural foundation for the churches beliefs and structure.  About a year later, while doing some genealogical research at the Newberry Library, I stumbled upon the pastor's sermon at the Quarter Centennial of the First Congregational Church of Chicago which was celebrated May 21^st and 22^nd, 1876. This document, along with the manual, were absolutely earth shattering for me. Pastor Goodwin's sermon gave me goose bumps as I read it because he was speaking of things and recounting experiences that he had over a 130 years ago but were almost identical to what I had experienced at the Hyde Park Congregational facility in Los Angeles and teaching on the west-side of Chicago, just a few blocks from where the First Congregational building still stands. Pastor Goodwin's sermon recounts how a committee from First Congregational Church of Chicago had been instrumental in counseling President Lincoln before he wrote the Emancipation Proclamation. And all of these events took place during the celebration of Lincoln's Bicentennial.

These events and others, coupled with the social changes I began to see in Chicago and had seen in L.A. before I left, caused me to think about the significance of having met Danielle in 2007. Was there a connection between who she was related to, the church I had grown to love and my “accidental” findings in Chicago? Was there any significance in the timing of our meeting, my move to Chicago and Lincoln's Bicentennial, or was it all just coincidence? Personally, I don't think so. The last three years, 2008 through 2010, were some of the most socially, economically and politically volatile in our nation's history. We've had culture wars, military wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, an economic collapse, the rise of the Tea Party and our first African American President, who just happened to be from the Land of Lincoln, Illinois. We've had the rise of Sarah Palin, Rush Limbaugh, Fox News and a myriad of other opinion Journalist more interested in agitating the masses than educating them by communicating unbiased facts. We've had controversies within the Christian Right and conflict between those who believe and those who don't.

Each of these factions believe their rights are more important that any other, and have stooped to the most base communication and behavior. If ever there was a time for those who have fought the hardest and given the most to speak to from the past, to remind us of their sacrifice, and to warn us of what could be in our future if we don't adjust our course, it's now. As a descendent of former slaves, born in the “Land of Lincoln” and connected by association the Congregational Church, I feel a special responsibility to be aware and diligent in protecting the liberties that were bought and paid for with the blood of those who came before me. Black and white, men and women, young and old, saints and sinners, have given all for the rights I enjoy. So maybe, the chance meeting of two descendents, the seed of the Abolitionist and the seed of the slave, was the universe's way of saying, “Remember where you come from, who you come from and what we were willing to give so that you might exist. Remember what we fought for, and don't let our sacrifice be in vain. Remember the unity and brotherhood we enjoyed and be emissaries of that brotherhood in your time. Know your history, because we knows... and love you.”

Tweet

Welcome 2011!

Hello everyone and happy New Year!  I hope everyone had a blessed and joyful Christmas and will have a very prosperous New Year.

So far this year, I visited an old friend/acquaintance from church, and it was a very interesting experience.  It just showed me how much I've changed since living in Chicago the past 3 years, and how I'm not really the same person I was when I left in 2007, and I believe that's a good thing.  I've grown. But it also showed me that I'm no longer in sync with the people I knew who are still involved with the culture of church, or what I call "the cult of christianity".  I've grown out of it and that's a really good thing.

To be honest, New Year's Day felt more like Christmas to me than Christmas did.  I have a real expectation of something new and exciting taking place this year and I'm very interested to see how the year unfolds... waiting with baited breath.  I've rekindled my interest in Christian Church History and found a PBS Nova program that you might find interesting and one I really enjoyed, called "Building the Great Cathedrals."

Watch the full episode. See more NOVA.

">

Watch the full episode. See more NOVA.

Hope you find it interesting.

Have a great New Year!

Tweet

Back in SoCal

Well, it's been a while since my last post... a long while, and as you will see from my sidebar, I no longer live in Chicago. I moved back to the southern California this past July, and it's been interesting. I really wasn't ready to leave Chicago and I didn't want to come back to L.A. but circumstances didn't permit me to stay in Chicago and L.A. was the only easy place to go, so here I am.


The last time I posted, I did a review of the book, "Jesus and Justice", which was an excellent book. I enjoyed reading it and reference it often however, I don't believe that Sojourners is going bridge the gap between Black / White relations in the Evangelical movement as Heltzel suggests. I believe it's going to take a lot more than any single organization to do that. The fact that after 200 years, there still is a gap suggests that it's going to take something truely transformative to remove the stale attitudes that persist, not just in Evangelicalism, but throughout Christendom...but I have to be honest, I don't know exactly what will. All I know is that these attitudes MUST change because they hurt the body as a whole and they damage people who belong to God, simply because they (we) don't fit the current mold of what a "Christian" should be, according to leaders whose hearts are far from God and have been for a long time.

I believe that Christendom needs a purging of leadship... or rather a shedding of the old and the installation of the new. A new church that genuinely doesn't see race or class or gender as components of spiritual devotion, but deals solely with the heart and the individual's desire to be one with their heavenly father, which is a blood-bought right that was paid for by the blood of Jesus Christ, which every believer has the right to enjoy. Until we understand that this is the essence of our faith, and not what church, race, political organization or socio-economic group we belong to, we will never be able to see His kingdom come or His will be done on earth, as it is in Heaven.

Tweet