I love this quote from the great Freedom Fighter Chairman Fred Hampton. Chairman Hampton understood something that empires have always known but seldom admit. Bread is never just a slice of bread.

Feed hungry people long enough, and they begin to believe they deserve more than survival. They begin to imagine dignity instead of desperation. They begin to see themselves not as burdens, but as neighbors worthy of care. Hunger keeps people preoccupied with today. Bread gives them the strength to imagine tomorrow.

Hope.

Bread has always been revolutionary.

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The Black Panther Party understood this when it established its Free Breakfast for Children Program in communities where children routinely went to school hungry. Long before the government expanded school breakfast programs, the Panthers recognized that an empty stomach is more than a physical condition; it is a social weapon.

Feed a child, and you have done more than provide a meal. You have declared that the child is valuable before they have achieved anything. You have affirmed that dignity should never have to be earned. Their breakfast program exposed a profound moral truth. Communities flourish when people refuse to let hunger have the final word.

Devout Christians should recognize that truth immediately.

Long before the Panthers organized breakfast tables, Jesus gathered thousands of hungry people in a deserted place.

The disciples looked at the crowd and saw a problem to be managed. Jesus looked at the same crowd and saw people to be loved. The disciples’ solution was practical. “Send them away.” Jesus’ response was revolutionary.

“You give them something to eat.”

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That may be one of the most disruptive commands Jesus ever gave. He never asked who deserved lunch. He simply refused to allow hunger to have the final word.

Yet, whenever empire-loving, modern nationalist “christians” begin discussing feeding hungry people, someone eventually reaches for Paul’s words in 2 Thessalonians: “Anyone unwilling to work should not eat.”

Too often, that verse has become Christianity’s disclaimer before compassion.

But Paul and Jesus are addressing entirely different realities.

Paul was correcting able-bodied believers within the church who refused to contribute to the community because they expected Christ’s immediate return. He was confronting idleness. Jesus was standing before thousands of hungry people in a deserted place. He was confronting hunger.

Those are two completely different conversations!

The disciples saw scarcity. Jesus saw responsibility.

Somehow we have confused refusing responsibility with refusing compassion. The Gospel never makes that mistake. Again and again, Jesus feeds people before asking anything from them. Before sermons, before transformation, before commitment, there is bread. The Kingdom of God does not begin by demanding proof of worthiness. It begins with grace.

Perhaps that is why Hampton’s words still echo decades later.

The first miracle of liberation is often a meal. When people are fed, they discover they are seen. When they are seen, they discover they have dignity. When they recover their dignity, they begin to believe another world is possible.

Bread threatens every system that depends upon scarcity, fear, or hopelessness. Bread freely given proclaims that God does not operate according to the logic of empire. Empire asks, “Who has earned the right to eat?” The Kingdom asks, “Who is hungry?”

This is why every loaf of bread carries a quiet sermon.

Every shared meal proclaims that no one should have to prove they are worthy of being sustained. Every table where strangers become neighbors announces that another world is already breaking in.

Jesus waited until the night before the cross to give his disciples one final lesson.

He did not hand them a sword.

He took bread

He did not draft a political manifesto.

He blessed the bread.

He didn’t keep it to himself.

He gave it away.

“This is my body, given for you.”

In that simple act, bread became more than nourishment.

It became memory.

It became sacrifice.

It became hope.

It became the enduring sign that God’s answer to a broken world is not domination, but self-giving love.

Every time Christians gather at the Lord’s Table, we proclaim a revolution. We remember a Savior whose body was broken so that others might live. We receive grace we did not earn. Then we are sent back into the world to embody that same grace for someone else.

The Church has always understood that communion cannot end at the communion table. The bread we receive must become the bread we share. Bread becomes revolutionary whenever it is given freely.

Every act of feeding someone without first requiring them to prove their worth challenges the logic of empire and bears witness to the Kingdom of God.

I have a sneaking suspicion that Jesus intended this all along.

Amen.

Read more about our “Love On a Plate” Food Ministry by following this link:

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“They need not go away; you give them something to eat.”
Matthew 14:16

Every fourth Sunday, for two months now, a line begins to form outside Genesis United Methodist Church.

It starts quietly.

A few cars pull into the parking lot. Then more arrive. Some people Some people come on their bicycles. Others carry worn grocery bags they’ve used countless times before. Parents stand beside children. Seniors wait patiently in the summer heat. By the time our Love on a Plate food giveaway begins at 2:30 p.m., the line often stretches from the back toward the front entrance of the church.

The first time I saw it, pride attempted to invade my spirit.

I was surprised.

Word had gotten out! The community was responding to the church’s efforts.

People knew that if they came to the corner of 42nd Street and Duncan on the fourth Sunday, there was hope that they might return home with groceries. Quickly though, that realization filled me with both gratitude and grief. Gratitude because Genesis UMC had become known as a place of welcome. Grief because so many of our neighbors were carrying a burden that no one should have to bear: the uncertainty of whether there would be enough food to make it through the week.

Every empty refrigerator tells a story.

Some tell stories of unemployment.

Others tell stories of unexpected medical bills, rising rent, or impossible choices between groceries and utilities.

Too many in Louisville’s West End tell another story altogether. They tell the story of neighborhoods that have endured decades of disinvestment, segregation, economic neglect, and unequal access to healthy, affordable food. We often soften this reality by calling it a food desert, but deserts are natural. What exists in far too many Black neighborhoods is not.

Food does not disappear because of geography. Grocery stores do not leave communities by accident. When policies, economics, transportation barriers, and generations of neglect create dramatically unequal access to nutritious food based largely upon ZIP code, we are confronting something far more deliberate and evil.

We are confronting food apartheid.

That language makes some people uncomfortable while others are slightly confused

Those emotions are correct.

In the West End of Louisville, hunger is never merely about empty stomachs. Hunger often reveals the visible scars of invisible injustice. To my knowledge, the Shawnee neighborhood has access to only one grocery store that sells fresh fruit and vegetables. As a pastor, I cannot witness that reality without hearing the words of Jesus echoing in my mind.

Matthew tells us that Jesus and His disciples found themselves in “a deserted place.” Evening approached, and thousands of people were hungry. The disciples offered what sounded like the most practical solution imaginable.

“Send the crowds away so they can buy food for themselves.”

On its face, their response made perfect sense. Resources were limited. Jesus nor the disciples were wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. The crowd was overwhelming. The responsibility seemed too great.

The Disciples’ suggestion to, “Send them somewhere else.” Seems somewhat reasonable.

Let someone else solve the problem.

Jesus answered with words that continue to challenge every generation of believers:

“They need not go away; you give them something to eat.”

Jesus saw the physical need of the people and understood that provision for the spirit wasn’t enough to radically meet the complete need of the people.

Before multiplication came responsibility.

Before abundance came obedience.

The miracle began the moment Jesus refused to send hungry people away.

I believe the Church still stands in that same deserted place. Every city has its wildernesses. Every community has places where people have learned to expect scarcity instead of abundance. Every generation faces the temptation to believe that hunger belongs to someone else’s ministry, someone else’s budget, or someone else’s neighborhood.

Jesus places the responsibility on His followers.

“You give them something to eat.”

That command has become the heartbeat of “Love on a Plate”.

Genesis UMC decided that we could no longer simply pray about hunger. We had to place prayer into practice. We partnered with incredible friends and organizations—including Young Non-Profit Group, #SeeStacySundays, and Watkins Memorial United Methodist Church—to begin distributing groceries to our neighbors every fourth Sunday.

Since then, I have watched miracles unfold.

I have seen volunteers become ministers.

I have watched strangers become neighbors.

I have witnessed generosity travel farther than any sermon I have ever preached.

And yet, I have also experienced one of the most painful moments of pastoral ministry; turning away hungry people when the food becomes scarce again.

Food has become increasingly expensive.

As grocery prices continue to rise, the amount of food available through many distribution channels continues to shrink. Each month we stretch every donation, every box, and every can as far as it will go.

Sometimes, despite our best efforts...

...there isn’t enough.

There are few moments more heartbreaking than looking someone in the eyes and realizing you cannot place groceries into their hands. I never want to become comfortable with that feeling.

Nor should the Church.

Yet even in those moments of heartbreak, scripture refuses to let despair have the final word.

Throughout Israel’s journey, God repeatedly demonstrated that wildernesses are not simply places of deprivation, they are places where heaven draws near.

In the wilderness, God sent manna.

Through the prophet Isaiah, God declared,

“I am about to do a new thing... I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”

That promise has become more than a favorite Bible verse for me.

It has become a way of seeing.

Where the world sees a deserted place, God sees fertile ground for hope. Where others see scarcity, God prepares provision. Where systems have created deserts, God begins carving rivers.

Every fourth Sunday, I believe manna falls on 42nd Street.

Not because grocery boxes are magical.

Not because Genesis UMC possesses unlimited resources.

But because ordinary people continue to place what they have into the hands of God.

Every loaf of bread.

Every carton of milk.

Every can good.

Every volunteer who lifts a box into someone’s trunk.

Every partner who refuses to believe hunger is inevitable.

These are all modern expressions of manna.

This is why we often say there is Hope on 42nd Street.

It is not a marketing slogan.

It is a theological conviction.

The work is plentiful and far from a finished work.

No congregation can confront food apartheid alone. No nonprofit can dismantle systemic hunger by itself. No business, civic organization, or government agency possesses every answer.

But together? Together, we can become the baskets Jesus places into the hands of His disciples. Imagine what would happen if more churches understood feeding people as central to discipleship rather than supplemental to it.

“They need not go away.”

That is the Gospel.

Every fourth Sunday, Genesis United Methodist Church simply tries to live it. The miracle of Matthew 14 was never only that bread multiplied. The greater miracle was that Jesus refused to let hungry people be dismissed. That same Christ still walks among us. He still calls disciples. He still blesses what little we bring. He still creates rivers in deserts. Every fourth Sunday, by God’s grace, manna still falls on 42nd Street.

The only question is whether more of us will decide to carry the baskets.

Thank you to Pastor and the congregation of Watkins Memorial UMC, our community partners, and the dedicated members of Genesis UMC.

Genesis 50:20

“Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good, in order to preserve a numerous people.”

Juneteenth is a story about freedom.

It is also a story about resilience.

Before emancipation became law, Black people in America were already doing what Black people have always done. We were building families, communities, churches, schools, and institutions in circumstances designed to prevent their flourishing.

That is why Joseph’s story feels so familiar.

Joseph receives a dream from God, but his journey is marked by betrayal. His brothers sell him into slavery. He is falsely accused. He is imprisoned and forgotten. For years, his life seems to move further away from God’s promise rather than closer to it.

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Amos 5:24

“But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”
Amos 5:24

Juneteenth invites us to celebrate freedom.

The prophets invite us to ask what we are doing with it.

That question matters because freedom is not self-sustaining. Every generation must decide whether it will expand freedom, protect freedom, or quietly allow freedom to erode backward into oppression.

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John 8:36

“So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.”

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Juneteenth is a celebration.

It is also an uncomfortable question.

What does freedom actually mean?

Americans are accustomed to talking about freedom as a political achievement. We celebrate the Declaration of Independence. We celebrate constitutional rights. We celebrate victories won through protest, legislation, and social change. These things matter. They should be celebrated.

Yet Juneteenth reminds us that freedom on paper and freedom in practice are not always the same thing.

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Leviticus 25:10

“You shall hallow the fiftieth year and you shall proclaim liberty throughout the land to all its inhabitants.”

America often tells the story of freedom through the language of independence.

The Bible tells the story of freedom through the language of restoration.

That difference matters.

When most people think about freedom, they think about what they are free from. Free from oppression. Free from restrictions. Free from bondage.

Yet God imagines freedom more fully than we often do.

In Leviticus 25, God introduces one of the most remarkable social visions in all of Scripture. Every fiftieth year, Israel was to observe what became known as the Year of Jubilee.

Debts were forgiven.

Land was returned to its original families.

Those who had sold themselves into servitude because of poverty were released.

Generational cycles of economic hardship were interrupted.

Communities were given the opportunity to begin again.

This was not charity.

This was justice.

Land represented wealth.

Land represented opportunity.

Land represented inheritance.

Without land, families often remained trapped in poverty for generations. Yet God refused to allow permanent economic exclusion to become normal among God’s people.

Every fifty years, the reset button was pushed.

Every fifty years, God reminded Israel that no family should be permanently denied dignity.

Every fifty years, God declared that the future should not be forever controlled by the failures, losses, or hardships of the past.

At its heart, Jubilee was a reminder that the land belonged to God.

The people belonged to God.

The future belonged to God.

And because everything ultimately belonged to God, no person had the right to hoard power while others remained trapped without hope.

That sounds strikingly relevant today.

On this Juneteenth, we celebrate the freedom of enslaved African Americans who finally received word that they were legally free. We honor the resilience of Black Americans who survived slavery, segregation, discrimination, and exclusion. We celebrate a people who built churches, schools, businesses, neighborhoods, and movements despite tremendous obstacles in this country.

Yet Juneteenth also invites us to ask difficult questions.

What does freedom mean when generations have been denied access to wealth?

What does freedom mean when opportunity remains uneven?

What does freedom mean when some communities continue to bear the weight of historic injustice?

The Bible does not avoid these questions.

Neither should the Church.

The prophets would later echo this same concern.

Isaiah spoke of rebuilding ancient ruins.

Amos called for justice to roll down like waters.

Micah envisioned a day when every person would sit under their own vine and fig tree without fear.

The biblical vision of freedom was never simply about survival.

It was about wholeness.

This is where Juneteenth and Jubilee meet.

Both remind us that freedom is not merely about removing chains.

Freedom is about restoring dignity.

Freedom is about recovering opportunity.

Freedom is about building a future where every child can flourish.

Freedom is about becoming the community God intended us to be.

As Christians, we believe Jubilee finds its ultimate fulfillment in Jesus Christ.

When Jesus stood in the synagogue in Nazareth, He opened the scroll of Isaiah and announced:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor... to proclaim release to the captives... to let the oppressed go free.”

Jesus was announcing a new Jubilee.

A Jubilee not limited to every fifty years.

A Jubilee available every day.

Through Christ, debts of sin are forgiven.

Through Christ, broken people are restored.

Through Christ, outcasts are welcomed home.

Through Christ, those who have been told they are less than discover they are beloved children of God.

Jesus did not come merely to get people into heaven.

Jesus came to restore what sin, injustice, hatred, and oppression had stolen.

He came to make all things new.

That is the promise of Jubilee.

It is the promise that God is not content with people merely surviving.

God desires restoration.

God desires healing.

God desires flourishing.

God desires freedom.

On this Juneteenth, may we celebrate how far we have come.

May we tell the truth about how far we still have to go.

And may we recommit ourselves to the work of building communities that reflect God’s vision of Jubilee.

A vision where dignity is protected.

Opportunity is shared.

Justice is pursued.

And freedom belongs to everybody.

Reflection Questions

1. How does God’s vision of freedom differ from the way freedom is often discussed in America?

2. What would Jubilee look like in your community today?

3. Where have you experienced God’s restoring grace in your own life?

Prayer

God of Jubilee,

Thank You for being a God who restores what has been broken and renews what has been lost. Forgive us when we settle for freedom that benefits only a few. Give us hearts that long for justice, hands willing to participate in restoration, and faith to believe that a better future is possible.

Joshua 4:6–7

In the future, when your children ask you, ‘What do these stones mean?’ ⁷ tell them that the flow of the Jordan was cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord. When it crossed the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. These stones are to be a memorial to the people of Israel forever.”

If some so-called “Americans” had their way, they would prefer that we all forget.

Forget that everyone’s ancestor didn’t arrive to the new world on Plymouth Rock seeking religious freedom.

Forget that the African heritage, history, name and lineage was systematically erased when young African boys and girls were chained and forced to survive on the bottom of slave ships.

Forget that America adopted a system of chattel slavery that persisted long after the trans-Atlantic Slave Trade was deemed illegal and abolished worldwide.

Forget that the Civil War was about the issue of slavery and not states’ rights.

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The story of Juneteenth begins with a painful truth.

The enslaved people of Texas were legally free before they knew they were free.

The proclamation had been issued. The declaration had been made. The verdict had been rendered.

Yet they remained in bondage because the news had not arrived.

The same tension appears in Exodus.

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America loves the language and lofty ideal of freedom.

Freedom is woven into our founding documents. It echoes through our political speeches. It fills our songs, our stories, and our national imagination.

We celebrate freedom so often that it has become part of our identity.

We say phrases like, “Land of the free and home of the brave.”

Yet the American story contains a painful tension.

While liberty has long been our nation’s highest aspiration, it has not always been equally experienced. Throughout our history, entire communities have been denied full access to the promises America proclaimed. Indigenous peoples were displaced. Women were excluded from political participation. Immigrants have often faced suspicion and discrimination. African Americans endured centuries of enslavement, segregation, disenfranchisement, and systemic barriers that linger to this day.

The story of America is not simply a story of freedom won.

It is also a story of freedom pursued.

A story of people demanding that the nation become what it claimed to be.

Juneteenth stands at the center of that story.

It commemorates June 19, 1865, when enslaved African Americans in Galveston, Texas finally learned they had been freed. More than two years had passed since the Emancipation Proclamation had been signed. Freedom had been declared, but not yet experienced.

That truth should unsettle us.

How can freedom exist on paper while people remain in chains?

Yet that question is not merely American. It is biblical.

Scripture is filled with people living in the space between God’s promise and God’s fulfillment. Israel was promised deliverance while still making bricks in Egypt. The prophets envisioned justice while injustice ruled the day. The early church proclaimed Christ as Lord while living under an empire that often denied their dignity and humanity.

The Bible understands something we often forget.

Freedom is more than a declaration.

Freedom must be embodied.

Freedom must be protected.

Freedom must be shared.

Freedom must be practiced.

Juneteenth should matter to everyone who calls themselves Christians.

But the gospel pushes us even further.

The freedom Christ offers is both personal and communal.

It transforms hearts.

It reshapes communities.

It challenges nations.

It calls us to build a world that better reflects the Kingdom of God.

I am happy to introduce a multi-day biblical devotional in honor of Juneteenth and the biblical legacy of freedom.

This devotional is not simply an invitation to remember the past.

It is an invitation to imagine a better future.

A future where freedom is more than rhetoric.

A future where justice is more than aspiration.

A future where every person is treated as a beloved child of God.

Over the next few days, we will journey through Scripture and history together. We will explore Exodus and Jubilee, prophets and apostles, bondage and liberation, memory and hope.

Most importantly, we will wrestle with what it means to be truly free.

Because freedom is not merely America’s unfinished work.

Freedom is God’s ongoing work.

And those who follow Christ are called to participate in it.

“So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.”
— John 8:36

Yesterday, I received a text from a parishioner. The question was a simple one to answer yet complex at the same time. Their question was this: “Can you send me the scripture of men with men and women with women? I have a family member that’s confused.”

Now, hold on one minute.

If I know one thing for certain and two things for sure, this member wanted to use me and my response as a weapon in their discussion with their “confused family member”. I know what it means when people say family members are “confused”.

It doesn’t mean they are actually in cognitive decline, I assure you.

People use that word “confused” as a loaded term, meaning, they describe a person who is (oftentimes) questioning their sexuality, feelings of attraction, and/or romantic relationships. I suspect, the church member wanted me to cite Leviticus 20:13 so they could use my pastoral authority and that scripture as a cudgel to convince their family member to “get right with God”.

There is a difference between conviction and cruelty.

I hope you all have heard of internet funny man, KevOnStage. He is a social media mogul who offers (mostly) clean Christian comedy. Recently, KevOnStage has received criticism over his views on LGBTQIA+ centered interactions. Some Christians are mad because Kev refuses to condemn or vilify the community. Specifically, Kev refuses to name the community as sinners.

You can watch a clip of the interview here, (Warning! There is explicit language used in this clip.)

His words, “I’m going to lead with love because I’ve seen what love can do,” sound simple. But in this moment, they are prophetic. Because what many are calling “faithfulness”, has too often become something else entirely.

Be clear. There is sin. But we do not have the freedom to define it however we want, nor to weaponize it against the people we are uncomfortable with. When Jesus names sin, He speaks directly about things like hypocrisy, public religious performance for applause, neglecting justice, and hardness of heart toward others. He warns against judgment that ignores our own brokenness. He confronts those who burden people while refusing to lift a finger to help them. In other words, Jesus consistently calls out pride, self-righteousness, and the failure to love as the deepest fractures in our relationship with God and one another.

The Church cannot turn a blind eye to harm. But what is equally true, and far more dangerous in this moment, is how we have handled it. Many Christians, churchgoers, and Bible readers have adopted harsh and harmful practices based on sermons heard and scriptures read without full context. We have inherited theological echoes that were never interrogated. We have repeated them with confidence, but not with care.

We have inherited theological echoes that were never interrogated. We have repeated them with confidence, but not with care.

And those echoes have done damage.

They have taught us to speak without listening.
They have trained us to correct without compassion.
They have shaped a Church that is quicker to condemn than to restore.

A theology that has been shaped as much by cultural fear and nationalism as by the Gospel of Jesus Christ. And the result is undeniable. The Church has slowly become intolerant, bigoted, and at times outright hateful, rather than compassionate, kind, self-controlled, and abounding in love.

That is not a small drift. That is a spiritual crisis.

Scripture does call us to accountability. Galatians 6:1 instructs us to restore one another gently. Gospel of Matthew 18:15–18 gives a process for addressing harm in community. But we have too often stripped these texts of their posture. Restoration has been replaced with exposure. Community has been replaced with performance. And “truth” has been used as a weapon rather than a bridge.

Here’s some truth: If our theology consistently produces wounded people, alienated communities, and a shrinking witness, then it is not being practiced in the spirit of Christ. Something is broken in how we are holding it.

Which is why this moment demands more than defense. It demands deconstruction.

We must be willing to unlearn the harmful ways theology has been handed to us. Not to abandon Scripture, but to return to it more faithfully. Not to dilute truth, but to embody it more fully. We need a theology that is biblical, yes, and useful. A theology that heals instead of harms. A theology that reflects the heart of Jesus rather than the anxieties of nationalistic tribalism.

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This is where the Black Church can work to form a theology that is beyond what is indoctrinated into us in seminaries and systematic theologies. We should work to develop a broader Christo-Africentric theological wisdom, that offers a necessary corrective. For example, the concept of Akoma, the heart, reminds us that patience, endurance, and compassion are not secondary virtues. They are central to how we live out our faith. Love is not a soft alternative to truth. It is the very method by which truth is made known.

Jesus shows us this clearly. He does not ignore sin, but neither does He weaponize it. He walks with people. He eats with them. He listens to them. He dignifies them. And somewhere in that sacred space of relationship, transformation begins. Not forced. Not coerced. But cultivated.

I have said it before and I believe it deeply. I cannot say I love you and remain silent when harm is present. But I also cannot claim to love you if my words strip you of dignity. Love tells the truth. But love also stays. Love listens. Love bears witness to the slow, sacred work of God in a person’s life.

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I know what you’re thinking, what about the parishioner and their “confused family member”?

Instead of following her prompt (she could have easily googled and come up with the answer she wanted) I cited 1 Corinthians 6: 19-20, the one mentioning our body as temples to glorify God. The member responded with gratitude mentioning that there has been further dialogue. I gave the member some loving pastoral advice and prayed that the family member heard love more than any condemnation.

We are not called to fix people. We are called to walk with them.

And as we walk hand in hand, trusting the Spirit more than our own urgency, God does the transforming.

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Moses responds differently than the people. While they turn away, Moses intercedes. He holds on to God’s promise even when the situation looks unstable. He reminds God of the covenant, not because God has forgotten, but because faith must speak what it believes.

A caregiver once spent months tending to a loved one whose condition did not improve. Prayers were consistent. Hope was steady. Yet visible change was minimal. Friends offered quick answers, but none provided comfort. What sustained the caregiver was not immediate results, but a quiet conviction that faithfulness still mattered even without visible reward.

That is the discipline of perseverance.

Sanctification is not only formed in moments of clarity. It is deepened in seasons of silence.

Faith is not proven by how loudly we praise when things are clear. Faith is revealed by how firmly we hold on when they are not.

God’s silence is not God’s absence. The promise still stands.

Prayer:

Lord, strengthen my faith to hold on to Your promises even when I cannot hear Your voice.

Happy Women’s History Month.

There is a truth about the Black Church that we have dressed up, softened, and avoided saying plainly.

The Black Church was built by Black women.

Not occasionally supported by them.
Not quietly assisted by them.
Built. Carried. Sustained.

Before there were pulpits, there were hush harbors. Sacred, hidden spaces where enslaved Africans gathered to learn a dangerous gospel. A gospel that questioned how a just God could be on the side of the oppressor. A gospel that whispered freedom in the dark.

Those spaces survived because Black women carried them.

They held the songs.
They held the prayers.
They held the faith when everything else was being stripped away.

And when the visible church was formed, that same pattern continued.

When Richard Allen and others helped establish the African Methodist Episcopal Church and later others established the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church, Black women were not spectators. They were builders. Organizers. Sustainers.

When the church needed funding, they gave.
When the church needed structure, they organized.
When the church needed spirit, they prayed it into existence.

Leaders like Nannie Helen Burroughs made visible what had always been true. She built institutions because she believed faith must produce freedom. But she was not an exception. She was part of a lineage.

A lineage that scholar Dr. Annemarie Mingo names clearly in “Have You Got Good Religion?”. She reminds us that Black women practice a lived religion, a faith enacted in the world. A faith that, in her words, offers “powerful insights into how faith steels human beings to face threats, jail, violence, and seemingly implacable hatred.”

That is not abstract theology.

That is Black women’s faith.

Mingo calls it a theology of movement. A faith that picks a side. A faith that fights for what she calls good religion. A faith that knows the difference between a gospel that liberates and a religion that protects power.

Black women have always known that difference.

They knew it in the hush harbors.
They knew it in the formation of the church.
They knew it in the Civil Rights Movement where women like Ella Baker, Septima Clark, and Fannie Lou Hamer organized a movement that changed the world.

They know it now.

Because we just watched the same pattern unfold again.

The boycott of Target was called, organized, and energized by Black women who refused to allow corporations to profit from Black culture while retreating from Black justice. Leaders like Nekima Levy Armstrong and others sounded the alarm and mobilized the community.

But when the cameras came, the story shifted.

The spotlight moved to Rev. Dr. Jamal Harrison Bryant. As though he birthed the boycott.

And when he announced the boycott was over, the community responded with a truth that should shake every institution that benefits from Black women’s labor:

That is not just about Target. That is about history.

Black women birth movements.
Black women organize movements.
Black women sustain movements.

And too often, others narrate them.

More than a century ago Anna Julia Cooper told us exactly how this works:

“Whenever the Black woman enters, the whole race enters with her.”

She was not speaking in metaphor. She was naming reality.

When Black women move, communities move.
When Black women believe, institutions survive.
When Black women lead, the future shifts.

So what do we do with this truth?

We tell it. Clearly. Intentionally. Repeatedly.

In his book, “The Spirit of Justice”, Dr. Jemar Tisby reminds us, “The civil rights movement simply would not have happened if not for Black women who tapped into the spirit of justice for the progress of their people and the nation.”

So we start telling the story right.

When you teach your children about this nation, tell the truth.

You cannot talk about Martin Luther King Jr. without naming Coretta Scott King.
You cannot mention Malcolm X without honoring Betty Shabazz.
When you quote “I Have a Dream,” remember Rev. Dr. Prathia Hall, whose prophetic voice was the first to speak of a prophetic dream.
When you tell the story of the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church, make room for Sojourner Truth.
When you talk about Jim Crow, teach them about Pauli Murray, who named the layered injustice of race and gender as “Jane Crow.”

Tell the story right.

Because when you tell the story right, you honor the truth.

And when you honor the truth, you begin to repair what has been overlooked for far too long.

We must remember.

We must correct.

We must give credit where credit has always been due.

Because it is the presence, witness, and leadership of Black churchwomen that has played the most influential hand in making the Black Church what it is today.

The church stands because they stood.

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The people did not believe they were rejecting God. They believed they were adapting their worship. They called the golden calf a representation of the God who brought them out of Egypt. That is what makes idolatry so subtle. It often looks familiar.

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In Exodus 32, the people grow restless while Moses is on the mountain. God has not abandoned them, but God is not moving on their timeline. That gap between promise and fulfillment becomes unbearable.

So, they build something they can see. Something they can control.

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By the end of the story, the once-blind man sees more clearly than anyone else in the chapter. His sight grows in stages. First, he calls Jesus a man. Then a prophet. Finally, he recognizes Jesus as Lord and worships Him.

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After the man receives his sight, the religious leaders refuse to accept the miracle. Instead of celebrating what God has done, they interrogate the man repeatedly. The light has come, but they prefer their existing conclusions.

One of the quiet dangers of spiritual life is thinking we already know everything we need to know. Certainty can harden into blindness. When new light appears, we resist it because it disrupts our comfort.

I can remember one Christmas where I needed to put together a mini kitchen for my daughters. There had to have been 5,000 individual pieces all together! A quarter of the way through I realized something was terribly wrong. The parts were in the wrong places, but my pride resisted going back to the beginning. Eventually I had to dismantle the section that was misaligned and LOOK at the instructions.

God’s light often does that in our lives. It exposes what we thought was correct but was never quite aligned with truth.

Sanctification means allowing the Spirit to correct us—even when it is inconvenient. Light is not the enemy of faith. Light is the friend of truth.

Prayer:

Lord, give me humility to welcome Your light even when it challenges what I thought I knew.

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In John 9, Jesus encounters a man who has never seen before. The disciples assume they understand the situation. They immediately ask who sinned. Someone must be responsible, they reason. But Jesus reframes the moment entirely. The problem is not blame. The moment is an opportunity for God’s work to be revealed.

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Paul admits something refreshing: he has not arrived. Even after years of ministry, suffering, and faithfulness, Paul still describes himself as pressing forward.

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Paul writes that he forgets what lies behind and strains forward to what lies ahead. That does not mean Paul erased his past. It means he refused to be defined by it.

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Mark tells us that Jesus rose “very early in the morning, while it was still dark,” and went to a solitary place to pray. Before the crowds came. Before the expectations piled up. Before the day demanded His attention, Jesus sought the Father.

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