Becoming a Runaway Slave…from a Black Church Plantation
First giving honor to God, who is the head of my life.
I bring you greetings from a great plantation in the midwest.
I escaped from that plantation.
God brought me out—like God did with the children of Israel.
I had a kind master, good folks who I loved and were good to me.
God was good to me there.
God was my Father and my Mother.
I am glad to be here to speak to you this morning!
I came to declare, I ain’t a slave anymore!
The master is often the one who controls the land and all that occurs thereon. He is the picker and promoter of the slaves. He is the chief exegete and primary preacher. He is a teacher of New Testament, Christology, and church polity. His leadership is not to be questioned but adhered to. He will most likely resist challenges to his power. He is a savvy business man. He knows how to wield a Bible and whipping tool.
The overseers of the plantation execute the masters’ commands. They have a great deal of responsibility ensuring that what the master wants gets accomplished. If the slaves do not do their jobs to satisfaction, then the overseers have to work that much harder. They may sometimes find new slaves. They know how to apply pressure and principles that keep the slaves in line and the plantocracy intact.
The slaves, their job is to do a majority of the work and to increase the number of slaves. The only value they possess in the plantocracy is based on what they produce to keep the system functioning.
More people. More labor. More crops.
As long as there is light in the sky—work!
And when there isn’t—werk!
The master's wife is oftentimes the epitome of elitism. Her main job is to care for the people—But not just anyone. Those she invites to tea parties and those who can tolerate the claustrophobia of her small social circles. She is the nurturing, nuanced and nice-nasty nigga. She is the generous giver, gatekeeper, girlfriend to those who are in her class.
The master is in the pulpit preaching—
Overseers at the communion table—
The master's wife is on the front pew—
Slaves are in the pews crying out to Jesus (well, if they find someone to cover their duties—not all can worship, some gotta work).
We have more millennials running away from the plantocracy—they want their voices to be heard, gifts to be acknowledged, and the traditions to be reconsidered. When the pulpit becomes a whipping post for their culture and desire for relevancy, then they runaway. When the postmodern spirituals that stir their souls can only be sung in secret, they runaway. They have no need for the Black church of their ancestors--they will find life, liberty and the pursuit of love elsewhere.
Not every Black church works this way. Some have become the liberated spaces that our ancestors sought out where they cried, prayed, sang and danced in the dark--gaining glimpses of the light.
Many have slightly evolved. Most have just become more acceptable and amiable places where slaves have been elevated to sharecroppers.
Run away. Run away.
Or.
Have the hard conversations—some masters may change.
But if you cannot live in these places—Walk slowly towards the edge of the land until you find an opportune time to run. Plan an exit strategy. The hope is that you will live. Get therapy and pursue practices that will help you heal. I do not claim to share Harriet’s vocation, but I do hope this space may be the underground road that leads you to greater freedom.
This is my story. Not for someone else to dispute or distract from. Systems are flawed and people get used and abused in the process. But chains do break and we can make it over! I am not looking for a perfect place to work and worship, but I am looking for places that desire more than faux-liberation with a form of godliness but deny the power thereof.* I am sure there will be challenges in this life, but at least I have new freedoms. I will not go back to where I was.
The research that I am doing is causing me to think differently about my previous situation. It is uncovering the experiences that I swept under the doormat at the front of my former church. As a member of the pastoral staff, I upheld the church’s vision of holy hospitality by ensuring that all who walked through the door had the best welcome experience. It has become important for me to name the realities that many church-going Black folks experience.
I am beginning to see the problem was not with my particular church, not with certain people, but with the system—that of plantocracy. The governing system of U.S. slave plantations where slave owners ruled. A system that many Black churches have not broken free from. As a lover and descendent who was raised by the Black Church, I am committed to her freedom and flourishing. I do believe there are some life-giving and loving spaces out there, but there is also a plantation problem. I will not stay away forever. I will find a space where times have changed and liberation is lived.
*a reference to the Bible, 2 Timothy 3:5
