23. Multicultural or Multiracial? Gayle Fisher-Stewart
24. Drinking the Kool-Aid Morgan G. Harding
25. From the Protest Line: Why Are You There? James C. Harrington
26. Following Jesus While Black Vincent Powell Harris
27. Preaching from the Margins F. Willis Johnson
28. Why Are You Throwing Yourself on This Fire? Mike Kinman
29. I Am a White Guy Steve Lawler
30. Church and Trauma Charles Michael Livingston Jr.
31. Between the Pews Monai Lowe
32. Welcoming or What? Sandra T. Montes
33. Acknowledging White Privilege Deniray Mueller
34. Books and Their Covers Jamie Samilio
35. From Blackface to Black Panther: The Impact of Pop Culture in the Black Lives Matter Movement Shayna J. Watson
36. Adventism and White Supremacy Alisa Williams
REFLECTION QUESTIONS
PART III. Teaching for Black Lives
37. Can I Be Black and Episcopalian? Gayle Fisher-Stewart
38. Transformative Theological Education When Race Matters: The Work Our Soul Must Do Kelly Brown Douglas
39. Travel for Black Lives Gayle Fisher-Stewart
Four Days in Alabama / Staci L. Burkey
A Reflection / Laura Evans
Reflections on Our Pilgrimage to Alabama / Ginny Klein
Reflecting / MaryBeth Ingram
Alabama / Judith Rhedin
Pilgrimage / Ruth McMeekin Skjerseth
A Journey / Carolyne Starek
40. The Pain of Racism Charles D. Fowler III
41. Black History Rebecca Steele
42. The Browning of Theological Education Frank A. Thomas
REFLECTION QUESTIONS
Contributors
The Rev. Dr. Kwasi Thornell was ordained an Episcopal priest in 1972. He has always pushed the envelope of what it is to be Black and Episcopalian. We are called to remember our roots, remember our heritage, who God has created us to be, and bring all of that to the Episcopal Church. In his own words . . .
It was a beautiful day on that Saturday morning in Chicago in 1989. People had come from all over the country to St. James Episcopal Cathedral to celebrate the homegoing service for our sister Mattie Hopkins. The Rev. Ed Rodman would say that Mattie Hopkins was the “Mother of the Union.” She was there from the beginning of the Union of Black Episcopalians with her quiet and insightful leadership skills. As a member of Trinity Church, she was active in her church, the diocese, and on the national church level, always moving the church to be what it should be and a forceful advocate for the Episcopal members of a darker hue. She often could be seen sporting African clothing and wore a short Afro hairstyle before many of our sisters were ready to make this statement of beauty.
The funeral service was grand in its Episcopal liturgical style. In the procession were several bishops as well as many clergy and lay leaders from the progressive side of the church. The addition of hymns from Lift Every Voice and Sing, the Episcopal African American hymnal, gave the service that Black church feel that Mattie would have appreciated. The casket sat on a platform that was covered with a beautiful piece of Kente cloth: bright reds, yellows, and oranges that stood in stark contrast to the traditional heavy pall of gold and white brocade that covered the casket. A statement was being made, one way or another; we just were not sure what it was.
The preacher said all the right things about the witness of Mattie to church and society. A few “amens” could be heard bouncing around the stone columns of the cathedral. The service moved forward in perfect order and, as it was coming to a close, we joined in singing “Lift Every Voice and Sing.” During the singing of what many call the Black national anthem, I realized what was wrong with the symbolism of the casket sitting “on” the Kente cloth. Something had to be done. Richard Tolliver, Ed Rodman, Earl Neal, and Jesse Anderson Jr., all priests, were seated with me to the left of the altar. I said to them, “Follow me,” and, to my surprise, they all did. As we approached the casket, I said, “Lift it up,” and they did. I pulled the Kente cloth out from under the casket and, in an act that would make traditional altar guild members faint, we covered the Episcopal white and gold brocade pall with the royal African cloth that a queen of Africa deserved. It truly was an act of the Holy Spirit.
What does it mean to be Black in the Episcopal Church?
We’re still segregated in so many ways. . . . Every Sunday, I look out and, with one or two exceptions, I see all white faces. I bet most of the people in my church don’t have any black friends. They know people who are of color, but because they don’t associate with them, stereotypes and tensions can flourish.
—The Rev. Ray Howell 1
What is it to be Black and Christian; to be Black and Episcopalian; to be Black and a member of a White denomination? To be unapologetically Black and unashamedly Christian; those words greet you on the website of Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago, Illinois. Trinity is a Black church in a White denomination. It is a church that is proud of its roots in the Black religious experience. It is a church that claims its African heritage. It is a church that has clung to the values of the original Black churches in this country: a proud people, steeped in their belief in a Jesus who looks like them and knows their suffering; congregations involved in educating and uplifting their people.2
To be unapologetically Black and unashamedly Christian, that is also the journey on which we join the Rev. Dr. James Cone as he leads us through the twists and turns as he discovers himself, discovers the self that is the Black theologian. In Said I Wasn’t Gonna Tell Nobody, his memoir finished shortly before his death in April 2018, Cone challenges us, his Black people, to stop hating who we are. It is time to love the reflection of God we see in the mirror. It is time to stop chasing after Whiteness. I write, as Cone commands, for my people, those who are part of a church—the Episcopal Church—whose roots are in the birthing of slavery. For my people who are witnessing their churches, begun