Monday, July 26



I am a black man.I was planted in deep, loamy, black soil by my black father.Cradled, cultured and coaxed out like a tuber of yam by my black mother.Though I came from one womb, I am birthed by many mothers – some of skin like bark and timber, some of eyes of yellow like cassava.I have a scandalous affinity with shadows in this here regime of light.I know the suffering, the shame of being late no matter how punctual I get.I want to be held and seen and known, to be allowed the luxury of variance.I still feel the stings of a thousand lashes on my ancestral back, the cuts bleeding into my dawn, haunting my dusk.This justice, this one promised by your identity politics, it makes room for me, I thank you.Though this room is a dank cell with no bleeding windows. I cannot fly here.It holds me c...

Worshiping in a Time of Pandemic

Uncategorized It has been years since I've had the chance to worship on Sunday morning in a sanctuary. but in this time of pandemic, I can now go to church again! I didn't want to include the link to the service here, but I thought this video of the Stations of the Cross might give you an idea of what kind of experience being there would be. It was quiet and rather simple, but one of the most reverent worship services I've ever attended. Thank You, God! Please bless them, and thank You for touching my heart through them.