You’re about to die for the cause you believed in, But you can’t decide if it’s an honor or a tragedy. As you look into the faces of those who surround you, It is difficult to remember who is friend or foe. Didn’t you see this coming? You know it could’ve been avoided But the momentum was too strong It’s kind of like being caught in an undertow. You were tired anyway So, tempted by the thought of rest, you surrendered. But as the light fades and voices begin to muffle, You start to wonder if you might survive. Wouldn’t that be a story to tell? Something the cause could leverage And seal your message as one with Divine Authority. Because the truth never dies. But, then a metal like taste coming from within Confirms what you know. You are dying. And once you accept that, everything changes. You don’t perceive the way you used to. Eyes are everywhere. Ears are everywhere. Taste and touch are everywhere. And you see everything as it is. As if you are on the inside and the outside of everything, There are no distinctions between your inhalations and exhalations. And then everything stops but your consciousness. You wonder how you’re here and nowhere at once. And then you rise and expand at the same time Like a balloon floating upward as it’s being filled. Are there limits to your expansion Or the heights that you might go? Living this question is what made you who you were. It was why you said what you said. It was why you did what you did. And it got you killed. Or did it give birth to the reality of who you are— Who we all are and who we could be? And then you stop expanding Is this finally the end? Or is it the beginning? It is both. It is neither. And when your last breath is as pure as your first, In returns to in and out returns to out Then, an existential popping sound. It reverberates throughout all of Creation. Now you have a choice. Give birth to the you who will die for what you will believe in, Change your mind and hold your breath, Or live as the You who cannot die? And then you remember why you decided what you will decide. Whoever saves their life will lose it. But whoever loses their life will find true Life. This is the cup that was passed to you. This is the cup you drank from. This is when you decide that no one can take your life. You will give it freely. And so you descend. And so you contract. Time collapses. And you remember why you will choose to come here. You will not die for a lie. You will live what is eternally true No matter how many times it takes To be truly born again.
I can’t stop thinking about Chadwick Boseman. He’s been on my mind so much that I caught myself shaking my head in the gym on the edge of tears. Now if you know me, you know that this isn’t characteristic of me. So, I had to examine why I was taking this so hard. Even before he died, I would find myself googling about his health. Like many people, I saw him getting thinner and would find myself concerned about him. I too hoped that the weight loss was due to him thinning up for a movie role. It had been announced, around the time that he started coming into public noticeably thinner, that he was going to play the first and only Black Samurai, Yasuke, who served under Japanese warlord Oda Nobunaga in 16th century Japan. Once again, he was going to take on the role of one of the “First Blacks to…” just as he had with James Brown, Thurgood Marshall, and Jackie Robinson. So I hoped that his gaunt appearance was going to reveal itself to be indicative of his passion for his craft and the calling on his life to bring powerful characters into the consciousness of people who for so long had very few symbols to hold on to.
Thank you for being a King in this life—for challenging our imaginations and giving us an aspirational symbol. I know many people will think that you were “just an actor”. But for those of us who never grew up with superheroes who looked like us and saw ourselves portrayed in a negative light, you made an indelible mark and shined eternally bright. #restinwakandaforever
My Instagram post August 30, 2020
I don’t say this much out loud. But I often feel lonely. Part of this loneliness comes from the fact that I don’t have many living role models before me who can relate to my background or life’s experiences. Everyday, I try, in my small way, to live up to an ideal that I have never actually witnessed being displayed up close. And I do it knowing that I live in a world that, whether people will admit it or not, is always waiting for me to fail. And not just me. If I extrapolate from the conversations I’ve had over my lifetime, almost everyone who is veiled in Black skin in this country carries this burden either consciously or unconsciously. Though many people are in denial about it, if you’re paying attention as a Black person, you know. And others know it too. If we fail, we take so many other people down with us. Because to be Black here is to be a symbol. And as a symbol, you always represent much more than yourself. Whereas, if some other people fail, they are simply seen as an individual–often deserving of second, third, fourth, and fifth chances.
When you are a symbol, society tries to make you an exception when you achieve in any capacity simply because the underlying belief is that most of us are incapable of meeting the illusory standards of this country. That’s why I think our ascendance, however small, is watched very closely. I believe that this is because, every step that any of us climbs, undoes the structure of the painfully comfortable false narrative that was built upon the foundation of our supposed inferiority. In other words, when Black people do well, especially in arenas where we are not always lauded, it tears at the fabric of this nation’s institutional myth about the capacities of American Blackness that almost everyone has bought into–even many Black folks. What if we were always this talented; this intelligent; this powerful? What does that say about how our ancestors were treated? What does it say about those of us who succumbed to the lies told about us? Does the past become even more tragic if we consider that we all had Wakandan like potential that was virtually strangled out of us for centuries? The questions are almost too much to contemplate.
By simply being who he was and living into his moment, Chadwick embodied that potential. His nature was regal. And in his person he carried the spirits of many of our ancestors. Perhaps that is why he was called here to embody them for us in the enduring form of film. He showed us our past and our future. He changed our world. And then he left.
In my work, I have seen many people die. I have watched as the light leaves their bodies and often wondered if they illumined every place they came here to shine in. I suspect that most haven’t. And that’s why there is not a day that goes by that I don’t think about when my day will come. But I am not afraid of death. Ever since I became aware of the expectation that, as a Black Man in America, I would either die or spend some time in the criminal justice system by 18, I have contemplated my death. So no, I am not afraid of death at all. What gets to me is the idea that I will not do all that I can with this life because I will have allowed myself to be overly weighed down by the loneliness of being the first or the only. As they say, I don’t want to die with my music still in me. I want to truly live while I am here. And the truth is that I can’t say that I’ve done that yet. So perhaps that is part of why I can’t stop thinking about Chadwick Boseman.
Consider what he accomplished in the 4 years that he was diagnosed and being treated for colon cancer. Can you imagine? And consider that he did all of this while keeping his diagnosis to himself. Talk about lonely. But I don’t think he kept it to himself for himself. I think he did it for all us who know what it’s like to be the first or the only. In a consumer driven world where illness is seen as just another failure, he commanded his body and the world it inhabited to conform to his ideal. And in so doing, he tore that mythical fabric of Black inferiority that much more.
Of course, it is sad that he was not able to share his struggles with the world and receive the wellspring of compassion that he would have likely received and perhaps lived longer. But he was Black before he was The Black Panther. So I can imagine that he didn’t think he would get a second chance. So he did everything he could with the chance he got knowing that just like when one of us goes down we inadvertently take others with us, when we ascend, we take others with us as well. And that’s why I can say unequivocally that though this man had no earthly crown, he was and always will be a king. And at least for me, his being brings about a sense of conviction that before I die, I must make contact with my own regality and do everything I can to encourage it in others.
A Poem Fit for a King (In Memory of Chadwick Boseman) I’ll see you on the Other Side But I still can see you now In the ways you changed the atmosphere And by your essence you showed us how
We can’t believe that you are gone And yet you’re here now more than ever Giving form to a future and a past We salute you now and forever
Now that your form is no longer with us We see the burden that was in your eyes You held the Space just long enough To show that One who is Living never dies
Someday we all will meet you In the azure canopied ancestral plains Where everyone is a queen and king In the Place where Spirit reigns.
Lately I’ve been thinking about
All the moments that we missed
When we’re younger we think we have plenty of time
And don’t think about stuff like this
We put so much off until later
But what if later never comes?
All tomorrows repeats of yesterdays
The future setting like the sun
I’m not ready yet to miss you
When I know that you’re right here
There’s so much I wanted to give you
Before my chances disappeared
Now it hurts that we talk almost everyday
And yet we never talk at all
Or that I battle with all these tempting thoughts
Not to answer when you call
Of course I want to be here for you
But it seems this is always where we’ve been
You telling me about how hard it is
While I listen on the other end
I look back and feel like a failure
I wish I could’ve spared you from some pain
But the best I can do is be a witness
And pray for something else to change
I wrote this poem as I started to think about how many conversations I have with my mom are about how to make it from month to month. We talk everyday. Sometimes multiple times a day. But rarely are our conversations about thing that I would like us to talk about. Because of all of the stress over the past few years, there has been a strain on the relationship. I’ll be honest and say that often I am acting like I am her parent rather than the other way around. I want her to be safe and make decisions for her well-being. I know how hard she tried to be whatever and whoever she felt she needed to be to make sure we survived growing up. That took a toll on her. And I know that she had huge dreams–most of which never got fulfilled. This is a wound in her heart.
She always told me that she wanted to leave my brothers and I with a legacy. What she meant was money. That hasn’t happened and it saddens her. She apologizes for not being in a better financial situation and asks me to believe in her that she can still pull it off. I want to believe, but… And now that I am witnessing her forgetting so much and yet still holding out hope for a miracle or for her “ship to come in” as she says, I feel a twinge of regret. I ask myself, “If I knew we were going to end up here anyway, what would I have done differently?”
At first, I told myself I would’ve stayed in the military so that I would have my retirement right now and I could be working another job to provide for her. But then I look at my wife and kids and know that I had to take the course I did. I then think that I should’ve chosen a more lucrative profession than being a pastor. But then, I was having a conversation with a guest at the church who is experiencing homelessness at the church and watching members of the congregation–to include children serving food and sitting with our homeless neighbors and I thought, “I am glad to be in this moment.” And then I thought, well maybe I was called to be a pastor for a season, but now that my mom needs me, I need to move on and do something else because my responsibilities demand it. And then I prayed and I felt the spirit moving me to be honest about how hard this is and to tell my friends. And so I did. And they stepped in and blessed my family and gave me room to breathe so I could figure out how to make the next best move for my mom. They showed me the truth of the teaching that says, “[God’s] strength is made perfect in our weakness.”
And so then in that space, I asked God what I could do differently for my mom. And in my soul’s language I heard, “Don’t miss her while she is still here. Because that’s what you’ve been doing. If you want to have different conversations with her, change the subject. Talk about the things that you wish you could talk to her about. If she misses it and repeats something else she just said, tell her you love her. Tell her your dreams and maybe she’ll get joy in knowing that she is a part of them. Have an unreasonable belief in miracles because you never know what might happen. And don’t forget, you are not in this alone.”
So if you are reading this, what my soul spoke into my life, I speak into yours. There are so many things in life that can distract us from the moments we are in–something to tempt us to forget that there is always the possibility of great beauty around the corner. In my weakness, I found strength in hitting my limits and reaching out. My hope is that in sharing what I am learning, it is blessing you all too.
They say a friend in need is a friend indeed
Or is it a friend in deed
Meaning a friend is one who acts as one
When another friend’s in need
Or maybe it’s the former one
We’re friends when we’re in want
But otherwise we give no others thought
Just to make it blunt
But perhaps it is more gray than that
Which makes it difficult to name
Because where self-sufficiency is idolized
To be in need is to be shamed
It’s really hard to put my finger on
As I examine my condition
When I’m aware enough to know I should ask for help
But won’t fully give myself permission
On one side, it’s because I don’t want help
I have learned so much from all my failing
But on the other side, I know that there’s sufficient grace
For those of us prone to self-assailing
Furthermore when I’m on the giving end
I always do what I can do
But when I’m on the receiving end
I do my best to just push through
But presently I am torn
This uphill battle seems unending
I could keep on trying to handle this
But in reality I’m pretending
I’ve always been good at holding burdens
But now my burdens are holding me
As I consider that I’m just a request away
From a space that feels more free
Well, if anything, there’s a lesson
These constraints I feel won’t last
And it matters little if I hear “yes” or “no”
Things will get better because I asked
I wrote this poem after wrestling with my thoughts about whether or not I should share a fundraiser I created for my mother to help ease some of the financial impact of her pending move. This season has been really tender for me for a lot of reasons. Besides watching my mother succumb to the effects of a lifetime of stress and anxiety, trying to keep this pressure to myself has taken its toll on me and my family, both emotionally and financially. But it’s not all bad. This also has been a very creative season for me as I’ve tried to make sense of my own anxieties in light of my faith that when we are open, there is a solution to every concern. I’ve written poems that I never would’ve been able to write were I not translating, what at times felt like, overwhelming emotion. I completed a rap that I’m really proud of despite the fact that it has not yet brought in any of the money I’d naively thought it would. And in my social justice and community building work, knowing that I am personally impacted by so much of the challenges that we’re trying to ameliorate, has shaped my preaching and public speaking in a way that perhaps it would not if my family was more shielded. And finally, by putting this out here, I feel that it is on the path of healing the ill effects of the negative type of pride. And so here we are.
Waking up to You is the why of my life
You are the Dream that stops my dreaming
You tell the Story of what many fear to know
And give every Word its truest meaning
You call to me to my deepest Self
By the Name only You can give
Whispering in so loud a voice
That gives the dead the choice to Live
Many of us say we know You
But Love says that that’s not true
Whenever we say You dwell in us
But can’t see our neighbor inside of You
Or when we make the least important things
The sandy ground of our foundations
Forsaking the Rock upon which You’ve built for us
The most enduring of habitations
We’re distracted by the attraction
Of getting more by giving less
We measure others by the scale of our selfishness
Then give ourselves credit when we confess
But despite all of this You love us
And that never shall decrease
Even when we deny Your Presence
By not seeing you in our least
And that’s the refining fire
You love us everywhere we go
Even when we use Your Name to tell our lies
And act like You don’t know
You are definitely some kind of amazing
I hope my soul can reach your standard
I give up my story that keeps me up at night
To awaken to Yours that’s so much grander.
In a Roofless Church blog post, I wrote about how I sometimes hold myself back from shining my light. The excuse that I was using was that by holding myself back in some areas, I was somehow protecting the people who would otherwise try to hold me back. I’d hold myself back before they could try to. Yeah. That sounds pretty silly writing. But I made it make sense. Fortunately, I didn’t hold myself back completely. I made sure to write whether it was blogs, poems, articles, letters, etc. Doing this was like leaving myself clues back to me. And writing that post admitting to myself what I was doing was just the push I needed to stop holding myself back in one area that I’ve held back in for decades–my music.
The image above is the cover for my new single. Over a year after I
wrote the song, I finally got to a place where I could put it out there
and open the door to some new possibilities of creative expression. In
so doing, I am admitting to myself that I have no excuse for holding
back. Spiritually, speaking, I never had an excuse anyway as I express
in some of my lyrics:
They can’t kill me Holla if you feel me Who I am was never born So they’re never getting near me
Many of us are trapped in the habits of old patterns and behaviors
that we want more than anything to break free from so that we can be the
people we know we are capable of being–better parents, partners, etc.
There are unfulfilled dreams that hang over us like shadows and darken
our self-perception limiting how we show up in situations. This song is
an anthem for those of us who refuse to leave this world without shining
that light that we are. We will shine! To be the new us, we will kill
the old us. The old us lives fearing the illusion of death. The new us
lives life as fully as we possibly can.
Primarily, I wrote this song and am putting it out into the world for
myself–to eradicate any excuse I might make to not shine the light that
Creator put in me. Secondly, I wrote it for my wife and kids because if
there is anything that they want to do, I want them to at least try.
Even if they fail, they can hold their head up knowing that they put
themselves out there. And I can’t teach them that if I don’t live that.
Thirdly, I did it for everybody who needs a reminder that as long as
they have breath in their lungs, it is never too late to be who you
might’ve been.
To be the new me I had to kill the old me To wake up from this lie bruh, This is what they told me
Wake up from the dream Death ain’t nothing but a bee sting Hallelujah’s what we sing From the moment we see that real thing
In the life of each and every one of us, There are many worlds unseen. Perhaps motivations no one knows about Or the push to fulfill dreams
Some have nightmares no one speaks of, That if we knew, we’d have compassion When they show up in ways we can’t understand Or do things that are out of fashion
Some of us came to this place Knowing exactly what to do While others love the mystery Of trying to fathom what is true
Some are neither here nor there And can’t seem to call this home Even when in a crowded room They can’t help but feel alone
But then there’s those who are here and there In them all these worlds are One Being led they also lead Ever facing toward the Sun
They have found the pricey pearl Through the gift of truly giving Leaving all worlds better places Through the Presence of their Living
I wrote this poem in honor of a church member, Bob Murtha, who embodied a spirit of quiet grace combined with strong presence. My life has taken to a lot of places I didn’t ever expect. But the places I appreciate more than anything are the hearts of people who I never could’ve conceived knowing. I am enriched by it and grateful that God’s idea of the human family is bigger than what I can imagine.
