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A friend of mine is spending much of the summer rethinking and discerning what is most important and what is possible to make the most of the next season of life. Looking up people who can talk about our lives and who will have our best interest at heart can help us to catch a vision of what our lives can be. So often we feel closed in by our past decisions, kind of like a train on a track or a wagon in the trail ruts. Composer Ken Medema shines a helpful light on this struggle in the lyrics of his song, "A Place for Dreaming," and the title of this post is the first of several excerpts from this song that I will quote.
Is there a place for dreaming in the corner of your mind?
Richard Rohr comments in Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life, about the danger that as people get older they will fall into “cognitive rigidity and love of their own status and privilege.” It means we find it harder to consider a change that can make all the difference for us and for others. Too much is at stake and too many constraints close our minds and block our vision.
Is there a place for dreaming...
In a world where dreams are broken, and dreamers hard to find?
I remember a few years ago telling another friend about a situation on my life that I thought would probably never change in the direction I had hoped, even though I had spent almost 15 years trying to influence that change. Then last year a door opened. An opportunity arose for me to share a vision. I’m still shocked and challenged to imagine what it might mean for me and for the communities I am in.
In the almost six years since Everly died, I have found myself circling back to these same questions over and over. Now that I will not have the life that I had expected for so long, what should my life count for in the remaining years? Today Shaw University recognized me for 25 years of service. I am halfway through the 26th year already now at age 61. I have worked under eight Presidents and at least nine Vice-Presidents for Academic Affairs. In my six years of undergraduate teaching, I had two department chairs. In my 19-1/2 years in the Divinity School I have worked with four Deans.
I’ve seen the good and the not-so-good. I’ve fought for pay raises and felt across-the-board pay cuts. I’ve been “let go” a couple of times, only to be asked to come back a few weeks later. I helped rewrite a faculty handbook to provide support and protection to faculty employees, only to watch a series of new administrators remove all those protections and back away from habits of commitment to long-term, but all untenured, faculty. I revised the constitution of the Faculty Senate and helped to bring it back into existence, seeing it initially flourish and grow in strength. Then I watched leaders become frantic in their confrontations until they forced the kinds of conflict that can only end with faculty dismissals, draining away the organization's power and the morale of the community. I've dealt with dominating administrators as well as empowering leaders. I've seen Presidents and Vice-Presidents battle to keep faculty and employees on the payroll, and others seemingly callous to laying off people with one day's notice. These are bits and pieces of working at this plantation.
There are different goods and not-so-goods of working at the Duke plantation down the road. I've usually preferred the Shaw plantation to the Duke plantation in my evaluation. I've worked through personal achievement and personal tragedy, and I've found this community to be one that would hold me up when I felt I would fall, and encourage me when I was able to soar.
My good friend Jim Kirkley had answered an ad for an ethics professor at Shaw University during the summer after I had finished my dissertation. He was hired to help design and lead a new and innovative ethics program, and in order to fulfill the university president's ambitious curriculum initiative, he recognized that Shaw would need more faculty trained in ethics. By God's grace, Jim saw me as a promising candidate, and that fall he urged me to apply immediately.
I had made a prior decision that meant Kirkley's invitation was crucial for my employment future. Rooted in my undergraduate years, I had accepted the view that men had undue privilege in society. I had determined that I did not want to be the kind of man or husband who assumed my life and career were inherently more important than any woman's, and particularly that they did not take precedent over the life and career of whomever might become my wife.
So when I finished my PhD during a time when Everly's career was on a rapid rise, we decided I should try to stay put in central North Carolina so that she could continue her career path. I wrote to every university with a religion department within driving distance of Durham and explained my situation, offering my availability. I taught at four schools during that first year. Kirkley's influence helped determine that Shaw would be one of those four. I had not particularly pursued Shaw. I was white, living a white life, and barely knew that Shaw existed; nor did I understand much about why it should exist.
The Department Chair at Shaw interviewed me as classes were beginning in January, and I started teaching as an adjunct immediately. There are far many more stories to tell, but one has to do with my first day in class. An adult student beginning his undergraduate education asked me a question concerning the syllabus. "Why do our readings begin with Socrates and focus on European philosophers of ethics?" I explained that I had been given a set of books and a syllabus to teach from.
He was starting what became a slow and difficult process of awakening me to the breadth and depth of white supremacist culture in education and in my socialization. He woke me up enough that day that I told him I thought he had a good point. I promised to do my research and, as I was able, I would bring to class additional readings from African and African American sources that would be relevant to our subject matter. From that point I started another phase of my education, something that public schools, Baylor, Golden Gate Baptist, and Duke had not taught me.
I didn't become black. I'm not the great white hero, the great white hope, or the bearer of the white man's burden. But my people are the ones whom God has sent my way, regardless of families of origin or cultures of separation. It's a theological argument that Willie Jennings has helped so many of us see: all of us Gentiles, whether European or African, Anglo-Saxon or Zulu, have been invited in Jesus Christ to love and be loved by a God who first of all was not ours. We are the grafted in, yet fully received as friends and as joint-heirs.
This is a truth that teaching at Shaw has helped me to see. Teaching theology, filtered through my heritage and my hermeneutical strivings to make sense of it in black church settings, is something I learned to do by looking into the eyes and faces of my students, listening to their responses, and contemplating what we are together learning. That is why I have stayed at Shaw. And staying at Shaw has made me to be who I am. I can't predict how much longer I will be teaching at Shaw, as my retirement age approaches. Like my friend mentioned at the beginning of this post, I am wondering what the next part of my life should be about. Maybe a change is coming, or maybe I will remain here in assurance that the path I have been on is the one that will continue to lead me home. But I can be sure that I will never be away from Shaw wherever I go, for this community has made all the difference in who I am, and they are in me.
There are different goods and not-so-goods of working at the Duke plantation down the road. I've usually preferred the Shaw plantation to the Duke plantation in my evaluation. I've worked through personal achievement and personal tragedy, and I've found this community to be one that would hold me up when I felt I would fall, and encourage me when I was able to soar.
Do you dream of another country where there is no push and shove?One of the questions I have been asked often during my time at Shaw, by students, by colleagues from other schools, and by friends and associates wherever I go (including last year in Hong Kong), is this one: "Why have you stayed at Shaw for so long?" Sometimes it comes as, "Why did you decide to teach at Shaw?" To the latter formulation, I think that many readers can agree that we don't necessarily "decide" where we will get a job. This job walked up to me when I was trying to find work.
Where the rich don't rule, and the poor are fed, and the only law is love?
Where a neighbor is a neighbor, and there is trust and loyalty?
My good friend Jim Kirkley had answered an ad for an ethics professor at Shaw University during the summer after I had finished my dissertation. He was hired to help design and lead a new and innovative ethics program, and in order to fulfill the university president's ambitious curriculum initiative, he recognized that Shaw would need more faculty trained in ethics. By God's grace, Jim saw me as a promising candidate, and that fall he urged me to apply immediately.
I had made a prior decision that meant Kirkley's invitation was crucial for my employment future. Rooted in my undergraduate years, I had accepted the view that men had undue privilege in society. I had determined that I did not want to be the kind of man or husband who assumed my life and career were inherently more important than any woman's, and particularly that they did not take precedent over the life and career of whomever might become my wife.
So when I finished my PhD during a time when Everly's career was on a rapid rise, we decided I should try to stay put in central North Carolina so that she could continue her career path. I wrote to every university with a religion department within driving distance of Durham and explained my situation, offering my availability. I taught at four schools during that first year. Kirkley's influence helped determine that Shaw would be one of those four. I had not particularly pursued Shaw. I was white, living a white life, and barely knew that Shaw existed; nor did I understand much about why it should exist.
The Department Chair at Shaw interviewed me as classes were beginning in January, and I started teaching as an adjunct immediately. There are far many more stories to tell, but one has to do with my first day in class. An adult student beginning his undergraduate education asked me a question concerning the syllabus. "Why do our readings begin with Socrates and focus on European philosophers of ethics?" I explained that I had been given a set of books and a syllabus to teach from.
He was starting what became a slow and difficult process of awakening me to the breadth and depth of white supremacist culture in education and in my socialization. He woke me up enough that day that I told him I thought he had a good point. I promised to do my research and, as I was able, I would bring to class additional readings from African and African American sources that would be relevant to our subject matter. From that point I started another phase of my education, something that public schools, Baylor, Golden Gate Baptist, and Duke had not taught me.
Do you dream and weep sometimes about the way that things should be?I'm not going to drag this long story out. The main point I want to make is that coming to Shaw made me a better person. By responding to the student in my class that day, I was becoming a better scholar. By learning what I was learning in black studies sources and among black students and colleagues and as a member of a black church, I was being changed. Yes, I went through periods of thinking that I had become quite "woke" only to discover all over again just how parochial my thinking, embedded in whiteness, remained. Ultimately, I came to realize that it would only be when I could know and feel that my brothers and sisters at church and at work and in the classroom were truly my people, not "those" people, but my people, that I would begin to approach the change that must come for me and for the world.
I didn't become black. I'm not the great white hero, the great white hope, or the bearer of the white man's burden. But my people are the ones whom God has sent my way, regardless of families of origin or cultures of separation. It's a theological argument that Willie Jennings has helped so many of us see: all of us Gentiles, whether European or African, Anglo-Saxon or Zulu, have been invited in Jesus Christ to love and be loved by a God who first of all was not ours. We are the grafted in, yet fully received as friends and as joint-heirs.
When I was a child, I used to daydream a lot,The contextual possibility of learning that sort of theological anthropology and soteriology of invitation into the Jewish specificity of the God of Jesus Christ is why I have stayed at Shaw. The socialization necessary to try to become that kind of grafted-in person is why I have needed to be at Shaw. It would be nearly impossible to have done so in very many places. And for that reason, I hold the deep conviction of the Alma Mater, "Long may thy works be proud, undimmed thy fame." I've learned to sing the words of James Weldon Johnson, standing between people of darker skin than mine, understanding the truth about us and our ancestors, who in different ways "have come over a way that with tears has been watered....treading a path through the blood of the slaughtered." It is my colleagues' and my students' history, and it is also my history, although our forebears lived through it in different roles, with different power, and perceiving it from very different worlds.
But they told me that it would not last.
I wouldn't have time for such a waste of my mind
When my life started moving fast.
Now that I'm grown, I find that life with no dreams
Is a hell that I simply can't bear.
If it's all right I'd like to open my mind
And see if my dreams are still there.
This is a truth that teaching at Shaw has helped me to see. Teaching theology, filtered through my heritage and my hermeneutical strivings to make sense of it in black church settings, is something I learned to do by looking into the eyes and faces of my students, listening to their responses, and contemplating what we are together learning. That is why I have stayed at Shaw. And staying at Shaw has made me to be who I am. I can't predict how much longer I will be teaching at Shaw, as my retirement age approaches. Like my friend mentioned at the beginning of this post, I am wondering what the next part of my life should be about. Maybe a change is coming, or maybe I will remain here in assurance that the path I have been on is the one that will continue to lead me home. But I can be sure that I will never be away from Shaw wherever I go, for this community has made all the difference in who I am, and they are in me.
Come dreaming with me, dreaming with me, admission is free.
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