There Might Still Be Hope for That Little Seminary Down the Road

Today at the Shaw University Ministers' Conference, we heard from a young preacher who was new to our gathering.  Rev. Chalice (pronounced shah-LEASE) Overy, youth minister at Baptist Grove Church in Raleigh brought a message.  She is a graduate of UNC-Chapel Hill with a bachelor's degree in Public Policy and African American Studies.  From UNC she went to Duke Divinity School, that little seminary down the road from us here at Shaw University Divinity School.  The message she delivered with great power made me (tongue in cheek) say that there might be hope for that school.  As many of you know, my fellow Mt. Level members and close friends teach at Duke Divinity School, and I also earned a Duke degree.  I would say they are doing fine.  But still, hearing Rev. Overy gave me great encouragement for the type of student who has studied and learned in those halls of divinity.

She selected the text, Acts 8:26-39, which is the story of Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch.  She paired it with a few verses from 2 Corinthians 5 about the new creation and the ministry of reconciliation.  As she began to tell the story from Acts, she made note of the barriers to admission to Jerusalem worship that the eunuch must have encountered.  There were physical walls, steps, doors, and curtains constructed in the Temple of Jerusalem, all designed to keep certain people far away from what was considered the holy place of God.  No doubt, the eunuch had been held at bay and unable to participate in many aspects of divine worship while in Jerusalem.

When Philip asked him whether he understood the Isaiah scroll he was reading, it is not surprising that he said he did not.  Who among the religiously accepted would have been willing to teach such an outsider and outcast?  Overy said that it was good that they were on a wilderness road for this conversation, because Philip himself might have been worried about associating with this man if other religious folks were looking.  Not only was he an outsider from Ethiopia, but his physicality as a eunuch might have raised many questions for those who would watch the two men converse.  The sexual undertones are not hidden, even if unspoken.

Overy brought the 2 Corinthians text as a contrast to the likely experience of the eunuch in Jerusalem.  Then she asked why our churches have turned away from the ministry of reconciliation and taken up the regime of death by setting up barriers to keep people out of our congregations.  She described the ways that church people try to be the respectable people and keep out anyone who differs or questions or challenges or diverges.  She implied that the entire regime of death that the law brings had become the playground of domination systems (my term) in Jerusalem and now in our churches, so that some of us become the gatekeepers and protectors of God from the rabble and the outsiders.

Overy shook us all up with a message about the gospel that lets the Ethiopian's rhetorical question need no answer--what's to keep me from being baptized?  No legalism, no wall, no steps, no evil-eye, no harumph, no gate, no curtain--no that was torn from top to bottom.  It was a powerful sermon calling on churches to be welcoming communities and to get out into the streets to let people know that our God receives them in all their variety and diversity.

Thank you Rev. Chalice Overy, for your care in reading the text and listening to the Spirit.  Thank you to her teachers for contributing to a powerful ministerial formation.  And thank you God for the immeasurable gift of the Good News.

From the Jubilee File--Hon. Rt. Rev. Dr. Willie James Jennings

I have a file buried several layers down in my Documents file on the laptop.  I have visited it often in the past two years to save or retrieve documents relating to community organizing work on the economy.  I named it when I was working on a theological reflection on the economic crisis with a group of colleagues.  Since so much of the biblical discussion of usury kept taking us back to the Jubilee practices of the Israelite society.  So I called the file "Jubilee."  A big part of my life and creative work for the past two years gets documented in the Jubilee file.

It's been a Jubilee year, and in the past few days I have been reminded to count my Jubilee blessings.  Willie James Jennings, my younger brother, turned 50 last Friday.  I was in Texas, fittingly grading papers, on the birthday of my brother in the professoriate.  I lift an analytical reading report in your honor, my brother, to toast your Jubilee Day.

Willie has worked as hard as anyone has to be my friend.  I take it that some of my professorial instincts and habits--absorption in private study, narrowly focused thinking, lack of awareness of the passing of time, occasional absent-mindedness (to put it lightly), aversion to being told what to do and when, being enamored by my own words--make it a bit harder to be my friend.  I hope I have other qualities that compensate.  But Willie thought it worth his time to keep a friendship going.

Although we met as students, it was after marching for graduation in 1994 that we stoked the fires of friendship.  Willie and I shared Saturday morning coffee for many weeks while our daughters (my youngest and his oldest) hopped and skipped and leaped with joy in the little kiddie's dance class.  We talked through some hard times and some good times.  He put a black man's mirror up for me to look at my white man's life in a racialized world.  I knew that something bigger than I could handle was happening to me.  I had no idea that he was finding in me some hope for the church's deliverance from its demons of malformed desire and imagination. 

I did not know this because as a scholar-friend, Willie kept his cards close to his chest.  I understand this a little better now that I've seen him in action recently on a panel to discuss his book, The Christian Imagination.  Some people in the gathering raised questions which begged for a polemical response.  They either did not understand his arguments from the book, or they just wanted to see if they could get a rise out of him. 

But Willie did not take the bait in his Jubilee year.  He generously referred to the antagonistic comments as "matters of deep importance," or something to that effect.  I was ready to pounce, but Willie gave his winning smile.   It may be that he was simply being political, having learned such skills as a faculty dean for so many years.  But I think it was also a commitment to listen and remain in a friendly conversation with people who are sure that he has gone off on a fool's errand.

This Jubilee year I was blessed to read The Christian Imagination with a class of Shaw students taking Systematic Theology.  As with J. Kameron Carter's Race, in reading Willie's book with my students I continuously found ways that it could challenge my previous theology lectures and supplement the textbooks with which I have become so familiar.  The Christian Imagination opened doors for me and for my students that made theology more alive. 

So often when we take theology to be the gleaned gems of a long [tired] tradition, we find it hard to get a lever on how Christian faith, its leaders, its institutions, and its social productions could become so corrupted and contrary to the ways of the one from whom they take their name.  Books like Willie's give us hope that theology does not have to be merely the crusty oozings from the cracked plaster walls lining the edifice of Euro-American World Domination.  Can there be life within those walls of ageless stone?  Could the academy have a heart of beating flesh?  Or are we destined to have hearts of stone?

So it is that in this Jubilee year, Willie opened the floodgates which had held back a deep lake of theological reflection, fed by mountain streams and woodland springs, flowing through the dark places of middle passage, bottom lands of enforced toil, and the hopeful self-direction of a Second Great Migration.  Along the way, a few droplets from the deeps had come my way, but the halls of Duke and Shaw, only thirty miles apart, are worlds away from one another.  If there were open conversations in Durham, I was out of that loop. 

Moreover, the fast scholarly pace of read, reduce, destroy that makes up hyperacademia is not on the menu at Shaw.  I don't mean to be "hatin' on" Duke, but they really are caught up in the university-military-industrial complex, on a high-speed train toward producing the next world, and the next, and the one after that.  Surely, Willie wisely let only a few droplets out so that when the flood arrived, it would be a season of reckoning.  Folks on the train would have to stop and get off if they were going to have a word to say about it.  He gave us far more in this Jubilee year than we could chew quickly, unless we want to choke on it.

So the back and forth clicking to the Jubilee folder was more than I realized.  In his year of Jubilee, my friend ripped open a place in my heart through which the Holy Spirit may shine to make me a better man than I was, burn away the malformations of desire, and kindle an imagination of another way of being Christian, of being a community that longs to know one another as God's bountiful creation and election.

Happy Jubilee, Willie.  Love that house full of women with all that you have in you.  And save a minute for me so we can plot the revolution.

servant church, Austin: Another Coffee-Friendly Congregation

On Sunday, March 13, I attended servant church in Austin.  Everly and I were staying in Austin at Ruth and John's house while they went on vacation.  I was glad for a weekend in Austin so I could go to another church and learn some more about Austin's eccesial communities.

I chose servant church because a friend of mine is the pastor.  Eric Vogt is a fellow traveler of mine.  We first met when I was passing through Jackson, MS, one summer Sunday, and he was the guest preacher at Voice of Calvary Church.  Eric had been in a summer internship with the CCD ministries in Jackson, working with John Perkins and others who had forged a new model of faithful church life among the poor of Mississippi.  It turned out Eric was a student at Duke Divinity School in Durham, where I also lived at the time.  Before going to Duke, he had participated in another creative experiment in church life in Austin, TX.  A small start-up congregation had at that time been meeting in the building of First Baptist Church, where another friend of mine is pastor, Roger Paynter.

As our life stories had already intersected in many ways, eventually Eric enrolled in a class I was teaching at Duke Divinity, called "Church and State:  Modernity, Liberalism and the Nature of Political Engagement."  My friend Willie Jennings thought up the title to make it grab the attention of Duke Divinity students.  But I digress.

Church growth technocrats would be happy about at least one feature of servant church:  it is not hard to find.  A few blocks into residential neighborhoods on a street that has an exit from the interstate, I found my way straight to the location.  Signs outside assured me that I was at the right location, a Methodist church site where two congregations are meeting.  Without difficulty, I parked and made my way to the location.  I stumbled into a prayer meeting already in progress, but was greeted warmly and located the coffee without difficulty.  Yes, it was another coffee-drinking-allowed-and-encouraged congregation.

Wearing my standard uniform (guayabera and jeans), I was a little overdressed for this crowd.  Besides a couple of women in what my gramma would have called "everday dresses," jeans and t-shirts were the rule.  Oh, yeah--one guy had khaki pants on.  At 53 I would have to say that I was the senior adult of that Sunday's gathering.  As my daughter Naomi loves to remind me, I was probably at the distant end of the "cool" continuum as well.  Not being clued in to much of the Austin culture, I learned during conversations that the insider's way to refer to the big music festival is the shorthand "South By."  I was proud to know that later in the week when a NC public radio broadcaster, in a halting voice, called it "Ess Ex Ess Double-you" (SXSW--South By SouthWest).  Again, I digress.

I was blessed to sit next to a young woman who grew up in Austin and had recently married in servant church, with Eric officiating at the ceremony.  She was warm and sincere, and worshiping alongside her and her husband made me right at home.  I could tell I was in a university town by the sound of the congregational singing.  My experience in Waco, Austin, Durham, and other university towns is that there are an abundance of people who have vocal training, and with the Austin music industry that gets magnified.  Lots of folks were willing to cut loose and experiment with harmonies, exactly how I like to sing.  The guest worship musicians for the day were two young women.  The lead played acoustic guitar and the other played soft percussion.  There was a kind of Emily Saliers feel to the singing.

The music impressed me, as it had at Ecclesia Church in Houston.  Many familiar hymns formed the core of the singing, along with some contemporary worship songs (but not the mindless repetition of emotive states).  The lyrics were posted to help the uninitiated.  The rest of the liturgy may have relied a bit too much on a single projection screen, and sometimes there were too many words on the screen at once, meaning the font may have at times been too small.  That sort of minor issue goes with the territory of being a very new congregation, still charting its ways. 

Eric's sermon addressed the lectionary text from the Gospel of Matthew, the narrative of Jesus' temptation.  The central theme of the sermon was that Jesus did not choose the easy way, but was willing to suffer for doing right.  It was a respectable interpretation and reflection, so his Duke teachers should be satisfied.  The call for a response to the Word included coming to the Lord's Table, bringing prayer needs to the altar, writing letters to leaders about the state or national budget as a moral document, using art supplies to explore one's faith response, or looking for ways to become more part of the life of servant church.  Tables with appropriate materials were strategically located around the room, with paper and "talking points" for letter writing, a place to write out and place prayer requests or to light a candle in prayer, announcement boards and sign-up sheets, and art supplies.

This congregation is definitely on the youthful side, as congregations go.  Young adults, married and unmarried, with and without children, and a children's area for smooth movement in and out of the formal worship made this a comfortable setting for those who find certain patterns of traditional worship unnecessary or out-of-date.  Yet it was not a rush to contemporaneity for its own sake.  The traditional liturgy remained the backbone of the service.  Biblical and theological texts shaped the sermon and reflective conversations.  Ancient symbols of the faith remained prominent.

I was proud to see what this congregation had done and what my friend Eric was helping to lead.  If you are in Austin on Sunday, don't be timid about "hanging out" at servant church.

Why 10% in 10% Is Enough?

My friend and colleague Dan Rhodes posted an article on the "10% Is Enough" campaign over at the "Call and Response" blog of the Faith and Leadership program at Duke Divinity School. In a few paragraphs, he offered an brief overview of the campaign and some of the reasoning behind it. One comment chastised him for not providing an adequate analysis of the economics of consumer credit, its risks, and its basic operational principles. Dan gave a good response, acknowledging that in the short piece he could not cover everything. He also added some additional historical economic factors which are necessary to keep the discussion from pretending to be merely a technical discussion of "laws of economics." I am including here some comments I added to his post.

For centuries, banks were very profitable businesses operating under usury caps. Why are banks in our day so much more inept? Not all banks in the world charge high interest rates for credit. Why are US banks so much more inept at doing business?

We know that "risk" is calculated using benchmarks and tables and actuarial information based on certain assumptions. Of course, the assumptions may include demographic data and statistical probabilities that many can agree upon.

These assumption also include an assumed "cost of doing business" that includes the irrational exuberance of contemporary stockholders wanting short-term profits, the arrogance of CEOs with 8 figure packages, and big bonuses for executives known as "talent" who helped to bring about the economic crash. Consequently, none of the big banks is willing to name a rate of interest they believe to be too high. When asked by Congress if 36 % was too high, not one bank president would answer.

Wells Fargo/Wachovia recently introduced a new "product" for its customers. They will advance money at the end of the month to help a customer get through. Down the street from the bank, the little storefront calls this a "payday loan." Wells Fargo/Wachovia offers this "service" for an annual interest rate of 120%.

So if the banks want to be forthcoming about their cost of doing business, and if they will consider outside analysis of where they are spending frivolously, then we will be in a position to discuss what rate it would take to keep credit fair for customers, profitable for banks, and safe for everyone.

Repentance and Reconciliation

I read an article this week about a resolution submitted to the Southern Baptist Convention on racial reconciliation. It was billed as a follow-up to the apology for complicity in slavery that the SBC issued in the mid-1990s. The gist was to acknowledge and celebrate the accomplishment represented by the election of Barack Obama as President. Although the resolution goes on to ask the President to support restrictions on abortion, etc., many have speculated that the convention may refuse to consider the resolution because of the political alignments of many convention leaders. That sounds to me like more of the same-old same-old.

Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in deed and action (1 John 3:18).

I appreciate the significance of resolutions, especially those which take on critical issues such as this one. On the other hand, I also know (it's a kind of professorial occupational hazard) that making these kinds of statements also has severe limits. Efforts at racial reconciliation will still have far to go, even if such a statement gets approved by a convention. The reorganizing of ecclesial space, habits, practices, and politics is much harder than voting on a resolution.

This has been made real to me this week through a letter I received in my mailbox from the Dean of Duke Divinity School. The letter described the effects of the economic downturn on the work of the Divinity School. A great drop in the value of the endowment will mean a drop in income for the school. The Dean asked me to make a donation to help them sustain their good work.

I greatly appreciate my alma mater for many reasons. I have many close friends who teach, study, and work there. I wish the best for the school and want them to continue paying my friends and doing good work. I like that they have a Center for Reconciliation which is deeply engaged in examinations of race, class, and international peace. I believe in all of that. I appreciate that they have hired me several times to teach as an adjunct professor, which helps pay off my education loans.

I get phone calls from my undergraduate alma mater a couple of times a year. Baylor, like Duke, is well-organized to raise funds from their alumni, and students call to tell me all the good things that are happening at Baylor. I agree that these are good things. I want Baylor to succeed and become better. I want them to continue paying my friends and relatives who work there. I want them to awaken students to the broader world and God's work in it.

However, the issue of race always comes to the front of my mind when I get these contacts. Baylor and Duke grew and prospered on the backs of a slavocracy and apartheid system which they and their constituents only gave up when they could not endure further humiliation for their exclusion and repression of African Americans. All the while, separate institutions offered education to African Americans in the shadow of these powerful majority institutions. Shaw University made due with what they could scrap together. The Duke family empire placed its name on the school by funding Duke University with the largest donation ever to an educational institution, and the Duke Endowment has grown to over $2.9 billion. Shaw received its name from a donor who gave $5,000.

With virtually no endowment, Shaw has made its way, and done good things. Shaw Divinity School became the third graduate theological institution in North Carolina to receive accreditation from the Association of Theological Schools, preceded only by Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary and Duke Divinity School. Now many more have joined the ranks of these historic institutions. But the legacy of a history of oppression continues to yield a great disparity of funding for Shaw and Duke. The same can be said for Baylor and the defunct Bishop College, or Paul Quinn College which continues to strive toward its educational mission in Dallas.

And you say, ‘If we had lived in the days of our ancestors, we would not have taken part with them in shedding the blood of the prophets.’ Thus you testify against yourselves that you are descendants of those who murdered the prophets. Fill up, then, the measure of your ancestors (Matthew 23:30-32).

What am I doing besides whining? Maybe not much more than that. I am writing about reparations. Let me tell you what I think ought to happen.

Schools like Duke and Baylor, who have become so proficient and successful at fund-raising, ought to enter into partnership with historically disadvantaged schools. Duke Divinity School and Shaw Divinity School have worked alongside one another in central North Carolina for a long time. One has grown wealthier and wealthier while the other has pressed on with limited resources. What if Duke Divinity School would tithe from its fund-raising to build the financial strength of Shaw Divinity School? What if Duke and Shaw would work together to overcome historic disparities? What if Duke's successful fundraising program would take on a mentoring relationship with Shaw's fundraising program? Wouldn't that be a real step toward reconciliation?

Reconciliation must be about more than wishing good for those from whom we are estranged. It must mean a coming together. It means that one seeks the good of the other. A true effort toward race reconciliation in theological education would not perpetuate the power of some institutions by trying to absorb to themselves the accomplishments of those they previously excluded. This is the usual strategy of the progressive white churches. Realizing finally that they have a shameful history in race relations, they try to figure out how to get the excluded people to join their organizations.

Why not work toward strengthening the one who has previously been starved? A stronger peer institution at Shaw Divinity School would not be a threat to Duke Divinity School. Such a peer institution would be an asset, and it would allow for partnerships that could benefit both schools. Shaw is not the weak school in the shadow of the strong school. It is the underfunded school alongside the well-funded school. It does not have to stay that way.

So I hope they pass the resolution at the SBC. But what I hope for more is that the repentance would go beyond words.

Bear fruit worthy of repentance (Luke 3:8).

Congratulations Dr. Willie Jennings

I wanted to note that my good friend and colleague, Dr. Willie Jennings, theologian at Duke Divinity School, received notice yesterday evening that the university has awarded him tenure. Willie stepped out of the tenure process for nine years to serve as Academic Dean of Duke Divinity School. Under his leadership, Duke Divinity made many important strides in building a strong faculty and instituting important programs. His invaluable assistance to Dean Greg Jones has helped to make Dr. Jones's years a period of growth and accomplishments in many ways.

Three years ago, Dr. Jennings stepped down from his appointment as Dean to return to the teaching faculty. Now three or four people divide up the work he was doing. The university started the tenure clock again, right where he had left off. With only half the time remaining, Willie had to restart the writing and research requirements. The Divinity School gave him long-awaited leave time to complete the task. Last June he turned in the materials for tenure review, including the manuscript of a book that had been accepted by Yale University Press for publication.

Ten months later, the tenure committee announced its decision. Dr. Jennings received his well-deserved reward for hard work, creative scholarship, and service to the university. We look forward to the forthcoming book.

Willie has been a good friend to me for many years. When my youngest daughter and his oldest daughter were very tiny, we enrolled them in the same Saturday morning dance class. Willie and I began to build up a deep friendship during that time, as both of us were new teachers. It was during this period that I faced one of the great crises of my life, dealing with the ugly racist side of the churches who had brought me to know Jesus. Willie talked and prayed me through this hard time. When we began the process of moving our family to a new church, Willie urged us to come to Mt. Level Missionary Baptist Church. The headwaters of much of our lives can be found in those months. By being available as a vessel for the Holy Spirit, Willie has been a gift from God to me and to my family.