Week 18: Sunday Service Announcements
How do you want the culture to remember you as a writer?
The definition of preservation is the action of maintaining something in its original state. Our ancestor’s works of literature have been preserved for decades for us to gain knowledge and inspiration. To see their documented efforts for change, the process.
“I have a dream” was preserved for us to be inspired to continue dreaming.
“This revolution will not be televised” was preserved to remind us that the written word is how we document a revolution. When I wrote the first newsletter to launch BlackStack I had no idea it would be a full-circle moment leading to the preservation of our 2024 revolution - individually and as a culture.
We did this together!
If you haven’t already registered for the November Writers’ Circle, you can use this time to send in your submissions for the magazine or write something new for the deadline on November 9th.
It’s our turn to preserve our history for the generations after us; we can’t let them rewrite our history again.
A Sunday that serves my vices.
(well, at the very least, doesn't judge me for them)
I. sun
I am around 4 years old, hanging out with a family friend at my grandmother’s house. “I want you to meet my son!” she exclaims. “You have a SUN?!” “Yeah!” “wow!” 4-year-old me just couldn’t believe that this woman had an entire sun to herself. the sun was majestic to me—an entity in the sky that I felt and saw but couldn’t reach. I was flabbergasted that this woman had one of her own. children are so cute.
I think of that anecdote from my childhood history similarly to how I think about my childhood relationship with the church. I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for years after I started going to church with my grandmother as a young child. Church was where everyone came together, sang, praised the Lord, and on even more exciting occasions, ate.
And then I started coming into myself.
I don’t pray, per se. I used to, but I no longer refer to it as praying. I like to think of it as having conversations with the universe, with the higher power that I believe exists. Admittedly, my deepest conversations with the universe—and when I journal the most ferociously and consistently—happen when I feel as though things have kind of gone left in my life. (I’m working on this!) This is in contrast to the adolescent version of me, who prayed before every single meal and compulsively did the sign of the cross whenever my mind picked up on bad omens or energy, I think, or whenever I was being driven past a cemetery. At that time, I was way more religious than my mom (or anyone in my life besides my grandmother, for that matter), whose favorite aspect of church has always been the hymns; this makes sense since she, like myself, is a music lover. She hasn’t been to church in years, but whenever she did go, or if she ever goes again, it was and always will be for the music.
As a child of Jamaican immigrants, I grew up listening to a lot of reggae music, which reminds me of sunshine. reggae music transports me to the islands on a day where the breeze is just cool enough to combat the sun’s relenting rays but warm enough not to be invasive, like that of a torrential downpour.
II. day
“Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy. and on the seventh day, god ended his work which he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all his work which he had done. then god blessed the seventh day and sanctified it because in it he rested from all his work which god had created and made.”
Genesis 2:1-3, King James Version
Nobody wants to work on the seventh day of the week. Whether one is religious or not, Sundays are typically reserved for rest and a reset.
When I was a teenager, I wanted so badly to be a part of a church. My grandma had slowed down since my elementary school years and wasn’t attending church as frequently anymore, if at all. So one Sunday, at the age of around 15, when I could have (and probably should have) been sleeping, I got up, threw on some fancy church clothes, and took the train to a church in the Bronx to which a childhood friend had invited me.
I ended up going back a few times after my initial visit, but it ended up not really working out for me. To be honest, the youth leader was a little creepy and the vibes were just off.
And so I went back to sleeping in on Sundays again, after that failure of an attempt to find a church family.
I went to religious schools up until college, and it wasn’t until then that I really felt free. Physically moving away from religion introduced me to new worlds, physically, emotionally, spiritually, and intellectually.
There’s a hymn that the choir at my high school used to perform called “I Give Myself Away,” and part of the chorus is “I give myself away, so you (God) can use me.”
I sit here, almost a decade removed from organized religion, and ponder those words. What does giving oneself away to a being that we haven’t physically experienced or seen look like? How can one hold on to themselves while also giving themselves away to God? How can I be myself when this being that I believe in and worship controls just about all of my actions?
How much of my life is my own and how much of it is based on what organized religion has conditioned me to believe?
The institution of religion promised me a community in exchange for my unwavering obedience. This led to an internal conflict that I didn’t realize I was battling until I entered a space that wasn’t focused on religion.
My issue with organized religion isn’t the plethora of wonderful things it can do for people, like provide us with community, love (in some cases), hope, and a shared purpose. My issue is pronounced when people’s relationship with God is policed—when people can’t be who they are because of their faith and church community. It also isn’t lost on me that cults usually begin with folks who are just looking for community and want to be a part of something bigger than themselves—to have a shared purpose. In cults, there’s often lots of singing, chanting, and unwavering deference to a leader, who is typically believed to be superior and more powerful than their followers in some way.
Folks can do with that information what they will.
Black women are diminished enough just to exist in this world. I don’t want to bow down and be obedient to an entity outside of myself. I want to be obedient to my inner voice, which, to me, is inherently being obedient to god/the universe. I will honor myself and the universe by being the best human that I can possibly be. I will be obedient to my intuition, to my gut. I will trust myself and know that I don’t need to live by a rulebook and engage in self-flagellation for human mistakes that are natural. I will maintain my own personal relationship with god/the universe. When I mess up, I will journal about it, cry about it, have a conversation with god/the universe about it, or talk to loved ones about it. That’s been enough for me these past few years, and I trust that it will continue to be.
My Sundays are for sleeping in (or whatever else my heart desires.)
III. sir (ser)
when you love me, you love yourself
love God herself
-Beyonce, Don’t Hurt Yourself.
What has drilled into my mind time and time again that religion and patriarchy are inextricably tied is society’s constant reference to god using he/him pronouns. For years, I have wondered who died and made god what seems to be a man. this man that I am supposed to praise and who supposedly died for my sins (Jesus) is not only a man but a white one. Jesus is and was the furthest thing from my own identity as one could possibly be, yet I am to be comforted by the idea of him. I am to sing songs in his name and dedicate my earthly life to him.
eh, I don’t like that.
I went to a catholic high school, and on the back of our ID cards was the following directive: “In case of an emergency, call a priest.” this was unironic, by the way. I remember imagining an actual emergency right smack-dab in the middle of algebra class. A student faints and we children rush to their side. that one girl who is good at math and also knows how to do CPR breaks up the crowd of teenagers and makes a beeline for the student on the floor. Or, since this school is in America, after all, maybe there is an active shooter in the building. in the former scenario, we look on as our classmate desperately tries to revive our friend. In the latter scenario, we are all huddled under our wooden desks, hiding and hoping we live to see another day. In both scenarios, our teacher frantically rushes to her phone to call for help (we assume). The room is in pure disarray, and as we eavesdrop on our teacher’s conversation, we hear her say, “Yes, Father.”
At least we can maybe get a little blessing before our lives implode in front of us.
IV. vice
But oh, I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
Nina Simone, Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.
History shows us that organized religion doesn’t typically mix well with human vices. It tends to inherently demand the kind of perfection that no human being can possibly achieve.
When I was a student at my catholic middle school, I partook in confession, even though I wasn’t actually catholic. I thought that because I went to catholic school, I was supposed to participate in catholic traditions, and was, by association, I guess, a catholic kid.
So I entered this little box in my school’s church with this mysterious white man on the other side of a glass window—one of the ones I was apparently supposed to call in case of an emergency, according to the back of my ID card. I confessed that a few weeks prior, while I was at Chuck E. Cheese, a little boy had walked away from the game he had been playing just as a stream of tickets began flowing out of the machine. Since it didn’t look like he was coming back, I went and grabbed as many of the tickets as I could.
I think the white man said a prayer and told me I was forgiven. His instructions to me were to go back to the pews and “say three hail marys.”
“Hail Mary. hail mary. hail mary.” 1
Looking back, there were so many signs that organized religion was never for me.
Growing up, it felt like almost everything was a sin. I feel like organized religion would have kept me in this constant loop of trying not to be a sinner, sinning anyway (because I am human), and then going back to confession to pour my heart out to this random white man, who has probably committed more sins than me.
"The people that built their heaven on your land are telling you yours is in the sky."
-Malcolm X
So in conclusion, you probably won’t see me sitting in a church pew any time soon, unless someone gets married or dies. but, hey, who knows? I may show up randomly one Sunday, just for the hell of it, but only if they have great live music.
The Revolution Will Not Be Televised.
There is this old famous saying within black liberation movements. This phrase throughout the past half century has spilled out into almost all aspects of black culture from hip hop to literature — even to the point of black folk using it sarcastically to get a point across. This six-word sentence transcends black people and can even be heard being co-opted by non-blacks (like everything in our culture) to get their social-political ideas and solutions across to the masses. Those six words?
“ The revolution will not be televised”.
Originally said by the late great poet, singer, political activist, and revolutionary Gil Scott Heron in 1971 in a poem by the same name, “The revolution will not be televised” has lived through at least two or three generations of people that have heard the saying before they knew where it came from. Yet, although this is possibly one of the most famous phrases to ever been uttered, most people actually don’t seem to understand what this phrase means. People don’t confuse it for something that it is not, but they seem to take it out of context for what it is — if that makes sense. What does “The revolution will not be televised” actually mean though?
As a child, as early as four or five, I remember people in my family saying this phrase, not in a serious discussion of black social politics or issues, but from another, happier place of black pride and strength. Conversations at a cookout or Christmas party where my Mom and Uncle Walter go story for a story on who can tell the most ridiculous but true tale from their past were filled with such sayings. In a way growing up, it clicked for me “The revolution will not be televised” and James Brown popularizing the phrase “I’m black and I’m proud” were akin. These two sayings, along with others, were almost the same thing. Even going forward within hip hop culture with phrases like “word is bond” which comes from a higher consciousness that lives in black culture also outside of hip hop — this can also be connected to the “ revolution will not be televised”.
These things all don’t mean the same thing literally, though. “I’m black and I’m proud” is self-explanatory. “Word is bond” means you are nothing more than your word, and to break that is to break yourself. “The revolution will not be televised,” on the other hand is much, much more than the ability of people fighting for liberation never getting the chance to shine on the television. In an interview in 1991, Gil Scott Heron goes on to tell us what he meant by “the revolution will not be televised. He says -
“It'll just be something that you see, and all of a sudden you realize, I'm on the wrong page, or I'm on the right page, but I'm on the wrong note. And I've got to get in sync with everyone else to understand what's happening in this country.”
Now this changes everything. This isn’t some showman act of liberation too black and too proud to be televised. Which is what most people think of when they hear the quote. This is something that the person it is happening to won’t even realize or understand what is happening to them. Yet, this is the first step to any sort of progress and a very important step in radicalizing one’s mind. In many ways “ The revolution will not be televised” is a daily occurrence and you choose to listen to it or not.
This idea that one day you will be sitting down and it will just click for you, this silent revolution — is for everyone, not just the politically aware. It takes some sort of mental up and at ‘‘em to do something when you come to these revolutionary realizations — no matter what they are for. Everyone may have these realizations about their own realities, the world, or the folks around them, but most people brush the idea of revolution off as a negative thought or forget about it entirely. It takes some sort of revolutionary brain cell to take what just clicked in your mind and build an idea or theory around what you see. The interesting thing about it all though, if it be critical race theory or women’s rights, queer ideology, or understanding the bane of capitalism, whatever you saw in your mind is the truth and the revolution is asking yourself why you never saw it before in the first place. Asking yourself why will reveal systems and agents that are responsible for your oppression. This is how we build the ideology around the truth.
In my life, there have been many things that have led to my own radicalization. Perhaps it began with the murder of Travon Martin. The first unjustifiable killing of a black person that I was old enough to remember in my youth. It also could have been that time I took out the trash at my friend's birthday party when three squad cars pulled up on me and six cops emerged, guns drawn, because the neighbor called the cops on teens of color having fun. Or maybe it was the first night of the protests in 2020 when I was arrested and the white girl I was dating didn’t even realize I had disappeared. When I was released she didn’t even care. Rather she went to her friend's birthday party (while people of color organized in the street). Her excuse? She told me she didn’t really think it was a big deal.Really though, when it all started to click for me that all of this was systemic and racism, capitalism and all the other “ism”s were all tools of “whiteness” was when I was a fisherman in Alaska. In between the white male “ No one works harder than me. No one has ever work harder than me in the history of working and no one will ever work harder than me in the future” narrative mixed with the constant dealings of coworkers self indulging generational ignorance, I took my biggest step in my untelevised mental revolution. I could finally see how all of these things are connected and all these “isms” need each other to survive and are belong to the same ethos.
I should clear up a few things. When I say radicalism I am not talking about extremism. These two things are different but can overlap. Extremism is going to violent of persecutory measures to get your point across. Whereas radicalism can be many different things depending on the sphere you are in. If you dwindle in a more feminist realm, simply the act of self care and loving yourself can be considered radical, due to the pressures of whiteness not necessarily allowing that. If you dwindle in other areas of leftism it can go into a plethora of other forms of radicalism, depending on what your intersections may be. Not to say feminist spaces are solely reserved for self care, but because so much of sexism and misogyny is based on women’s sacrifice the radical feminist space emphasizes on giving back to yourself.
When I say “whiteness” I am not referring to white people. I am using it as an umbrella term to encompass capitalism, hegemony, sexism, racism, ableism, etc. White people live under the scope, gaze and prison of whiteness as well although the asset of being white allows them to atop an area on the pyramid that is not accessible to the rest of us. Of course class, status, and wealth all play within this system as well. It should be said that while all of these issues were not necessarily introduced to the world by white people, European colonialism of planet Earth is the casual thread of practically every single issue that we have on the earth today. If you are not understanding, here is an example: The white coal miner in West Virginia has been working for thirty years with nothing to show for it but an OxyContin addiction. That is capitalism — That was brought to you by European colonists — That is a pillar of whiteness.
Yet in still after all of my informal learning I was still unaware of what Gil Scott Heron actually meant. I knew the phrase “the revolution will not be televised”, but I was still unaware of the explanation he gave years later explaining what it means. At this point “ the revolution will not be televised” was just a pro-black slogan to me. Until one day last year. I was in a small village in central Nicaragua, walking down a dirt road. Out of the blue,while thinking about what I was going to spend the day doing, I finally understood in total what queer people had been saying when they talked about gender and sex being two different things. Just a random thought completely changed my way of thinking without any effort out of me whatsoever. Now, I of course have always considered myself an ally towards queer and gender non conforming people, but I, like most cis males had some sort of barrier that did not allow myself to understand. When I tell a white person I am experiencing racism I don’t need them to understand or believe the racism. I just need them to accept that racism is being done and to be my ally. That is the space I had found myself in previously but for queer people. They didn’t need me to understand the difference of sex and gender. They just needed an ally to be at their side. After my revolutionary realization though I can be an even better ally towards them. There is however the problem in many leftist space of certain white queer people trying to oppression Olympics black people. We all know a hegemonic white woman that tells black people she has it as hard as them because she so happens to go by they/them pronouns. The duality, right? The good news is that I was able to understand a holy grail of black radical thought while not even thinking of black radicalism giving truth to the black radical thought I wasn’t even thinking about. The whole point of the revolution will not be televised is that you don’t know it’s happening in your head till it’s already happened. In all fairness though, if it be critical race theory, women rights, rights for the disabled or children and the elderly — all of these revolutions if they be big or small are interconnected and have to coexist in order to defeat “whiteness”.
Prayer Hotline.
"Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray thee Lord my soul to keep"
I pray you recognize that you are your ancestor’s wildest dreams.
I pray you see the greatness already within you.
I pray you find your vice this Sunday.
I pray you slow down to understand yourself better.
I pray you show yourself some grace.
I pray you learn to reward yourself because you deserve it.
I pray I see you next Sunday for Writers Circle.
I pray you stand up for your revolution, what are you fighting for?
I pray you do it for yourself if not for anyone else.
Amen.
This is the full prayer that I was supposed to recite three times:
Hail Mary, full of grace,
The Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou amongst women
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
Pray for us, sinners,
Now and at the hour of our death.
Amen.
 | A guest post by
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 | A guest post by
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In my deconstruction of Christianity and church in my life, I am trying very hard not to assign a gender to God. It is so unfair to be engrained with something before having a mind to choose for myself.
Loved this! I also went to a catholic school for a short time even though I was’t catholic and one of the most surprising things was how content many of my classmates were with Catholicism. That was strange for me because I was always Spiritually/Religiously curious. I enjoyed how you described your journey beyond that cage. Also James’ walk through was so enriching. You can’t touch, taste, smell, hear, or see a heart/mind shift you just know it when it’s there✨