Natasha’s Thoughts

As I prepare for my upcoming birthday next week, I compelled to consider what legacy I am leaving. When I was little, I was 100% positive I would be a lawyer. To the disappointment of my grandmother, I don’t see that ever happening. Instead, my life is nothing like I envisioned it would be as a child.

Honestly, when I was little, I never planned to follow my dreams. I choose to play the clarinet in Jr. High because my older sister played the clarinet. I told everyone I wanted to be a lawyer because my family told me I would make a great lawyer.  I studied economics in college because most of my friends were going to the business school. Practically, I thought I would have a leg up on my resume if I choose a different degree.

Practicality is ingrained. In college, I had a saying, “Major in something practical. Minor in something you’re passionate about.”  It seems like good advice. Unfortunately, many of us major in the practical dreams that are easy to achieve, and we minor in the radical visions we are personally gifted and equipped to make a unique impact.

It’s time to unlearn being practical for the sake of practicality. 

In other words, “I am not throwing away my shot!”  Okay, maybe I have been watching Hamilton too much, but you get my point. I’m tired of accepting the life other voices have deemed as acceptable.

What’s the point of God uniquely creating and gifting us, if we are just going to be practical? 

Throwing practicality out the door, here is the legacy I’m working on.  I am empowering Black women and men into believing in the gifts, talents, and abilities God gave them, so they can start and sustain creative, innovative, and passion-filled businesses that are financially profitable. I will support so many faith-based Black entrepreneurs that we will bring our callings outside the four walls of the church and create self-sustain communities. I will proactively advocate for racial justice and to radically dismantle economic systems that prevent our full and equitable inclusion.

It seems like a good legacy to work on for my 32nd birthday. What legacy are you working on?

This entire year has felt like an uncontrollable game of Jumanji. If your life has been anything like mine, you have recently had to deal with a couple of unexpected setbacks. Just when I finally get into a rhythm dealing with this pandemic my mom goes into the hospital (not COVID related); absolutely no visitors are allowed. Being a patient advocate from home was painful. My mom was finally released, and we attempted to find a new normal. Then we learned of the shootings and murders of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd and now Rayshard Brooks.

If I’m honest, my immediate response was emotional paralysis. It was all too much. I once again had to acknowledge that Black Lives Don’t Matter to far too many Americans. I could be killed while walking in my neighborhood, sleeping in my home, or leaving a restaurant. When my paralysis subsided, stage two was pure rage, frustration and righteous indignation.  Friends kept asking me if I was protesting or still sheltering in place due to the pandemic. I felt as if the only legitimate options were giving voice to my people’s pain through protest or protecting myself and my family from the pandemic. That’s when I began to write.

The truth of the matter is there are many ways to engage in social justice. While protesting and demonstrating is one concrete way to demand change, it’s not the only way.  The world needs visionaries and strategist to develop innovative new practices and laws to dismantle systems of racism. The world needs caretakers and counselors who lend an ear and help us process this emotional weight and stress. The world needs spiritual leaders and pastors to both up lift and encourage our spirits while prophetically charging us to dismantle every system of sin and oppression.  The world needs educators to teach honest, uncomfortable, horrific and untold parts of our history. The world needs you.

So here is my encouragement. Fight the good fight but stay in your lane. There is so much work to be done, but you were not called to do it all. You won’t be productive trying to do everything and working outside of your purpose. Hear me clearly, especially if you are an Ally, when I say stay in your lane, I’m still calling you to immediately respond to calls for justice.  I just want all of us to find OUR most faithful next step.

For me, I have found purpose in writing, coaching black business owners and consulting with allies. Your most faithful next step might be to focus on your business so you’re not financially bound to a job that can and will let you go at a moment’s notice.  Your most faithful next step might be organizing or attending a virtual community meeting. Your most faithful next step might be relearning whitewashed history. Your most faithful next step might be financially contributing to community organizers or black-owned businesses affected by looters.

I know you likely feel overwhelmed but remember there is still purpose for you in this season. There is no time to delay action.

Find your most faithful next step and get to work.

Dear White Christians,

You cannot hold comfortable and traditional worship services after you witness unarmed black men and women being murdered in the street and still call yourself an ally.

I woke up early Sunday morning to intentionally observe how white churches across the country would respond after bearing witness the grotesque and excruciatingly long murder of George Floyd. Can you guess what I discovered?

Far too often absolute silence. As thousands of people across the country risked their own health in the middle of a pandemic to protest and seek justice for George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Ahmaud Arbery, it was just another Pentecost Sunday for many churches.

Isn’t ironic that on the Pentecost Sunday, the day we celebrate the act of God pouring the Holy Spirit on all people, an act of inclusion, so many churches couldn’t muster the will to adjust their services to include the voices of my people who are pleading for our very lives and crying out “I can’t breathe.”

Your silence is deafening. In the words of Martin Luther King Jr., “In the end we will remember not the words of our enemies but the silence of our friends.”

To be fair, every congregation wasn’t silent. Several pastors directly addressed America’s Original Sin. White Christians, I commend to you two sermons: Pastor Steve Wells of South Main Baptist Church in Houston, Texas and Pastor Alan Sherouse of First Baptist Church in Greensboro, N.C. While I applaud churches that these boldly proclaimed the true gospel, very few white churches stood with them.

As well intentioned as many congregations tried to be, most still fell short. These congregations used indirect and veiled language, referring to “systems of terrible oppression” without the courage to directly name neither the oppressed nor the oppressors. Other congregations called for “justice” without naming unjust actions or calling for restitution. And yet others prayed to “end violence” without repentance for participating in a system of sin that allows unarmed black women and black men to continuously be publicly executed by police officers or people who just find black presence threatening.

To be honest, these prayers were disappointing.

But those weren’t the prayers that pissed me off. Some congregations first appeared to be allies. They named our pain: racial injustice, police brutality, education inadequacy, valuing property over humanity and violence that causes both suffering and suffocating. I honestly thought, yes they get it.

Until they closed their prayer by saying, “Lord, send help.”

At that moment, I literally lost my breath. “Lord, send help.”

When white Christians are ready to serve in international missions, they are more than willing to be hands and feet of Christ. However, when they watch life being suffocated out of a black body for 8 minutes and 46 seconds they pray, “Lord, send help.”

What a cowardly and weak prayer.

Dear White Christians, who are you waiting for Lord to send? As if you have no power. As if you have no privilege. Sisters and brothers, I know you have the power to fight against racial profiling, mass incarceration, police brutality and so much more. The real question is “Are you seriously willing to risk and sacrifice your comfort, reputation, and money to recognize the Imago Dei and the humanity of African Americans?

If you are, the prayer should not be “Lord, send help”.

The prayer should be “Here am I, Send me.” (Isaiah 6:8)

Dear White Christians, if diversity is truly an aspiration you must do better in both word and deed. You must unequivocally and immediately denounce hate and injustice both formally from your pulpit and informally in conversation. These words should not be prompted from black friends or black churches.

Dear White Christians, if you intended to faithfully address racial justice, your actions matter. Many of your churches know more firsthand accounts of struggles from cultures around the globe than firsthand accounts of struggles of African Americans from the other side of town. Partner alongside local civic organizations and community organizers who are fighting for racial justice in your own backyard.

Dear White Christians, if you sincerely feel called by God to fight for racial justice put your money where your mouth is and form financial partnership with black churches, black owned businesses and banks, and Historically Black Colleges and Universities.

Dear White Christians, we have the power to make a change. The question is will your prayer be “Lord, send help” or “Here am I, send me.”

Be like Pastor Wells and Pastor Sherouse and pray the latter.

“Here am I, send me.”