Leslye's Labyrinth

Many thanks to Tadeau and Carole Ott Coelho of  Anima Vox for using my words from Am I Next in your first Cafezinho performance honoring Black Lives Matter. To view the full mini concert recorded on June 22, 2020, fast forward to 5:00.

The liturgical calendar of my Catholic tradition accompanies us through our lives in the ordinary times as well as in periods and on days of significance. During the solemn and holy days of Lent and the Triduum, respectively, we reenact the via dolorosa in the Stations of the Cross. Regardless of its size, the sanctuary of each Catholic parish will include a representation of the fourteen Stations. The prayerful process reflects on the sorrow and suffering of Jesus from his condemnation to death his death by capital punishment and burial in a tomb. His subsequent resurrection is celebrated on Easter Sunday.  While the Church's calendar reflects the highs and lows of ordinary life, our lived experience is not confined to this timeline. Experiences of suffering, death, and resurrection occur for each of us at varying times. The calendar may say that it is ordinary time, but as we accompany a loved one through the challenges of a terminal illness it is a period of sorrow.  With this

The soil of Turtle Island is forever drenched with the innocent blood  of its first inhabitants - men, women and children  who had their humanity denied. In right relationship  with the Creator and creation, the First Nations were considered obstacles  to your insatiable greed. The God you trusted to bring you safely across the Atlantic was too small for this new life. Putting aside  loving  your neighbor as yourself, you chose to worship at the tarnished altar of the golden calf. A bounty of unfamiliar  natural resources  were no more than  tools  for personal wealth as you coveted ownership instead of stewardship. Walking this land  from time immemorial, you found their presence to warrant a litany of broken promises, infected blankets, and genocide. In spite of you, some survived only  to be denied access  to their ancestral lands before being forced to walk the Trail of Tears - their own via dolorosa. We hear echoes of their presence here in their descendants and in the legacy of t

The recent extra-judicial killing of George Floyd and others is causing many Americans to question the various forms of racial bias in our society. While those from the First Nations and of African descent along with other people of color have lived experience of this violence and its embodied trauma. Seeing Floyd murdered from the comfort of their homes seems to have pushed many who identify as white to cross the threshold. For them, denying the existence of racial injustice in 2020 is no longer an option. As perspectives are broadened, questions arise.  It as though a bright light bulb has been switched on in a dank cellar providing a stark view in direct conflict with the ideals the nation espouses. What is seen is the oppressive legacy of 400 years of white supremacy and its perpetuation in real time.   The arts are one way in which "heroes" are created and celebrated to shape the stories we know.  The removal of statues and other artwork honoring men who contributed to t

I was one of more than 500 students to graduate from my hometown's public high school in 1976.  There was a great energy in the air as our graduation year was the same as which our nation celebrated its bicentennial.  A few years earlier, the historically Black high school named after George Washington Carver had been changed to a junior high school, and all high school students attended Dothan High School, or the town's segregation academy.  In our short lifetimes we had been shaped by the racial trauma of being born into and living in the apartheid of both Alabama and the United States. What was known as the Civil Rights Movement began in the late 1940s and continued until 1968 with significant accomplishments, but incomplete. Would we, the youth of the 1960s and in particular the Class of 1976, grow to deny racism by accepting it, or would we recognize the injustice and challenge it? Four years before our birth, the United States Supreme Court ruled on the case of Brown vs.

Upon hearing of a program being offered at the local cathedral that addressed poverty and the Church's social justice teachings, I knew it was for me. Through JustFaith, I was provided insight to the heart of the Gospel of Christ as taught by the Catholic Church. Having entered this church as a young child in an apartheid state, I had already gained a deep appreciation of Moses and the Exodus from the Black Protestant Church. I also recognized the strong similarities between the enslavement and subsequent struggles of the Hebrew people, and those of us as African-Americans. The connection and assurance of God's presence in the midst of ineffable suffering was as certain as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.  My family entered the Catholic Church amidst the racial segregation of the mid-1960s. While the priests and parishioners welcomed us, I know our lived experience was not shared by all African-Americans, not even for those who identify as cradle Catholics. I

My heart feels so heavy. This would have been my father's eighty-ninth birthday had not his journey here ended almost nine years ago. Yet, this is not the reason for tonight's  grief.  The air is heavy with three months of protective actions to prevent the spread of Covid-19. The pandemic is never far from our thoughts especially when we realize the degree to which our routines have been altered. In so many ways, it is similar to the racism that is not novel but intricately woven into the fabric of our nation.  The senseless murders of young African-Americans is taking a toll on our well-being or at least for those of us who recognize the overtly racist patterns of the past repeating themselves once more. Exposing the myth for a lie, the murders are not confined to the deep south as white supremacy was never confined to the traitorous states that betrayed their national allegiance by seceding. It was given the freedom denied to my ancestors to cross state boundaries by night an

What was the catalyst  for his transformation   inspiring him to write  Christianity's most beloved hymn? What was his dark night of the soul? How was his sight restored  with a perspective  broader and deeper than his myopic Eurocentric view? What removed his shackles? When did he see the injustice of the privileged system in which he freely breathed because of the false construct of race? What pierced his heart? When did amazing grace reveal the cargo's humanity in such a way that in his gut he knew that Black Lives Matter?

What is this weariness? It is the weight of 400 years of relentless hope while facing the willful ignorance of those who deny the historic and systemic oppression of so many.   Being available for hard conversations is draining yet worth it when someone begins to understand. On the contrary,  there are always those who know more than God. As for me, I have tasted the freedom that was unjustly denied to my kidnapped and enslaved ancestors. This was not exclusively experienced by my extended family. Unknown numbers of Africans from various tribes were kidnapped, chained, shackled, and transported against their will as cargo to live less than humans in enslavement on this land. What traumas does this experience induce for the human psyche, body, and soul? On what behaviors and practices did they learn to depend for survival? Spend time with those questions. Born in the post-chattel slavery era of the twentieth century, I know Jim Crow and apartheid from my lived experience. There are a

So, yesterday was a difficult day for me personally. I received word that a deacon had offered an "excellent homily on racism." To provide a setting for you, I am speaking about my hometown parish where I was the only Black child and the only child of color among those making their First Holy Communion in the spring of 1966 in a racially segregated society. The only parish in town may have also been the only integrated church in the predominantly Christian town.  After being away for many years, I returned home to care for my mother and, consequently, to the parish.   How could I not rush to access the recording of the livestreamed liturgy to receive a balm for my weary soul in this time when we are confronting two pandemics: Covid-19, and the legacy of 400 years of white supremacy? Unfortunately, it did not take long for me to realize that my thirst was not going to be quenched nor my soul soothed by the deacon's words. Early in the homily, he stated: " I feel th

In my research on Thomas Merton, I have come across a number of references to jazz music. While I appreciate the genre, I am quite far from being an aficionado. A longtime fan of Mary Lou Williams, I was pleased to learn that Merton also shared an appreciation of her musical genius. Then, there was a reference to John Coltrane's Ascension. The Catholic me was quite intrigued by both the title and Merton's fascination with the piece. I promptly went online and ordered the CD. The first time, I listened for less than five minutes as the cacophony of musical instruments reminded me of being in a club in my younger years. Remember when the music was so loud that it was like noise making it difficult to have a conversation? With my second attempt, I was pulled into the experience of hearing the sounds of individual instruments ascend amidst the perceived chaos. It was quite fascinating. As I type, I am listening to this work of Coltrane for the third time. It is having a diffe

Darnella did not seek this trauma, but like so many of our ancestors  she was thrust into a situation  forever altering her understanding of humanity and man's grave capacity to embrace evil and disregard the dignity of another. That she had the wherewithal to suspend herself in time and place for eight minutes and forty-six seconds  to capture George's final struggle with death by a callous and cold-hearted aphyxiation,  speaks to the conviction of her spirit .  It is through such selfless acts that lived experience cannot be denied and we choose to bend the moral arc of the universe closer towards justice all because of one person's courage in the face of profound injustice.

When you say,  "I'm not racist," you deny the complexity of a system built on the racist ideas born of white supremacy. When you say,  "I don't see color," you do not understand that making judgements based on color is the problem, not seeing color.  When you say,  "I was taught to treat everyone the same," you deny the limitations of your being kind when the system denies my dignity. When you say,  "But, I'm a Christian," you deny the whitening of Jesus' body and the distortion of his Gospel for economic gain through the genocide of indigenous people, the enslavement of Africans, and other atrocities against people of color. When you say,  "My child is Black," you conflate your love for one person with a love for all. When you say,  "My family never enslaved people" you deny how the injustices of slavery were transformed to perpetuate your illusion of white supremacy. Wh

T hese times are  so painfully difficult. In my almost 62 years, I had never seen a person use  a part of his body  to kill another person. Knees are for prayer not murder. How do we get out of this deep hole initially dug 400 years ago? It was deepened as its walls were reinforced  by each subsequent privileged generation taking great pride in asking, "How low can we go?" It appears to be a bottomless pit with a stench from four centuries of dehumanization - a stench worst than the bowels of the ships used in the Middle Passage - a deathly stench offering only an olfactory assault denied by  the pretenders . When do they choose to work with us to build a ladder strong and secure to bring each of us to a new level ground with an abundance of sunlight and fresh air?