Introduction

This small book is about how to bear witness to more liberating futures in theological education. Yet before we can envision potential futures, we must be honest about experiences of trauma, pain, and brokenness that now mark the theological academy. Here I offer extended “notes” or meditations on the struggles so many African Americans confront and endure within theological institutions. My account might be read less as a philosophical argument and more as a testimony, a form of speech that unapologetically bears witness to how theological education is experienced among those from the underside of American society.

Testifying is a familiar mode of religious speech for me. I grew up in a black Pentecostal church, and at the center of our worship experience was testimony service. Testimony service was visceral and verbal, emotional and demonstrative, a collective and highly democratic enterprise. Often testimony service ended up being the entire worship experience. When one stood up to testify, one offered a narrative of how one had overcome through the work of the Spirit. A woman might stand up and testify, only to hear others respond with cries, laughter, celebration, or even a song. Testifying was a highly unpredictable style of worship, as the Spirit could be felt at any moment, pulling the entire congregation into a series of communal shouts and dances. Most important, testifying was a way to mediate divine presence. When one testified in the midst of the congregation, God’s presence was

1

Introduction

invoked, leading the entire community into experiences of transcendence, deliverance, joy, healing, and so much more. Testifying was not merely an individual act. One didn’t tell a story solely for some kind of personal cathartic release or relief. This oral practice formed the community in love, intimacy, and belonging. Even children would lead in testimony service, instructing the adults to testify “as the Spirit gave utterance.” Testifying was a communal act; it forged a truly democratic community drawn together by filial bonds of love, care, and accountability. We trusted that God would speak through our sisters and brothers as they testified to God’s goodness, mercy, and grace. We uttered our stories in hopes that we would experience the power of the Spirit to be healed and made whole.

This process was not for the faint of heart. Testifying about our stories of God’s care involved telling the truth. We told the truth about hard matters. I remember people standing to testify about the social and economic predicaments they faced, telling the truth about the inequality of social structures and economic institutions. Others in the congregation would talk back, nodding their heads or offering high-pitched shouts to affirm that God would deliver the speaker (and themselves) from the hardships of life. I also recall members who would stand and tell hard truths about the congregation—about fights, slights, and bickering among members—in hopes of illuminating the reality of broken community. Sometimes apologies were spoken in testimony service and people would find their way to the person who was wronged, only for screams and shouts to break out in celebration of restored relationships and healing from wounds. Testifying was about bearing witness to a God who could heal in the midst of brokenness and help us face the truth of who we were and could be, if only we could participate in the loving work of the Spirit.

Likewise, in these pages I tell the truth about difficult experiences that mark theological education, not out of spite or bitterness but to demonstrate the toll that broken community takes

2