It is midnight within the social order, the darkest I’ve seen.
Mass shootings are at an all-time high with no sites, sacred or secular, off limits. A Christian elementary school in Nashville, Tennessee, a sweet sixteen birthday party in Dadeville, Alabama, a bank in Louisville, Kentucky, a convenience store in Arkabutla, Mississippi, a college campus in East Lansing, Michigan, a Metro station in Washington, D.C., a short-term rental in Los Angeles, California, a farm in Half Moon Bay, California, a dancehall in Monterey Park, California, and a home in Enoch, Utah are just some of the rural, urban, public, private, secular and religious locations of the more than 140 deadly mass shootngs since January of this year (The New York Times; Alfonsesca).
Internationally, Russia has laid waste to Ukraine, turning cities into rubble as more than 8 million flee for their lives. Israeli and Palestinian groups exchange rocket fire in the wake of a police raid on a Jerusalem mosque and increasing violence in the Middle East. Civilian casualties mount in Sudan with rival military factions vying for control. Iran increased executions by 75% following widespread protests aeer Mahsa Amini, accused of flouting headscarf laws (Kohli), was arrested, and suspiciously died in custody (El Damanhoury and Ataman), not unlike Sandra Bland, a Black activist whose untimely death in a jail cell aeer a violent altercation during a traffic stop (Hennessey-Fiske et al.), many believe was never justly adjudicated.
It is midnight within the psychological order, the darkest I’ve seen.
Demand for mental healthcare is at an all-time high, communities reeling from interlocking oppressions with no clear end in sight. The COVID pandemic, turned endemic, gave rise to global mental dis-ease as the world was shut indoors. By mandate or circumstance, people stayed home, unless they were “essential workers,” many of them disproportionately Black and Brown grocery store clerks, bus drivers and truckers, hospital staff, schoolteachers, and others with no choice but to risk their lives for their livelihood. They stayed home unless they were unhoused and unable to isolate, or unless they were obstinate in their denial of the realities on the ground, pushing an anti-masking, anti-vaxxer agenda to the demise of vulnerable populations. The vulnerable were disproportionately Black, Latinx, and Indigenous, exposing what some of us have always known—structural racism kills (Howard), or leaves you in such physical, financial, and emotional distress that you might wish you were. Anxiety, depression, and domestic violence all increased dramatically (World Health Organization; Mineo).
The pandemic clashed with a resurgence in anti-Black police violence and anti-Asian hate crimes. George Floyd, a Black father of five, was murdered by white officer Derek Chauvin, eerily similar to Eric Garner’s murder at the hands of officer Daniel Pantaleo. Breonna Taylor, a Black emergency medical technician, was gunned down in her own home as white plainclothes officers executed a no-knock warrant under the cover of night. More recently, Black teen Ralph Yarl was shot by a white homeowner aeer mistakenly going to the wrong house to pick up his younger siblings. Yarl’s case is hauntingly similar to Renisha McBride’s, her fateful knock on Theodore Wafer’s door after a car accident ending with her murder. Asian, Asian American, and Asian Pacific Islanders were violently assaulted in public, including six women of Asian descent killed at an Atlanta spa and several others, like Thailand immigrant and San Francisco resident Vichar Ratanapakdee, who died after being violently pushed to the ground by a white assailant (Lah and Kravarik).
It is midnight within the moral order, the darkest I’ve seen.
Attacks on racial justice and equity are at an all-time high with bans on Critical Race Theory, Black Lives Matter, and Black-authored books sweeping the nation. Fallacious claims of alienating rhetoric threaten to restrict mention of race in American history and other school curricular, thereby preempting vital critique of white supremacy and its lingering effects (Robinson; Wilson). Florida governor Ron DeSantis and supporters appropriated the “stay woke” rally cry of Black activists for the “Stop W.O.K.E. Act,” one example of increasing attempts to stymie racial justice and roll back educational reform (Contorno and Maher). He may now be coming for Black Greek letter organizations at Florida colleges (Johnson).
Darker still, Trump intends another run for the White House and can likely count again on the support of white evangelicals and other professed Christians who at best have turned a blind eye to his moral depravity. Considering how his presence on the political stage correlated with an exponential increase in hate crimes and, to our horror, communicated the misbelief that racist, sexist, homophobic, and xenophobic language and ideologies are acceptable, a second Trump presidency is frightening. For those who must contend with Trump era prejudicial discourse and its concomitant policies, expatiation looks more attractive by the day.
And this hardly tells it all, for I have said nothing of voter repression, climate change, the criminal in-justice system, gerrymandering, redlining, and so much more impacting BIPOC communities and the soul of the nation. Yet, as King noted, although “disappointment, sorrow, and despair are born at midnight, [the] morning follows” (p. 64). Our rising dawn looks like the inauguration of Vice President Kamala Harris, the confirmation of Supreme Court Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson, the senatorial victory of Rev. Dr. Raphael G. Warnock, the reinstatement of Tennessee House Representatives Justin Jones and Justin Pearson, the resilience of political leader and activist Stacey Abrams, as well as the new day in senior church leadership at a time of marked decline in brick and mortar church membership.
Contrary to the booming church rosters of King’s day, church membership is declining. The Black Church’s continuing relevance in the fight for social justice and equality has come under question as millennials and Gen-zers take matters into their own hands and to the streets. While some Black churches are still determined, as King noted, to “burn with emotionalism” at the expense of “content” or “freeze with classism” to the detriment of unity (p. 60), these churches, it seems, are among the dying, unable to attract and retain younger members to carry forward their legacy. At the same time, a sea change is occurring; women like Rev. Dr. Jacqueline A. Thompson, Rev. Dr. Danielle L. Brown, and Rev. Allison Henderson-Brooks are being elected as senior pastors, signaling a growing shift in attitudes about women’s roles in the church, and bringing with them renewed vigor for the church’s spiritual and sociopolitical missions. Similarly, women theologians such as Rev. Dr. Melva Sampson and Rev. Dr. Dominique A. Robinson have been at the forefront of digital ministry and millennial homiletics, appealing to the multimodal technologies and worship styles of younger generations while honoring the rich legacies of African and African American spiritual and religious traditions.
Black churches (and others) have missed many a knock at midnight, but I remain hopeful that a new generation of leaders will reach beyond church walls to provide the “bread of faith,” “hope,” “love,” “social justice” and “peace” that “weary” souls still crave (pp. 57 – 59), perhaps with women clergy leading the way. Women, after all, have been the bedrock of the Black Church tradition, typically constituting most of the congregation and largely responsible for its educational and community outreach. As a Black preaching woman raised in an independent Black Baptist church that once excluded women from the pulpit but now ordains them, I count myself among the number of emerging leaders. For me, Dr. King’s metaphorical application of the Lukan parable has enduring value. The scriptures ought to be a spotlight for the church and for the world, illuminating darkness within and beyond our walls and pathways to hope and transformation. I agree with Dr. King that the bread of faith is the cornerstone, but not the sole solution. Recognition of the universal need for love makes social injustice impossible to ignore. One cannot claim to love, while denying others freedom, and be surprised when one’s “cold indifference” or “blatant hypocrisy” is exposed (p. 58). Strength to love means humbly acknowledging where we fall short and choosing to make it right.
