A Love Letter to the Black Church

March 1, 2026

Before I had an awareness of the God of the Bible, your presence and rhythm provided a comfort and familiarity that resembled home. You provided shelter, safety, and became a shield from harsh realities I was too young to understand. You eventually became a consistent pillar of stability which would eventually become a necessary contribution to my foundation and formation. Our journey has not been void of challenges and complications. I have seen joy come with the morning after nights of weeping and lament through seasons of deep disappointment within your walls. And still, I cannot deny your profound impact, not just in the annals of this nation and across the world, but on the South side blocks of Chicago where our story began. 

The fluidity of our introduction can’t be limited to the first time I was carried inside your sanctuary. In fact, my mind wasn’t developed enough to hold and allow me to recall when I first laid eyes on you. Maybe it was the COGIC church my mother attended when she was pregnant with me. The community that served as a catalyst in my mother’s conversion could be my entry point. Or maybe it was the United Methodist Church (UMC) my grandmother and her sister attended when they migrated from Birmingham to Chicago, probably searching for something safe and familiar. Or it could’ve been the African Methodist Episcopal (AME) churches that stood as havens for our family in Alabama during Jim Crow and the Civil Rights Movement. The south side Baptist and Catholic churches my father and our family attended during his childhood can't be excluded from consideration. I do know that this diversity of faith traditions influenced those who came before me, and through their intertwined journeys, we found one another.

My earliest memories of you are marked by elevated stages and memorized Easter speeches that fear robbed me of reciting. Before I ever presented a project in a classroom or a sermon on a Sunday morning, you were my personal Toastmasters training ground. Opportunities abound in aiding Black girls and boys to become familiar with the sound of our amplified voices. In a world that has systematically sought to silence and muzzle the Black voice, your pulpits and stages have been our preparation and safe landing. The heavenly melodies sung in choirs and praise teams were the celebratory anthems that united and uplifted your congregation. Before Sunday’s Best or American Idol began introducing rare talent to viewers, your choir stands and worship departments were already filled to the brim with gifted singers and undiscovered vocalists who could rival today’s music charts. And I cannot forget the unmatched musicianship of the world’s greatest instrumentalists. We celebrate musical technique and expertise and for some, their first foray into music was on your pianos and drums. 

Your chairs and wooden pews have seen lifelong members and sojourners who were just passing through. Your congregations have been the genesis for many friendships, relationships, and marriages. Families, both biological and chosen, have begun because of community and genuine connection bringing people together. Shared experiences, and more deeply, shared faith, are threads that are woven into the tapestry of your existence. In a country that has often sown and profited from Black division, our shared experiences and shared faith gather us back together, reminding us that community is both inheritance and choice. Thus, our shared identity is what provides well-being and belonging that leads to solidarity. 

Your pulpits have held pastors and homilists who have poured care, hope, questions, rebuke, instruction, and joy into their sermons. They've engaged holy work with human hands trusting the God of their faith would speak to every open heart. The convergence of preaching, singing, prayer, learning, and community is where a sacred space emerged, where we could encounter the One who loved us first. You were an edifice that housed the Spirit that cannot be contained but finds delight in dwelling among His people. It was in your pews where I encountered Jesus. And when I didn’t grasp the gravity of that encounter, He leaned in close and His proximity was felt. Your sanctuary provided space to feel when I didn’t quite understand and safety to wrestle when my intellect didn’t agree. 

What critics would say is loud, I would say spirited. What critics would call emotional, I recognize as faith rooted in joy that refuses to be muted. Culture demands (especially from Black bodies) composure, and any behavior that is expressive is questioned and criticized. Not only have you allowed expression, but you have encouraged our expression to be exuberant. Our God is not only alive but He also emotes. And our image bearing identity makes room for intensity and passion in our emotions and in our worship, with and through our bodies. Within your walls and in your sanctuary, our clapping, crying, shouting, and dancing become holy language, the sound and expression of a people fully alive before a living God.

And what would a shout be without understanding? Clapping and dancing would be low risk cardio without a theology to anchor the movement. Sunday school gave us focused training and age appropriate lessons for knowledge and life application. Middle of the week Bible studies explicated what was complex and instigated a deeper curiosity in those who sought to serve the Lord with their hearts, souls, and minds. Our Sunday school teachers and Bible study facilitators were our educators and professors long before we entered a lecture hall. Your classrooms demonstrated pedagogy is not limited to a K-12 schoolhouse, but it can be applied in and among the verses and chapters of Genesis to Revelation. Our belief in Jesus is reasonable and our logic can be employed to understand our doctrine. You’ve made [and continue to make] space for us to be challenged and encouraged without consenting to a fragile theology. 

Your existence has not been without difficulties and harm. Similar to any institution, capitalism, patriarchy, and marginalization are just a few of the powers that have ailed you. And these are not minor infractions. These demonic systems have marred your integrity, distorted your mission, and fractured your witness. The wounds you’ve caused have left lasting effects that have traumatized multiple generations. Naming the harm is the precursor that leads to the first step of the healing process. This journey won’t be easy but it is necessary for victims who have suffered at the hands of your negligence. And yet, in acknowledging these harms, the possibility of restoration and reconciliation is as real as the One who reconciled us back to Himself. We have a chance to journey towards repair, where we should aim to arrive at accountability and care.

Against the odds, you’ve accomplished more than expected. And your achievements have built a solid foundation. However, the visibility along with constituents across various denominations has placed you on the receiving end of intense scrutiny. Some of the feedback has been warranted while some of the criticism has been ill-informed, given the prophetic nature of your mission. I have also been vocal in expressing my frustration with your current state and your seeming lack of progress. My disappointment stems from my deep connection to, investment in, and my devotion to walking alongside you. My admonishment is situated within a loving critique, not empty criticism. Speaking the truth in love causes us to grow and mature into the full stature of the great head of the Church. And I am committed to aiding you in fulfilling your mission.

Your necessity has not waned. You’re still gathering people for worship and belonging. You hold space for continuums to meet: where babies and elders belong, where sorrow can lean into joy, and where doctrine becomes demonstration. You’ve been responsible for spiritual formation and care, all while holding it for memory’s sake. For generations, you’ve stood as a tangible representation of a strong tower –  providing protection, guarding, defense, and economic resources and stability. Salvation and liberation are not abstract ideas we’ve merely studied, they are lived realities you have devoted yourself to making manifest. And this salvation is not confined to our spirits or liberation to our souls in eternity, but something tangible, meant to be physically experienced here and now, in the land of the living. You are not confined to a locale or a building, you are both place and people. And sacred space is wherever you are. Thank you for being my foundation. Thank you for giving me family. Thank you for being home. 

For conversation and to connect, visit me here: https://sistertheologian.substack.com/.