It Was All a Dream: An Ode to Summer

Approximately three months ago, summer began and with it so did my goal-setting.  I had major plans for this season. I registered for a class, created a writing schedule, and purposed to do projects around the house. I was going to work hard and get a lot done. At first, I was disappointed that I was not working (or overworking). Then I decided to fully live into the respite. Looking back now, I didn't complete most of these tasks. And yet, I feel better than I have at the end of a summer in a long time. 

This summer, I allowed myself to lay fallow. My fallow season may have been needed to produce a greater quality harvest but it’s also been an unexpected blessing. It reminded me that I’m not the product of my production.  I rejected the Western/capitalist social myth that my value is only connected to what I produce. I am enough and I am worthy of rest.  (As avatars and echoes of God, we should rest even when we have the power to work. Controlled power is real strength.)

Tonight is the last night of my summer. Oh, I know  summer technically ends on September 22. But the spirit of summer, the choices, the freedom, ends tonight. The first day of school for our daughters is tomorrow. My doctoral classes (including Quantitative Research Methods!) resume Thursday. Ashley’s clientele continues to increase. I’ve got a speaking engagement Saturday, new student chaplain interns arriving at our hospital in three weeks, and a full dance card this fall. Yet, I am better prepared to approach this next season because of  the gifts summer has given me. I hope you have enjoyed fallow times this summer. I believe they can make us better. Check out my ode and slideshow below. Thank you Summer.

An Ode to Summer

For rest,

For daydreams and dalliances,

For new places to nestle and nap. 

For experimentation and exercise. 

For rekindled romance. 

For meditative moments uninterrupted by deadlines. 

For Nnede Okorafor’s novel Who Fears Death. 

For Megan Thee Stallion. 

For Brian Courtney Wilson. 

For watching Ashley present at a conference. 

For strengthening my bond with Shakespeare, the Carter’s family dog. 

For long talks with my sister.

For freedom from wearing my retainer 24/7 (always at night though!).

For a clearer commute. 

For an encouraging conversation with my academic advisor. 

For French toast with Florida friends.

For spraying the girls with water hoses. 

For colleagues that laughed and cried with me. 

For grandparents who love their grandchildren.

For sermon requests that came at the right time. 

For relaxing our tie requirement at work.

For Augmented Reality.

For late nights and early mornings. 

For sustenance in the midst of major financial changes. 

For sweat. #drip

For visits from old friends.

For the looks on the girls’ faces as they ascended in an airplane. 

For barbecued turkey chops with the Browns. 

For fireworks. 

For trying new wines. 

For playing NBA 2K with my nephew. 

For teaching me about growth through rest. 

Thank you Summer.

The Unexpected: Reflecting on 15 Years in Ministry

May 23, 2004, I was licensed to be a minister of the gospel at Second Baptist Church in Bloomington, Indiana. In front of my family, friends, and fiancee, I committed myself to the Lord (See the quadruple alliteration? I'm definitely Baptist!).

I struggle with using the word anniversary. Ministry is joy and pain, but not in a singular celebratory way. That said, the time is worth marking... I have remained committed to God this long. When I first said I was called to ministry, Rev. Michael Brown, my mentor and father-figure, told me the first five years of ministry are extremely difficult.

He was right. When I was licensed, I could just legally drink (even though I never did) and I was entering jails preaching about eternity. Fifteen years later, I find myself reflecting on what I've learned so far...

1. I Need to be Different-iated

People who knew me 15 years ago will notice that I've changed in this time. I have grown and cut my hair. But I've also grown and cut my theology. Some things I used to believe I don't anymore. Other things I never knew, I now believe fiercely. Growth in ministry and in life requires continued transformation AND differentiation. 

The temptation in ministry is to become like everyone else - preach the same, believe the same, act the same. My work over the last 15 years has been to learn to gain more clarity on who I am. I'm different. I zig when others zag. I talk to myself - and answer myself. I find God in rap music, especially when it's explicit. I'd rather watch Game of Thrones than the Word Network. And I pray heavy prayers when I hear someone is going into the ministry.

I want to continue sharpening the picture of myself, for myself, that God might use... me.

2. I Need People

I believe I would not have entered the ministry those many years ago if it were not for Suzanne Faulk. I played bass guitar at Second Baptist and usually kept to myself. I was a typical bass player, unassuming, quiet, and steady (omit Bootsie Collins and Flea). One day in choir rehearsal, while I was sitting at the bass, Mama Suzanne looked at me from the soprano section and said "Jeremy, you should talk more". It felt like she had called me out of hiding. I began to say what I felt and what I believe God was saying and people listened! It was a miracle that she called out of me (read the example of Jesus at the wedding for the way a mother can call out a miracle in a child that the child doesn't know is there.)

Before I preached my first sermon, I had a dream about it. In my dream, I was wearing a specific tie. I called Ashley, my fiancee and now wife, described the tie and asked her if she could get it. She spent a whole day in and out of stores, sending me pictures (on old flip phones!) to get me the right tie - the one in the pic above. All because of my dream. Years later, she would leave her job and family in Indiana because I believed God was calling me to seminary. 

My Aunt Debra, Uncle Donnell and Uncle Freddy all encouraged me early in ministry and have died since that day. I often hear their admonitions now. Numerous others have prayed, affirmed, funded, and challenged me.* Recently, I wondered about future iterations of ministry for myself. I sat down with my daughter and talked with her. I was surprised by the clarity and direction I gained from her words. But I shouldn't have been (see below). People have been the catalyst for this entire journey.

3. I Need to Heed the Spirit

My "trial sermon" (a non-literal term used in the Baptist tradition) was titled "Obey God and Expect the Unexpected". It was a word to myself to stay with God and expect to be surprised.

It was also a doublespoken prayer.** It was a word to others and to myself. Spirit, please never stop giving me courage... Spirit, please don't let me leave you...

Real talk, there have been times in ministry where the God-stuff is too much - too legalistic, too formulaic, too hopeless. Being a "Minister" can be a colonization of the Spirit. If I'm not careful, the Spirit can become a casualty of the professionalization of ministry (the words "colonization" and "professionalization" being placeholders for white supremacy/patriarchy). The work I do now as a "Reverend" or "Certified Educator of Clinical Pastoral Education" is impotent without the Spirit. My preaching, teaching, writing, and loving are but gongs of vanity without the Spirit. 

But the green screen of the Spirit lets me sense God in a myriad of ways. I sense the Spirit when I see teenagers dancing at a lock-in.  I sense the Spirit when I hear the stories of grief and loss from students or patients. I sense the Spirit when I talk about my African ancestors' jubilance and perseverance. And that's what I still need in ministry - I need to heed the unorthodox, inconvenient movement of the Spirit. I need to put my Baptist finger up in the wind to see which way it is going. Fifteen years ago, I never imagined I would be who I am now. For at least another fifteen years, holy wind, sweet Spirit, please do the unexpected...










* Thank you to all of the people who have loved on me, Ashley, Jocelyn and Jaelle in this time (if you know the acronym, you're probably part of that group, lol): our families near and far, friends, FBC, ABC, SBC, MLBC, MOF, IWG, KODI, DDS, DVAMC, CHS, REX, CPE, FMF, etc.

** Sensing, T. African American Preaching. Journal of American Academy of Ministry, 7. (http://blogs.acu.edu/sensingt/files/2010/10/Black-Preaching-JAAM-6-2000.pdf) Doublespeak is a preaching/speaking device used to obfuscate, multiply, or manipulate meaning. It is commonly used in African-American preaching to subvert "hegemonic powers". 

3 Reasons You Need to Stop Wachu Doin and Watch Amanda Seales' "I Be Knowin'"

I love my mother-in-law. Not only because she calls  "just cuz I was thinking about you" or because buys me Christmas gifts each year. Not even only because she birthed my wife, Ashley. I love my mother-in-law because she lets us use her HBO subscription. Last night, Ashley and I turned to HBO and watched Amanda Seales' comedy special, "I Be Knowin'".  (Advisory: the special contains explicit language) We laughed and learned for sixty one ab-tightening minutes. Below are 3 reasons you need to stop wachu doin right now and go watch her special. 


1. The Feast of Black Knowledge

Amanda, a renaissance woman in entertainment (actress on HBO's "Insecure", singer, VJ, podcaster, host, comedian), also famously holds a masters degree in African-American Studies from Columbia University. Listen to how she talks with Trevor Noah about how her studies inform her comedy.

From Harriett Tubman to Nat Turner to James Weldon Johnson, this is a primer in African-American Studies. Personally, as someone who also has a graduate degree in African-American Studies, I'm excited about the exposure of the discipline. Amanda connects historical content with contemporary struggles around race and gender. This is a master class in what she calls "edutainment". Schools should study the way she weaves in ratchetness and black empowerment.  In one example, she gives a memorable distinction of whiteness (there are people who happen to be white and then there are white people). If her YouTube show, Gem Droppin', is an appetizer, this is an entrée. If her traveling game show, "Smart Funny & Black" is a knowledge bowl, this is a knowledge buffet. 


2. The Audience

Part of Amanda's appeal is she knows who she is and doesn't try to accommodate white people. If you're at her show, you know what you're getting. In this crowd, there are no fairweather fans, but "passionate" supporters, mostly Black women, there to root on their girl.

I was glad about this. Amanda has a following already and I was worried HBO would try to dilute her to be a comic for everyone ("everyone" is code for being palatable to white people). The ovation she got when she came on stage let me know her people were in the building. They didn't let up either. They sang along to her rap remixes. They cheered her quips about menstrual cycles and sex with exes. They double-clapped on command!  During one punchline about passive aggressive white people, a woman in the front row jumps out of her seat in jubilant agreement with Amanda. The audience makes you wish you were in the room that night. 


3. The ShowWomanship

If you've never seen Amanda do anything, she doesn't halfstep with her energy. She's "passionate" and that comes through in this show. I've been a fan of hers for years now and felt pride as she presented some of her notable jokes with flair and freshness. This was her tour de force, her "Bring the Pain" (Chris Rock), her "Killin' them Softly" (Dave Chappelle). I don't name these male comics to legitimize her - she doesn't need that. Only to give a comparison to the combination of social critique and laugh-out-loud funny she demonstrates. 

This is a classic. It is a black woman at the peak of her powers and somehow not even at the peak of her powers. This show is an event, a mood, and Amanda recognizes it and lives into it fully. The occasion does not overwhelm her, but she embraces it and seems driven further by it. At multiple points, she takes deep pauses, inhaling the moment and letting us all anticipate the punch line. After a one hour set where she sang, danced, taught, rolled (Ashley cracked up and rewound that part), and half-preached, she wasn't even sweating. (I don't know a thing about this, but shout out to the makeup team) She did the damned thing. 


Around midnight, Ashley and I looked at each other in deep appreciation for a night well spent. Our cheeks hurt, our cores burned, and our hearts swelled. We had witnessed something glorious. Never before have I felt more like calling my mother-in-law... just cuz.