Hello gentle-people,
By now you should know I will never champion a busy life, though it is often unavoidable. If I don’t find time to look out a window and watch clouds or cars pass by, I will find something to quit. I am deeply devoted to my internal world and the beautiful salon with it where I entertain my favorite guests. So interestingly today I feel like I am inviting you into the salon to talk about: soteriology (salvation), the politics of pleasure, Black liberation and womanist theology, and Haitian diasporic experiences….through the lens of a romantic comedy.
Let this post remind you—I am a theologian. I am reaching into that bag today a bit more—perhaps I may do more theological reflection here in the future. I trust you can discern for yourself what you want more of and what you have had enough of and move accordingly.
An additional content warning is necessary here: This post eludes to or explicitly mentions physical violence (child abuse, lynching, crucifixion). As always, may you read and take in at a pace that honors the journey of your body.
chastening less: standing taller
Today’s reflections and poems come from the last few weeks, as I try to figure out what is next for me in many ways. I grew up under the “chastening rod,”1 in more ways than one. I was also taught that following the pain would lead me to purpose in church.
I tried to hold on to the teaching that woman were meant to exist in a passive role until a man came along who would become God’s primary vehicle for my life’s direction. Now, this has impacted my life in ways but to put it simply, I have always been “too strong,” according to folks who uphold those principles. So I used to try to weaken myself, taking on the task of “chastening” my strengths and waiting to be asked to step up.
It didn’t work…I mean…look at me. I used to use my tallness2 to intimidate in elementary school.3 You know how kids are on the playground, standing on their tippy toes to show each other whose boss. These days, just existing tall, Black, and woman is enough to scare some people away—at least make some hesitate. I must look like the boss with my feet firmly planted on the ground.
There were so many ways I have been taught to deny centering pleasure, but perhaps the biggest one of them is my interwoven Protestant Christian Haitian diasporic roots. The story goes as follows:
We left suffering in Haiti to come to the U.S. and no matter how much we suffer here, it is not as bad as suffering in a land where you cannot dream. At least here we can dream. At least here, we have generations to push through.
This?—You call this suffering? You haven’t seen anything…you haven’t heard about [this relative]…
This?—You call this suffering? You simply don’t know how to be satisfied with what you have, did you know [story of hardship from childhood that always somehow includes walking 10 miles to get to school]….
In all of these moments, I kept my stories close to my chest, near the heart of the only one who seemed to believe them.
I let silly guidelines on gender determine how tall I could stand up within myself.
I let suffering hierarchies keep me silent…let the jaspora4 testify.
I keep standing on my own And loving how tall I am My spirit used to sit so Low inside myself but I now feel her touching Her own ceiling saying "Hey look at me!”
more & enough, part 1 I am somewhere between more & enough: I want more and I am enough And where it matters for walking away: I deserve more and I’ve had enough And where it matters for rising up: We can have so much more If we believe enough
chasing more: deciding I have had enough
I remember when I first started the journey to “reclaiming my theology,” as Brandi Miller’s podcast is titled.5 I was in college when I read James Cone’s The Cross and the Lynching Tree, the summer that Sandra Bland died mysteriously in police custody (read: I believe she was murdered). A Black, Christian, and outspoken woman I could see myself in had her voice snuffed out. I was living on campus during the summer,6 so after reading the last paragraph of Cone’s book, I turned to my college roommate7 and said, “We need to talk.”
To this day, that talk and this friendship are among the most important things in my life. I arrived at conclusions through Cone’s book, through my friendship and a look at my own life, that justice ought to be an abiding concern in my life.
I will not quote Cone here, so go read him yourself—I will simply name what I consider now, as I hold my desire for more justice in a world that hopes to chasten Black people:
The lynching tree was used to suppress our Black aliveness, chasten our hope for more, and weaken our resistance when we say we’ve had enough. More and enough was met with a vengeful and evil white mob violence. So excuse me, if I find it harrowing these days, to dwell on messages about hustle culture, rise and grind, and “no pain no gain,” from white people. So many descend from a lineage—literally or ideologically—that shut out whatever empathy they could for Black pain. Some of them have ancestors (or living relatives) who posed for postcards in front of lynched bodies.
What I took from James Cone was a look at Jesus through a lens that understood Black peoples’ suffering. The wider corpus of his work formed a foundation for what was missing in hundreds of years of theological reflection—a need to consider who God was to the enslaved and Black people seeking liberatory and revolutionary change. “Black people took that cat and made him over. We made him one of ours.” James Baldwin said in a conversation with Nikki Giovanni.
No matter what becomes of my faith, I will continually be interested in a Jesus who understands and identifies with the suffering of marginalized and oppressed people. I could not get enough of Black and womanist theologies and other liberation theologies.
Somehow, as I found a Jesus who saw my pain and said, “I am listening,” I began on a path to living out a call to justice work. On that path, I was meeting a lot of suffering and experiencing some of my own. I thought, “This must be it, if you’re going to do the work of justice…it’s going to be grueling, so be prepared. And of course, the work is never done, so don’t even think about catching a break.”
As I came upon new kinds of pain, I began to wonder if Jesus was down for the things I enjoy. I know that I am now on a journey to chase more joy and pleasure in life. I am still figuring it out, taking as much time as I need to let my hands move playfully along in the molding of the life I want to live.
Somehow, though, it is hard to believe I can ever catch a break…but I am still chasing it.
the chase: the things I want more of
One of my favorite movies to rewatch is called The Last Holiday, and features Queen Latifah and LL Cool J. [Spoilers ahead: pause here and consider watching this film if you’ve never seen it. It is absolutely sweet.]
In that movie, Latifah’s character, Georgia, holds on to this book of “Possibilities.” It is a scrapbook of her dreams, which she does not decide to start living until she finds out she only has weeks to live. Boarding a flight to the Czech Republic, she spends her time wining and dining herself among the world’s richest people (who are also jerks).
She begins the film with her hair tied back in a tight bun, working a meager minimum-wage job and cutting coupons. Post-revelation, she cashes out her life savings, purchasing luxury clothes and spa treatments while letting her hair fall to her shoulders. Consequently, her new zest for life attracts the attention of so many people in the fancy hotel where she is staying.
My favorite couple of scenes involve the ceiling of the hotel, which she looks up at when she is checking in. The clerk at the counter tries to get her attention and she says, “Has that ceiling ever just made you want to cry?” The clerk stares back, bored, and says, “No, ma’am.”8
Later in the film, when the reason behind her stay becomes public and people start to mourn how little time they believe she has left, the clerk is found staring at the ceiling in tears.
This movie is a hopeful, romantic comedy—so she doesn’t die in the end. Instead, she is found locking lips with LL Cool J’s character, Sean, who was also a page in her possibilities scrapbook. She gets everything she dreams of, simply because she stopped being a passenger in her own life.
This is not a recommendation to clear out your savings and plan a fancy retreat somewhere. Perhaps it’s an invitation to “look at the ceiling” and let it make you cry. To chase something you think is worthwhile simply because you are made more human in the chasing.
satisfaction: go on & tell on yourself
I think about The Last Holiday a lot. Maybe because of all the times throughout when no one could see Georgia’s suffering. Various conversations with others point her to the fact that everyone around her wanted something from her, with few exceptions. Crying out in church is even misinterpreted as her joyfully reflecting on the goodness of salvation, not grieving. It felt….familiar.
Her rage led her to the possibilities book, which was also full of recipes she cooked for someone else to enjoy while she only ate Lean Cuisine. “I should’ve eaten that. And that. Hell, I should’ve eaten all of that.” Walking in the shadow of death made her a truth-teller as well, suddenly her likes and dislikes were on the tip of her tongue. She moved up to first class on the plane and got the fanciest room in the hotel.
I think about what it might look like to live this way, regardless of how much time we think we know that we have left.
As a child, I used to tell on myself when I felt too much guilt to hold. Even if I knew it would hurt to be punished, I couldn’t handle the weight of the secret. I wonder what it is like then, to tell on yourself because you can’t handle the weight of the secret: you know what you want, or have an idea of what you could have. You know what you don’t want and want to say how much it hurts to experience life with this pain that follows you….
I am learning that I am not the only one who has a hard time saying “I like this,” and “I want more,” when they find enjoyment somewhere. I am also learning that I am not the only one who has struggled to say “This is not enough for me,” or “I deserve more (or better) than this.” But the places where “more & enough” intersect keep presenting challenges to me.
So many Haitian people like me came to the States to be saved from Haiti. A perspective like this centers America (and other Western countries) as the place where flourishing is possible…a sense of shame follows you everywhere when that is your story, to say I am Haitian often for some means I am introducing myself as someone who is in constant need of saving. Depending on the latest news, they gotta find a way to save me right now.
Hands over their hearts, they confess to me, that they love the Haitian people, and our history, and believe in a free Haiti.
I lied. No one has ever said that to me (in person)…but it would be nice to hear. It is often more cynical, sorrowful, and hopeless than that. It’s always you poor suffering Haitians who can never catch a break—
We are never talking about how delicious Haitian food is. To be Haitian is to know how f—king delicious our food is. I returned to this post that reminds me of the flavors of Haiti. Let this piece by
bear witness:Our food is one element of pleasure I can never deny myself. I also chase after our humor, stories, music, and dancing. Pleasure for me is konpa direk playing and my left hand in the air while my right guides my hip movements from its place on my stomach. We are a people of pleasure, too.
I mean, we celebrate our independence by savoring soup every year. You can listen to
sharing on this special soup from this past Haitian Independence Day:The deliciousness of our food feels like a hidden secret in a world of folks who would wish to shove their bland foods down our people’s throats in crises—so far down they cannot hear us asking for what we want. But I remember stories of Haitians refusing Monsanto seeds and saying no to bland-tasting food supplements in the aftermath of an earthquake. They would say we weren’t appreciative of their aid, as if we were not allowed to center our flourishing and desire to “taste and see” that which God sees as good in all parts of our lives.
When you ask, you shall receive…they have told me Jesus said that.9 I don’t think he was wrong if we let ourselves embrace this truth: when we can ask, we have agency. I am walking into a season of asking new questions and centering the desire for more. But the wounds of the chastening rod linger.
I remember seasons when I could not ask my parents for anything. When teachers dismissed my questions as a distraction from the class. When putting my heart on the line for love was met with rejection. I recall the days when asking was “asking for it.”
Still, I ask and I keep asking as I breed new reasons to hope I am worth the answers that await me.
Delores Williams, a womanist biblical scholar, challenged what we understand as “satisfaction” framed for us through Christian soteriological10 frameworks. She looked at what we believe about being saved and how it influenced our ability to live a life of flourishing, informed by Alice Walker’s definition of womanism. Per Anselm and his boys, satisfaction looks like “God satisfied God's own violated honor by sending Godson to earth and human form ultimately to die on the cross (emphasis mine).”11 The idea of satisfaction involves the cost falling on someone in the form of suffering. This is often referred to as the “ransom theory of atonement.”
Perhaps you sang some songs about a lamb in church and this is a bell for you…
Perhaps you've never stepped inside of a church and you were wondering why the heck I'm talking about lamb.12
All I know is, Williams pushing back against this death-centered narrative saved my life. She offered a way of looking at Jesus's life through his acts of resistance to the political order of his time.13 Considering the ways that Jesus's life was salvific in more ways than just a moment when he was in the most pain changed something for me.
As I wonder about what kind of life I can have when I consider this body good and its desires and desires holy, I can be satisfied.
As in satiated, like one who understands how much more is possible for herself while knowing she is enough.
In life, you have to make sacrifices. I hope your well-being will never have to be one of them.
You will have to compromise. I hope you’ll always keep your dignity and integrity.
You will have to do things you don't like every once in a while—sometimes on the way to something you will enjoy.
You will have to be chaste here and there. But I hope you get to do some chasing too.
Oh taste and see, gentle-people…something divinely good. If you remember to….come back to A Gentle Landing and let me know if it was satisfying.
Landing Track:
Today’s landing track is a benediction (or blessing, or something you say before or after a delicious meal). I hope something in here satisfies you enough to take as an affirmation for yourself.
May your life be full, in whatever measure you are granted.
May you find good company to come alongside you in the flourishing.
May you be grounded—not in punishment but in awareness of what feels good.
May you find what you need to run away from death-dealing strongholds. (Enough is enough.)
May you find yourself, looking up at a ceiling somewhere. Or at a light that finds you after you have lingered in the dark too long.
May you learn to nurture hope out loud. Go tell on yourself.
May you learn the boundaries that keep you loving. I can love you from here..or there…14
May you expose the walls that keep you from love.
May you unlearn all forms of self-harm.
May you lean into the goodness you can provide for yourself.
May the way you seek pleasure unfold from your individualized pursuit into collective justice dreaming.
May you live to love this life every day, not just in your “last holiday era.”15
But in every holy-day.
Oh taste and see.
Comes from the verse in Proverbs 13:24, “Those who spare the rod hate their children, but those who love them are diligent to discipline them.”
I am 5’10” and not even the tallest woman in my family. It is incredibly ordinary to me to be tall and I am reminded often that it is (perceived) as extraordinary.
I am sorry if this is the first time you have heard me admit I used to be a bully…I am not proud of it.
Haitian Kreyol for “Diaspora,” which has additional connotations in Haiti for not being “Haitian enough.” | Additionally, I covered the jaspora experience of splitting yourself to mold into two cultures in this post here.
I have been grateful for Brandi Miller’s podcast Reclaiming My Theology a lot as I was writing this post. Her work in this season on purity culture undergirds so much of my inspiration to reconsider the pursuit of pleasure in my spirituality.
An act of chastening I do not recommend for this school in particular. No dining room open, having to haul groceries miles away from campus to store in a tiny fridge and cook in the only full kitchen that wasn’t even in the same building as me. It was a tough summer.
I love Frankie. 🖤
You should know I have watched this movie so much, that I am writing this dialogue the best I can from memory.
I believe that the four gospels, included in the Biblical canon of Protestant Christianity, which all differ in their narratives have unique claims about who Jesus was and what he said. Slight (to not so slight) variations abound…so they tell me.
Refers to the study of salvation in (Christian, in this case) theology.
Williams, Delores. Sisters in the Wilderness, 144.
Perhaps you are craving lamb. I'm so sorry. Additionally sorry that you can't taste how my mom prepares it… When I say she is the best cook I know.
Williams, 145-146.
Prentis Hemphill's beautiful quote remains with me, “Boundaries are the distance at which I can love you and me simultaneously.”
Or villain era, for those chronically on the internet like me.
“No matter what becomes of my faith, I will continually be interested in a Jesus who understands and identifies with the suffering of marginalized and oppressed people. I could not get enough of Black and womanist theologies and other liberation theologies.“
Jesus made so much more sense after reading Drs. Cone and Williams. And it was helpful in that order because I think it was important for me to let Williams have the last word. To hear and embrace the divine in both liberation AND survival/quality of life.
You are such a gift to the world; to *me*! I am definitely going to watch the "Last Holiday" movie and follow Brandi Miller's podcast "Reclaiming My Theology". God bless you. 🙏