According to author James Baldwin, “the most dangerous creation of any society is the man who has nothing to lose.”
This might explain the popularity of Louie C.K., whose rise to stardom has transitioned him from accomplished comedian to household name, not only because of his time writing for luminaries like Chris Rock and Conan O’Brien, or because of Louie, his critically-acclaimed bio-dramedy on FX, but also from an insightful comic bit that went viral in 2008, entitled “Everything’s Amazing and Nobody’s Happy.”
Well now he’s back, with another insightful, melancholy quasi-comedic rant about why he won’t let his daughter have a cell phone. It starts off being about how kids today don’t know how to communicate with proper eye contact, but then before you know it, he’s waxing philosophical about perpetual distraction, existential sadness, texting and driving, and doing a crazy Springsteen impersonation. It’s a five minute tour de forcethat is brutally funny and shockingly poignant.
I love almost all of Louie CK’s humor, even the crass, over-the-line jokes. They’re just all so painfully honest. With a sentence or two, CK can masterfully project an aura of disregard for what you think about him, which is part of the appeal. And it’s not in an iconoclast, look-at-me-I’m-a-rebel way, but more of a matter-of-fact, this-is-just-who-I-am-*sigh*-whaddya-gonna-do sort of way. Most of his material comes from a side-eyed glance at society at large, and his way of glibly revealing the fraudulent nature of contemporary American pride and excess.
Essentially, Louis CK talks a lot about privilege. Racial privilege, yes [like this R-rated clip], but also the privilege of wealth and prosperity in general, which demands nothing more than the pursuit of and allegiance to itself. But unlike Chris Rock, CK speaks not as a critical outsider, but as one trapped in the machine, all too familiar with the soul-crushing effects of fame, fortune and power.
In that, he has a lot in common with the Biblical figure Solomon.
Solomon was a man of incredibly vast privilege. His reign was part of a decidedly prosperous era for the kingdom of Israel, and he took full advantage of that wealth. With untold riches, multitudes of both wives and concubines, and a reputation for wisdom, he was like Steve Jobs, Tony Stark, and Hugh Hefner all rolled into one. He was the most interesting man in the world long before The Most Interesting Man in the World.
And yet, for Solomon, staying thirsty was not a catchphrase, but a lament. All throughout the book of Ecclesiastes, assumed to have been written by Solomon, is a tone of resigned futility. Verse after verse describes the author’s attempt to find fulfillment through the pursuit of worldly pleasures. And it all adds up to nothing, vanity, meaninglessness. Like chasing after the wind or trying to grasp smoke.
This is what Louie CK was referring to when he talked about that “forever empty” feeling. The fallen nature of sin in the world has created an inescapable sense of foreboding that we adults have to contend with on a daily basis, even if only subconsciously. All of the unfairness of life, all of the frustration, all of the pent-up, unfulfilled longing… it weighs on us. Like graffiti on a random wall, we’re conditioned to believe that there is no gravity, the world just sucks.
As a Christian, I know that there is an antidote for this existential gloom, and it’s not just listening to cathartic music. I believe that the emptiness we feel is evidence that we are in need of a Savior, and that this fallen world is not meant to be our home.
But in too many Christian circles, we’re conditioned to project the exact opposite message. The popularity of the prosperity gospel, combined with the advent of social media, mandates that we project Christian positivity at all times. This is one of the reasons why there aren’t enough worship songs that give voice to lament. We’re not allowed to publicly demonstrate feelings of emptiness, because somehow we think it’s bad PR. We think we’re supposed to look like we have it together at all times, so as to somehow show the world that the Christian life is the best choice because it guarantees the most successful outcomes (kids in the best schools, job with the most money, biggest house, et cetera).
But being confident in our hope doesn’t require us to never show any sadness. On the contrary, the popularity of Louie CK’s latest viral clip is proof that honesty and vulnerability is something that resonates, that causes people to stand up and take notice, and sometimes even stop you in a sporting goods store.
As someone just venturing into stand-up, I admire CK’s bold, unfiltered style, even though I know that as a worship leader, I can’t afford to take all those kinds of risks in pursuit of a laugh. But I hope that every time we see a bit like that go viral, it will be a reminder that perhaps we could do more to be a bit more honest and vulnerable. It’s true that people won’t hear the gospel if no one tells them, but it’s also true that they won’t have a concept for their sinfulness if they’re not allowed to acknowledge that something about life is wrong.
Even if that something is, y’know… little kids with cell phones.
Tonya Lewis Lee has accomplished a lot over the years, but her latest project may be one of her most rewarding experiences yet. Not only is she a mother, attorney, writer, producer, and founder of the women’s health website Healthy You Now, but Lee is also the wife of award-winning producer, director, and social activist Spike Lee.
Urban Faith recently sat down with Lee to discuss her family, marriage, career, and her first made-for-TV film, The Watsons Go to Birmingham, premiering on the Hallmark Channel on September 20th at 8/7 CT. The film is about a family from Michigan that travels to Birmingham, Alabama, in 1963. There, they witness the social injustice of the South during the Civil Rights Movement, including the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing that killed four girls. Check out what Lee had to say about life and her upcoming film:
How do you balance it all, with raising 2 teens, a marriage, your career and social life? I was just telling someone the other day that I have issues striking balance right now. I believe that we all can have it all, but we can’t have it all at the same time. For me, with my career, the work that I’ve been doing while raising my children and with a husband who travels a lot and does his own thing, I was able to continue to work in a way that made sense for my children and their schedule. I was OK with that and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. So, how do I balance it all? I don’t know! Some days, I don’t get to the gym, but on the days that I can, I go as much as I can. Some days work suffers because I’ve got to do stuff with my son, but the work is still there so I’ll get to it.
Congratulations on making your marriage work for 20 years! With such a busy schedule, how do you and your husband manage to maintain a strong relationship? My husband always jokes, “[The secret] is not talking about it.” That’s our secret. We just don’t talk about it. But seriously, it’s a lot of work. I think you have to be flexible, and people have to go into marriage knowing that it’s not a fairy tale. It’s compromise, patience, and being committed. In a way, if you just keep staying [married], the years just keep flying by. It’s amazing how fast time goes! Honestly for us, our children are really the heart of our family, so it really comes down to what’s going to be best for them. And for us and our situation? Us being together and working it out is what’s best. You have good times, and you have rough times, but you just work through it all.
The Watsons Go to Birmingham, from left to right: David Alan Grier, Anika Noni Rose, Skai Jackson (front), Harrison Knight, Bryce Clyde Jenkins, Wood Harris
What inspired you to produce The Watsons Go to Birmingham? Well, first I read the book with my kids when they were younger, and it was a fun read. It also provided an opportunity for [my kids and I] to talk about our history. But we also really did have a great time just reading the book. I’m also someone who really loves the idea of trying to make history interesting and relevant to young people. I think it’s so important that we know where we’ve come from and to understand where we are and where we’re going. So I felt that The Watsons was a great opportunity to, first of all, just show an African American family loving one another. I love the parents in the story who are really parenting their children. They’re struggling with their older son, but they’re not giving up on him. I love the family dynamics! When I initially thought about turning the book into film, it was really more about the family dynamics than the history.
You have already accomplished so much during your career. Why have you decided to produce The Watsons Go to Birmingham now? Well, it really was a 9-year process, but I always say that [the film] came when it was meant to be.
There are so many films that have been produced based on this particular time in history. How did you choose to tell this particular story through film? I look at The Watsons as a vehicle that is really targeted towards children and families. You’re right, there’s a lot of stuff out there on civil rights, but I don’t think that there’s a lot out there on civil rights that speaks to children specifically. The Watsons is told through the eyes of a 12-year-old boy and his experience in dealing with the Civil Rights Movement, segregation, and the bombing. It’s about families sitting together, watching The Watsons, seeing their family in that, and then having an opportunity to have a real conversation with their young children about the Civil Rights Movement and what it means.
How has Hollywood changed in the past 20 years in addressing major topics in African American History such as the Civil Rights Movement? Right now we’re living in an interesting moment. We’ve got Django [Unchained], The Butler, and then you have 12 Years a Slave that’s coming out in the fall, and we’ve had The Help and Red Tails, so it’s been interesting. I think there’s definitely been some interest in those stories and that’s wonderful. Now of course, everyone has their own way of telling them, and I might not agree with all of it, but I’m happy to see that at least Hollywood is paying attention and interested in doing those stories. It’s all really about really showing the humanity of who we are, and if Hollywood is interested right now in telling the story about how people have gone through struggle and they’ve come out on the other side and it’s OK, I think it’s great.
As someone who is passionate about working with children, how do think Hollywood is doing in really connecting with the African American youth? We really need major work. Honestly, that is something that is very disturbing to me. There are not enough images of children of color featured in any sort of leading role in Hollywood, and it’s really a disgrace. All of us, Black and White, are affected by the images that we see out there, and [African Americans] do not see ourselves represented. We need that! Our kids need that. We need to see images of Black children just being kids, just a regular kid doing regular stuff.
Where do you see yourself 10 years from now? Wow, in 10 years I see myself busy with my films, writing and producing. I also see Healthy You Now. I’m not exactly sure where it will be, but I certainly see it transitioning into something else. I just see myself busy working. The truth of the matter is, I want to be working until I’m 95 years old. I don’t want to stop, and I don’t know why it would stop.
Go behind the scenes with The Watsons Go to Birmingham cast:
Oprah Winfrey and Forest Whitaker in “The Butler” (Photo Credit: Anne Marie Fox)
Last Friday night I joined the droves of people across America who went to see “The Butler” over the weekend. I was both excited and nervous to see this historic fable about Cecile Gaines, a man who served eight presidents during his time as a butler in the White House. I was looking forward to watching some of my favorite actors morph into historical figures but I wasn’t too excited about stepping back into history. Less than two minutes into “The Butler” I was faced with “Strange fruit hanging from the poplar tree” and I, like an over-ripened fruit spills its spoiled juices once it hits the ground, was emotionally hit and tears fell down my face. I wanted to look away but I knew that I shouldn’t. Next to those dangling bodies appeared a quote by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., “Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that.” And with that, director Lee Daniels provided a little light, as much as could be seen through the graying eyes of his main character, Cecile, who was seated in the foyer of the White House ready to take us on his retrospect for life.
Cecile takes us from the cotton field where he was visible worker among his parents and others–visible enough to not only be seen but to see the violence that took his father and sense the sexual violence waged against his mother–to the houses and hotels where he learned to be a domestic, an invisible worker who lived to serve and not say much. Cecile, played by Academy Award winner Forest Whitaker, is an affable servant who masters smiling with his eyes and being disarming despite his 6 foot 2 inch stature, yet all of this was uncomfortable. I didn’t want to watch Cecile be an agreeable butler. In comes Cecile’s son Louis, a young man whom you can sense has a problem with his father’s career complacency. He doesn’t say much in his initial onscreen time, but he has eyes that speak volumes. Here we begin to see some of Lee Daniels’s best work in the film, which is the study in contrasts he sets up between father and son, mother and potential daughter-in-law, those just trying to survive and those striving in the fight for justice.
This study in contrasts plays out in the context of Cecile serving in the White House and Louis serving on the front lines of the Civil Rights Movement. It begins most poignantly with Cecile’s revelation of the “two faces” every black person must wear, the face worn to operate around white people and the one worn around black people–which is most likely an authentic reflection of self. When Cecile spoke of the two faces, I and the rest of the predominantly black audience let out a collective moan, no doubt because we knew the two faces too well. Cecile was speaking from a context 50 years earlier and yet, 50 years later, the two faces still exist and play a role in the daily functioning of some black people. Cecile wears two faces, but his son refuses and instead Daniels sets him up as one of the young faces in the Civil Rights Movement. The film switches between Cecile’s quiet life of service to Louis’s rowdy life of shaking up the system and the astute viewer will begin to wonder, “Am I about the quiet life of just working with my head down to support myself and my family? Or am I about the loud life, the activist’s life of shaking up the system to expose injustice, sacrificing myself?” The movie deals with the sacrifices that were made so that we could have equal access and rights. Sacrifices that were made by the people on the front lines of the Civil Rights Movement and those that were made behind the scenes by people such as black domestics. Daniels includes a speech by Dr. King to Cecile’s son on the importance of the black domestic and their subversive nature, which was poignant in the moment and spoke truth to the black domestic’s power in a way that is rarely considered in the dominant narrative of American history. Yet, regarding subversion, I wonder if the black domestic fell into it by circumstance instead of by explicitly choosing it as a political strategy to break down racial barriers. I wonder if white people people saw their black servants as agents of their change of heart or did they merely tolerate their presence which made it seem like a change was coming. I state this not to critique Dr. King’s words, but to set them against the narrative Daniels provided which does not present Cecile as someone who was actively trying to do anything other than survive and casts the various presidents as those who, sometimes, just wanted a negro’s perspective to bolster their own success in office. But I welcome correction on this matter. Nevertheless, the film can show us something about ourselves and makes us sit with the question, “What side of the struggle am I on?”
Lest I take up this review with talk of male power, I can’t neglect the role of women in the film. Media mogul and sporadic actress Oprah Winfrey plays Cecile’s wife, Gloria, a stay at home mother. At once I wanted to be happy that she wasn’t the one serving because that would perpetuate the trope of voluntary surrogacy among black women in post-Antebellum America—this is not to say that it didn’t exist but it is to say that portrayals of women in such roles have been exhausted in cinema. But, in exchange for this trope, we get the long-suffering black woman. Gloria takes care of home and the children but has a husband who neglects to take care of her because he is too busy with work. This trope appears frequently in black film and also, if we think about it, haven’t we seen Oprah play this role before? Isn’t there a bit of the longsuffering gene in “Beloved’s” Sethe, “Women of Brewster Place’s” Mattie Michael and “Color Purple’s” Sofia? I’ll not divulge how Gloria got over, but I will ask those who have seen and will see the movie in the coming weeks to examine their feelings toward her. What, if any, power does she have throughout this film? Juxtapose her with Yaya Alafia’s (formerly DeCosta) Carol Hammie, the young headstrong friend turned love interest of Louis. In taking up the concept of the study in contrasts I mentioned earlier, we butt heads with two types of women, the one willing to stand by her man despite not getting her core needs met and the one willing to ride or die—or kill—without her man. Gloria serves a fundamental role in keeping her family together at all costs and Carol comes onto the scene as a woman who sought out a cause for herself, not for a man. She doesn’t follow Louis, she marks her own path and Daniels’ direction allows her character to stand on her own in a room full of men and with a face full of spit.
Brief character sketches and analysis aside, “The Butler” is a worthwhile film for people from all walks of life to see. It recounts many of the pivotal stories of our history in a way that leaves room for us to insert ourselves and wonder where we would have fit in the story. With the film’s long list of stars from a front-toothless Terrance Howard playing a philandering husband and a dead-on Nancy Reagan played by Jane Fonda to David Banner’s cameo appearance which makes me pray he is out of the rap game and into acting forever, I enjoyed watching all of these stars embody their characters in ways that displaced their larger than life celebrity selves. As cliché as it is to end this way, I laughed, I cried, and I was deeply moved by “The Butler.” Like any movie, a number of critiques can be made, but more than that, I hope that every person who sees this film will reflect on their role in making the world a place where all are truly free and acknowledge that there we are still in the midst of that struggle toward freedom.
A pastor attends the concert of a popular rap artist thinking it’s all good until he arrives at church the next day to find his parking sign removed, his name taken off his office door, and someone else officiating worship. He was fired with no warning because he went to a rap concert, fair or unfair?
Rick Ross at Russell Simmon’s Rush Philanthropic Arts Foundation 14th Annual Art for Life Benefit held at Fairview Farms (Photo Credit: Rob Rich/WENN.com)
This is not fiction but fact and it happened to Rodney Wills, the now former pastor of Mt. Salem Baptist church in North Carolina. According to a story published on AmericanPreachers.com, Wills attended Rick Ross’s Saturday night concert while, unbeknownst to him, the church deacons were voting on whether they needed his services anymore. The next morning, instead of giving him a courtesy call, they removed his parking sign, took his name off the door, and delegated morning worship leadership to someone else. The way that the church handled Wills’s firing seems unethical and ungodly. Why wouldn’t the deacons meet with Wills to discuss their issues with him attending the concert—the Rick Ross concert and the Lil Wayne concert that Mt. Salem youth spotted him at on a previous occasion–before deciding to fire him? (Unless they were just looking for a reason to fire him.) But the big issue here isn’t how Wills was fired–although it deserves some attention–but why he was fired–which requires us to ask some questions.
Miles Langley, one of the deacons at Mt. Salem said, “We cannot have our leader supporting people of this world who are tearing down the kingdom of God.” This issue of categorizing Ross and his ilk as “people of this world who are tearing down the kingdom of God” may give too much power to people who may just be innocent bystanders. People who may be believers and lovers of God who don’t see anything wrong with what they are doing. Rick Ross may be such a person and Rodney Wills is more than likely such a person. One commenter on social media said of this, “The funniest thing to me is that church goers constantly think that the world is out to get them. It’s really not.” There may be some validity to this statement. Rick Ross may not be out to tear down the kingdom of God, he may just be here to tear the club up. And maybe, for one night, Wills wanted to tear the club up too and sing-a-long to his favorite Ross songs–we will hope that he stayed quiet during Ross’s controversial verse on “U.O.E.N.O.” Maybe Wills wanted to keep up with what the youth of the church are listening to so that he could connect with them on a particular level. Maybe Wills, being a 26-year-old man himself, genuinely enjoys rap music and felt strong enough in his faith to listen and not be hindered by it. Wills probably didn’t think this would affect his faith or his job and now that it has affected his job, we should hope that it doesn’t hinder his faith either in God or in the church which he may feel vocationally called to despite Mt. Salem’s swift removal of him.
On the topic of “tearing down the kingdom of God” it is dangerous to claim that the faith of a congregation can be endangered because the pastor attended a rap concert. Rap concerts are not the things that destroy the kingdom of God–especially if you have a particular eschatological vision that sees the kingdom of God as that which is “already and not yet.” This necessitates a theological discussion on how we understand the kingdom of God. What is it that we are asking for in the Lord’s Prayer when we say, “Thy kingdom come” if the kingdom is being torn down? Do we understand what it means to say that someone or something is tearing down God’s kingdom? Do we want to give Rick Ross or any other entertainer that kind of power? Indeed this is a complex issue, but we don’t want to ignore the potential for rap music or any form of entertainment to be a tool of destruction–bracketing talk of the adversary. Rap concerts and/or music, movies, books, et al could destroy the people of God if they lack true knowledge of God and knowledge of self in God. We can’t be glib about the potential of much of this world’s products to destroy us in some way if we don’t first ground ourselves in God. But we should be careful about what we judge as the effect these things have on others before we dismiss them.
This story unearths a lot of questions, so what do you think? Was it fair for Mt. Salem to fire Wills for attending the concert? Is it appropriate for a pastor to attend a rap concert? How could this situation have been handled differently, on both sides?
Preachers of LA (from left to right) Jay Haizlip, Deitrick Haddon, Noel Jones, Wayne Cheney, Rev. Ron Gibson (Photo Credit: Oxygen Network)
The influx of reality TV spans every genre possible: single folks trying to find their soul mate; pageant kids turned Honey Boo Boo; people vying for the title of the most talented dancer, singer, or chef in the country and taking the prize after a million texts and phone calls to 1-800-vote-for-me.
There’s no part of life that reality TV has not touched and the church is no different. In a matter of a couple of years, we’ve been introduced to BET’s “Sunday Best” and “The Sheards,” TLC’s “The Sisterhood” (which, by the way, was not renewed for a second season), and most recently, the 2013 fall series premiere of “Preachers of L.A.” to be aired on the Oxygen Network.
The show follows the lives of six L.A.-based preachers: Bishop Ron Gibson, Bishop Clarence E. McClendon, Bishop Noel Jones, gospel singer/pastor Deitrick Haddon, Jay Haizlip, and Pastor Wayne Chaney, all of whom have multifaceted stories of faith, failures, and victories inside and outside the church. The series trailer features small vignettes of the clergy interacting with parishioners in church, ministering on the streets of Los Angeles, and even making appearances in nightclubs. The pastors can be seen standing next to brand-new Bentleys, Ferraris, and wearing custom suits while what sounds like an instrumental of Atlanta rapper Ca$h Out’s song “Cashin’ Out” plays in the background. Interesting.
While most of the pastors on the show have a checkered past (Don’t we all?), this piece focuses on a recurring message that has infiltrated the Gospel for the last thirty years: prosperity. The “Prosperity Gospel,” as many call it, focuses on the believer’s ability to gain and accumulate wealth through faith, prayer, and sowing “seed.” These “seeds” can be money, time, or resources, and Luke 6:38 serves as the ideal Scripture to support this idea of seed, time, and harvesting: “Give and it shall be given unto you; a good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back” (NRSV).
In the trailer for the show, one of the pastors quotes a very familiar Scripture to support his flashy lifestyle, 3 John 2: “Beloved, I pray that all may go well with you and that you may be in good health, just as it is well with your soul” (NRSV). Another pastor uses 1 Corinthians 9:11 to further the point: “If we have sown spiritual good among you, is it too much if we reap your material benefits?” (NRSV). For safe measure, and to keep the Scripture in context, I will include verse 12 as well: “If others share this rightful claim on you, do not we still more?”
These two Scriptures have served as the support for ministries everywhere to validate their need for and, quite frankly, expectation of prosperity to be a part of the norm for the work they do in the body of Christ.
Now, let me get this out the way: I, for one, believe that those who WORK for a living should be paid. Being a pastor/minister/clergy is a full-time job for most. It requires a large number of hours spent away from your family studying, preparing messages, traveling, and handling the day-to-day operations of the church. Working in ministry is emotionally and physically taxing and, like many careers, has the potential for burnout.
Some will argue that it is God’s will for us to prosper in the sense that prosperity means an accumulation of wealth, buying things that depreciate and generally to hoard, hoard, hoard. But is that what God meant in the text from which we build our theological beliefs about wealth and prosperity? We will determine whether the Scriptures quoted in the show trailer actually were used in context.
First, 3 John 2: the letters from John (1, 2 and 3) were a series of letters from an elder of the church to the church at large or a specific leader in the church. In 3 John, Gaius is the recipient of the letter and is someone who was revered as a righteous man who took the idea of inclusivity and hospitality seriously. John notes:
“I was overjoyed when some of the friends arrived and testified to your faithfulness to the truth, namely how you walk in the truth. Beloved, you do faithfully whatever you do for the friends, even though they are strangers to you; they have testified to your love before the church. You will do well to send them on in a manner worthy of God; for they began their journey for the sake of Christ,accepting no support from non-believers.Therefore we ought to support such people, so that we may become co-workers with the truth” (NRSV).
The key verse before John praises Gaius’ work in the ministry is the one that many quote to support prosperity: “Beloved, I wish above all things that thou mayest prosper and be in health, even as thy soul prospereth” (KJV).
Why does John say that he hopes for Gaius to prosper and be in health above all other things? Was this an indication that Gaius should strive to acquire more material things, or find prosperity in the intangible?
In context, John is writing to a church that is working through power struggles within its walls. Later on in the text, we learn about a man named Diotrephes whose disruptive behavior, refusal to show hospitality to missionaries, and active expulsion of people from the church who are hospitable became problematic for them. The author also notes that Diotrephes “likes to put himself first” (v. 9) and acts out of his own selfish motivation, to the exclusion of the needs of others in the community.
When considering the first verse about prosperity in light of the entire Scripture, the author’s hope that Gaius will “prosper as his soul prospers” is much more than a Scripture about external prosperity. If the soul is the foundation of prosperity, then your external prosperity becomes a reflection of your internal character. The measure of one’s prosperity is about the soul (our mind, will, emotions) and not external things.
This, my friends, is the classic case of taking a Scripture out of context.
It happens again in 1 Corinthians 9:11 where a Scripture to support the prosperity gospel is taken out of context. Paul talks about how those who work in the church should be able to take advantage of the rights and privileges that come with preaching the Gospel—and rightfully so—but he then adds in verse 15: “Still, I want it made clear that I’ve never gotten anything out of this for myself, and that I’m not writing now to get something. I’d rather die than give anyone ammunition to discredit me or impugn my motives. If I proclaim the Message, it’s not to get something out of it for myself. I’m compelled to do it, and doomed if I don’t!” (The Message Version).
He finalizes his understanding between the balance for rights as a minister of the Gospel and the good of the church by noting, “If this was my own idea of just another way to make a living, I’d expect some pay. But since it’s not my idea but something solemnly entrusted to me, why would I expect to get paid? So am I getting anything out of it? Yes, as a matter of fact: the pleasure of proclaiming the Message at no cost to you. You don’t even have to pay my expenses!” (The Message Version).
How do these two Scriptures placate the idea that the intention for the text to serve as support to line our pockets? In both Scriptures, the purpose of sowing and reaping was for a reason beyond the pastor/bishop/minister to live well—it was so the church as a whole would prosper! Prosperity, in context, had nothing to do with external accumulation, but internal understanding that community and the concern for community needs were of the most importance.
To bring things full circle, it seems that rapper Ca$h Out’s head-bobbing song “Cashin’ Out” is an appropriate song to shadow the Preachers of L.A. cast; it may have been the producer’s job to focus on the glitz and glam of Christendom, but the song’s lyrics give quite the textual support for the clergy’s prosperity message:
Got a condo on my wrist girl, I’m cashing out!
Got a condo around my neck girl, I’m cashing out!
My diamonds talk for me they say, “Hi, can I meet ya?”
It’s big pimping over here… I got big money visions
And I’m on da money mission, nobody can stop me
Just grab your camcorder, press record, and gone and watch me!
There’s much to be said about a body of believers who use their “diamonds” (read: prosperity) to speak for them in the midst of millions of people who suffer in poverty, even people in their own congregations. The “money mission” that this prosperity gospel puts us on causes us to lose focus of the intent and purpose of why God wants us to prosper in the first place: to better serve those who are without.
What good is it to prosper when those around you suffer? Go ahead and “cash out”; just be sure to spread the wealth to those in need once you do!
While commuting, Oscar Grant lost his life on New Year’s Day in 2009. A film that paints a vivid picture of how complex his life may have been.
While the nation is immersed in coverage of the George Zimmerman trial, it seems fitting that a film would premiere this weekend in limited markets (New York, Los Angeles, and San Francisco) that features another racially charged, outrage-inducing incident that occurred in the early morning hours on New Year’s Day 2009. Titled Fruitvale Station—named after a train station in the Bay Area Rapid Transit system in the San Francisco/Oakland area—the film recounts the final hours of Oscar Grant III.
Grant, a 22 year-old African American, was fatally shot by Bay Area Rapid Transit police who had responded to reports of a fight on one of the trains. The officers detained Grant and a group of his friends on the train’s platform. After several minutes of questioning, Grant, who was laying face down and allegedly resisting arrest, was shot in the back and later succumbed to his injuries.
A huge hit at this year’s Sundance Film Festival, the film won both the Grand Jury Prize and Audience Award for U.S. dramatic film. Two days after its premiere, The Weinstein Group, a major American film studio, picked up the visceral movie. The director, Ryan Coogler, a young, driven, African American filmmaker, is an Oakland native who attended film school at the University of Southern California (USC).
The Big Picture
Thankfully, the film doesn’t focus on the events that transpired on the Fruitvale Station platform. Instead, the filmmaker chose to focus on the complex nature of Grant’s personal life. Specifically, the audience is invited to become insiders. Rather than another news story about a former convict being shot by local authorities, the film humanizes Grant. He has a mother (played by the incomparable Olivia Spencer) who cares deeply for him. He has a family. He’s a father. He has plans for his life. Does he have a criminal record? Yes. But, as Michelle Alexander points out in her enlightening work The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness, there are more blacks under correctional control today—in prison or jail, on probation or parole—than were enslaved in 1850, a decade before the Civil War began. The percentage of black males with criminal records is astronomically higher than any other ethnic group in America. So yeah, the chances of Grant having a criminal record are pretty high.
The Embattled Protagonist
The film paints a picture of an embattled young man. A model citizen one moment—helping others with seemingly insignificant daily tasks—and a brazen, conflicted, young man the next—trying to navigate his post-parole life. But he’s a human being. The film makes viewers encounter our own prejudices when we hear about stories like this on the nightly news. They become dehumanizing after a while. Fruitvale Station ingeniously reintroduces the human element. Michael B. Jordan (affectionately known to many as Wallace from The Wireor Vince Howard from Friday Night Lights) does an excellent job of portraying Grant’s dichotomous existence.
Dangers of Commuting While Black
Imagine walking through the turnstile of an urban metro transit station without knowing it would be your last time traversing the elevated platform. In the film, Grant’s mother encouraged him to take the train. It was safer than navigating the Bay Area streets in the car on New Year’s Eve. Grant relented and took his mother’s advice. He decided to do what millions of people do nationwide daily—become a commuter. The decision proved to be fatal. The conflicting details leading up to the shooting incident pale in comparison to the fact that a handcuffed, unarmed, young, black man was gunned down by authorities while laying face down on the same concrete platform his mother felt was the safer option for her child. Did the officer believe he was using a taser? Was Grant resisting to the degree that he needed to be neutralized? Those questions were for the court (and jury) to decide. (Sidenote: The officer involved in the shooting was convicted of involuntary manslaughter.)
The more important question here is what we can do to erase the stigma we’ve attached to young, black males. To some degree, I’m not exempt from this treatment (though on a smaller scale). One day, while taking the commuter train to Los Angeles to my job in a law office downtown, I ran into one of my seminary professors on the train. I hadn’t taken one of his classes yet, and admittedly I was underdressed, since it was a Friday, but I decided to speak to him, since I’d heard his class was one to take. “Are you __________?” He looked at me square in the eyes and said, “No.” He grasped his bag a little closer and scurried further down the train car.
Hold up. What just happened? I was furious. Didn’t he know I was headed down to my cozy office in downtown Los Angeles to write legal briefs? But that didn’t matter. I made him uncomfortable. I’m sure there were some preconceived notions that I was some kind of threat. At times (and this may have been one of those occasions), ethnic identity drives that threat. I contacted that professor later that day to let him know who I was and why I had spoken to him. He apologized profusely, but why did it come to that? Why did I have to legitimize myself?
My story is nowhere close to being as tragic as what Oscar Grant experienced on that fateful night in January. Was he flawed? Yes. Was he conflicted? Yes. But he was also black. And he was commuting while black. Something that tens of thousands of black professionals do every day. He lost his life doing so. Kudos to Coogler for a film that will generate conversation in America. The proverbial “race relations” elephant in the room has once again reared its ugly head. Will we acknowledge it or continue to move our “furniture” around to accommodate our safe environments? In any event, please go see this film. It will be well worth the price of admission.
Question: What can we do to alleviate the stigma attached to being young and black in America?
