Even before quarantine, my soul was weary. I hungered for that sweet communion of fellowship. I heard about a new service a few weeks ago that they called battles. The first battle was between kings Babyface and Teddy Riley. I have loved Babyface since Two Occasions. Teddy Riley’s “new jack swing” was the soundtrack of my coming of age from teenager to college student. I did not want the bravado of a battle but yearned the elixir of nostalgia remembering a time when I was young, hopeful, and ready to conquer the world. Babyface versus Teddy was like pitting the archangel Gabriel against Michael. Then I heard of another featuring Zipporah (the African wife of Moses) and Queen Sheba (Solomon’s beloved) reincarnated in the likeness of Erykah Badu and Jill Scott — soul healers through music in the ministry of judge and prophetess Deborah.
My soul thought service at the Red Tent led by sisters of Earth might be the balm in Gilead needed for my restlessness. In addition to quarantine, the soul of black people still suffered in a racist America despite years of “progress.” Like Moses’ plea to “let my people go,” black folks’ pleas for justice, equality and freedom from police brutality went unheeded. As we yelled black lives matter, Ahmaud Arbery, Sean Reed, and Breonna Taylor were shot down and murdered by law enforcement that failed to use the same restraint they so…
