From Token to Woken: Stories of Losing and Regaining a Part of Yourself

Amongst various descriptors that I hold (Christian, short, white-haired, etc), I belong to another group that has existed under many names in this nation. At various times and seasons, we have been called “Black”, “African-American”, “Colored”, and a host of others I can never bring myself to ever say or type.

My college years were spent, however, in a predominantly white, predominately Christian, and predominately conservative school here in Missouri. And, while I deeply love the people I met there over four years (some of whom I still keep in close contact with), there are numerous stories from that time I wish I could revise or erase altogether.

As the intention of this writing is not to disparage anyone by name, I will not use names or titles that anyone would know as I write. Thus, the subject of my first story is going to be named Matthew Henry, a professor at the college I attended. Now, if the reader fancies themselves a theologian who ran in search circles as I did (white and conservative), it is obvious I did not make up this name.

A vivid memory still sits in arms reach of when Matthew Henry (Dr. Henry, as he was my professor), several other students, and I went to a conference in the Southern United States. As was normally the case, I was one of, if not the only, African-American student there. Sitting in my office at home, I can still hear Dr. Henry telling me so many years ago that I should go back to the Black Church and teach them the value of Martin Luther over Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I would love to say that I was absolutely floored at this statement. I wish I could say I that stood up from my seat in disgust, stood on the table itself in protest, and rained down angry (but godly) responses upon my professor.

I wish I could even say that I froze in confusion at his audacity.

Instead, I sat there.

I am not sure if I agreed with his statement or not. CJ Pearson in his early 20s tended to suffer from a lot of what CJ Pearson in his early 40s is going to counseling for: A lack of self-confidence. Whatever my external reaction could have been I know that, internally, it created a core memory.

But some times it is what is not said that creates the core memory, but what is left out, and I assume I am not alone in this. William Carey, a missionary from England, is celebrated as an accomplished worker of the Lord for his time in India, and I should know. We had to read a book and write a report on him. Yet, I was never told about George Liele, an African-American man who was once enslaved, who went to Jamaica to minister and plant churches. In fact, the silence in regards to people who had my thicker lips, kinky hair, and dark skin was largely left out during my theological education at that school.

What happens when all of the heroes you are told to have look nothing like you, and, some of those heroes, owned men and women who do look like you? Simple really: You begin to lose sight of the value of what made you different in those situations.

I graduated from that college in 2003, and went to a seminary of the same denomination in 2006, where, for the most part, I was, once again, missing from the story. It took the shooting of Michael Brown in Ferguson, MO to help me see myself again.

I do not remember if it was Dr. Henry specifically (who I was friends with on Facebook at the time) who became vitriolic. But I do remember seeing Facebook posts condemning the violence done to buildings, but never the violence that was uncovered by studies that came out of Ferguson. Studies that talked about the rate of being pulled over, incarcerated, and disenfranchised for the African-American community there.

That was, unfortunately, the change that was needed for me, but I cannot get over how it took me so long or what it took to get me there. I have learned, amongst other lessons, we lament most the changes we could have made sooner. We lament the time spent in-between.