My very existence lies at the intersection of being Black and Catholic. An intersection that means my heart skips at the sight of an officer while on my way to Mass, or I experience racism right before teaching catechism to middle school students. In this intersection of faith and race, the burdens I carry and offer up to the cross are also related to the color of my skin.

In recent months I have been through a roller coaster of emotions. I have experienced fear, despair, anger, hope, doubt...deep doubt and joy. In all of those moments, I prayed but I longed to share the burdens of my heart to someone that understood my emotions. With each news story, each life lost turned into a hashtag, or picture of a woman that could very well be me now a troubling statistic, my emotions grew deeper. My longing for close peers who could empathize with why my mind and soul were shaken to its core grew deeper. It was in that longing that  I realized that I do not have Black Catholic peers in my immediate circle. My Catholic circle was more homogeneous than I would like. I was the lone practicing Black Catholic in my friend group. I felt alone in this plight. 

This revelation shook me. I needed the safety and commonality of others whose existence also lied at the intersection of Black and Catholic. Whenever I experienced spiritual desolation or weariness I have often been blessed to have the ‘people of the church’ around me to add fuel to my spiritual fire. In this case, I did not. The many years bearing witness to countless Black men and women lost disproportionately at the hands of those who are sworn to protect, seeing devastating statistics of Black female mortality rates after childbirth, or watching the number of Black individuals who identify as Catholic dwindle over the years were beginning to add up. I lived in that intersection and I needed solace. 

What does it mean to be Black and Catholic?

For me, there is strength and power in embracing both identities. To be Black and Catholic means to add to the rich tapestry of the Catholic faith. In my praise there is an echo of my Nigerian ancestry, in my worship there is a depth that has roots in emotion and honor, and in my oration is the whisper of stories told and untold. To be Black and Catholic is to join the richness of my experiences and being with the graces of the sacraments. To lay down the burden of prejudice at the foot of the cross, to wash away the cuts of microaggressions with the Baptismal water that heals and to cry out in praise and worship in thanksgiving for another day lived free. To be Black and Catholic is to know who I am and whose I am and to boldly step into the world with courage. I believe I work my entire life growing fully into this. 

Sister Thea Bowman, Servant of God answers it best in this quote.   

What happens when the pain or difficulties of those experiences are ignored? What happens when the scars of historic systems of injustice still sting in the hearts of a Black Catholic? Now, what if that sting came from the church she so loves. There was a time when we were not allowed to even take part in Catholic rituals and sacraments. Serving at the altar or receiving Communion was not allowed or segregated. Times when the leaders of the church were on the wrong side of justice when it came to race. Or more recently, if you bring up current topics that affect Black Catholic uniquely the issue is brushed away or worse ignored? 

In my Black Catholic experience on any given day, I am on the receiving end of countless microaggressions which pick apart  my humanity. I code-switch seamlessly in an effort to be seen as more palatable and less “aggressive”. I am always keenly aware that for many people their experience with me will be one of few they might have with a Black person and I hold a responsibility to represent not only myself but my Blackness well; careful not to play into any implicit biases or prejudice often from “well-meaning” people. That juggle of self chips away at a person’s sense of self. My desire to be more palatable took away the richness in flavor of who God made me to be. My Black experience must include the whole of me. 

Unfortunately as of late, I have found little solace in sharing my experiences with my non-Black Catholic brothers and sisters. I am met with “what abouts” and “the past is the past” or “perhaps…”'. I have never encountered so many ‘devil's advocates’ as I have recently with people of faith. The devil does not need an advocate, I and countless other Black Catholics do. I have reached out in conversations to be a bridge-builder, but as author Austin Channing Brown states, “The role of a bridge-builder sounds appealing until it becomes clear how often that bridge is your broken back.” Having to share personal trauma in order to validate my anger or sadness about the fact that black lives once again are not seen to matter, having the burden of educating on terms related to equity while navigating a rollercoaster of emotions and being met with walls of resistance is back breaking work.  I tell you at that intersection of race and faith stands a Black woman disappointed and weary.  Disappointed but hopeful, weary but persistent. 

One might respond, “ Well this isn’t about race, this is about loving your neighbor.” or “The people of the church should not be divided and get political people just need to be nicer to each other.” Or more recently “what about the attack on churches statutes?” Those “well-intentioned” words ring in my ears as, “your unique experience as a result of your race isn’t an issue for me so I would like to sugarcoat it to feel better” or “I don’t see your uniqueness as it relates to your identity so it is easier to not see the harm racism and discrimination can have on you.” And finally, “I don’t care enough to speak on race but you as a Black Catholic focus on the Catholic issues, not any Black issues because I view your Catholic identity as singular and not intersectional.” 

These phrases gaslight the person sharing experiences of trauma, harm, anger, or sadness. As I move through spaces my Black experience and color of my skin is what triggers bias, prejudice, or judgement. If I am to be judged or attacked by my faith that is often second to my race. I do not have the luxury of being silent or ignoring the issues when the victims look so much like me and people in my family. The very option to pick and choose is a privilege. There are choices in moments of cultural reckoning. It’s not enough to be proximal to people of color. There is the choice to actively speak up and speak out against personal biases and internal and external work needed and the choice to actively remain silent, dismiss or devalue. This dismissal invalidates that person’s experience and damages the opportunity for solidarity. 

In the sacrament of reconciliation, we start in prayer and in an examination of conscience. As individuals who make up the body of the church we must examine our conscience as it relates to social justice. This includes telling the full story of the role the Catholic Church played in it. As Shannen Dee Williams writes for the National Catholic Reporter, “The historical record is inundated with gut-wrenching examples of Black Catholic faithfulness in the face of unholy discrimination and segregation in white Catholic parishes, schools, hospitals, convents, seminaries and neighborhoods. Yet, this history is rarely incorporated into dominant narratives of the American Catholic experience.” We must examine if we are actively working to prevent and eradicate the sin of racism. It is not enough to be a diverse church if members of that church do not feel welcome to be and bring all that they are. Their burdens, their traditions, their voices, all in gift to the church, all woven into the body of the church. 

In faith, there may be moments where we lose hope, but by faith, we know that that hope will come again. That flame is never truly extinguished. The Holy Spirit continually blesses. In my disappointment and thirst for a broader community, I have found the solace my soul desires. In meeting and engaging with other Black Catholics, in deep and meaningful panel discussions with different groups of people seeking to learn more about the sin of racial injustice and how they can play a role of eradicating it, and in deep reflection of how my voice can amplify God’s glory. The beauty of connecting with true allies towards justice and new Black friends of faith quenched the desert in my soul. Allies who have truly listened and relieved burdens by educating their fellow non-Black Catholics, new Black friends who share similar experiences, emotions, and desires for their church. I have been blessed with resilience and hope that I imagine Black Catholics before me latched onto. 

We must encourage each other and our parishes to continually engage in discussions on issues that deeply harm and affect communities of color. Issues that are not easy to talk about. Issues like police brutality, mass incarceration, inequity in leadership in our parishes and dioceses or personal biases. Including Black Catholic history, Saints and stories into main Catholic education will help create a more diverse and rich story of the Catholic experience and provide a narrative of faith that allows for better representation. We must challenge ourselves beyond merely good intentions and performative celebrations of diversity. Invest in saving African-American churches and audit leadership to include positions that focus on inclusion across various races and backgrounds. Like the mustard seed, our efforts against the sin of racial injustice must take root in rich soil.  Solidarity must be built by celebrating the richness of cultures Black Catholics bring to their faith along with highlighting those experiences. 

My Prayer: 

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor present things, nor future things, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

May the underbelly of racism be further brought to light so that the community of believers might grow deeper in solidarity. May we be convinced that present discomforts, nor powers of oppression, nor depth of sorrow can separate us from your love. May we show that love in reaching out to our neighbor and engaging in true and deep encounters that plant seeds of healing and hope in your kingdom here on earth in anticipation of the beauty of heaven. Amen