On Being A Black Reformed Christian

Recently, a brother blogged at RBA on being Black and Reformed. While I do not consider myself an unquestionable expert in this area, I do have a passion for such musings and thought I would share a few of my thoughts with you over the next few days.

I am often asked what it means to be black and reformed. Or as an interviewer once asked me, “Why did you write On Being Black and Reformed?” My answer was simply, “Because I am Black and Reformed.” The interviewer thought this a rather clever answer. Yet, I thought it a merely obvious one. The truth, it seems, is so obvious to us at times that we often overlook it. Yet, since publishing the book, I am often faced with similar questions of the purpose and meaning behind my writings. I rejoice to tell people that I am a Christian; that I hold to Reformed Theology; and that my heritage is Black American. Each of these is according to the sovereign grace of God, for which I am the greatest of debtors. Yet, each could be explained further and put into its proper place. What do I mean when I say that I am Black, Reformed, and Christian?

Being Black. It means that I have a distinct, indeed unique, if at times bitter experience. It means that I have drunk of the waters of Marah in a land that has flowed with milk and honey. It means my fore parents felt the lash of the whip and witnessed the horror of babies and loved ones cast down to the depths of unknown and untold graves in an angry deep. It means their sweat and blood were fertilizer for a land upon which they could only see but never own. It means being African-American. It means having a face but often no name. It means having a home, but no country. It means having a voice to cry with, but not a voice to vote with. It means having to learn to sing a joyous song in a strange, foreign land. It means learning to live upon a God who is invisible and trusting his purposes though they seemingly ripen slowly. (to be continued)