When I was younger and thought I knew everything, I resented that Black History Month was this thing set apart from the rest of our history, as if Black history was an anomaly that existed without context. And while I still absolutely believe that the history of Black people in this country is intricately woven into the American tapestry, I understand and acknowledge the real necessity of having a month that specifically focuses on the uniquely African American experience in the United States. And it’s as important today as it’s ever been. Just last year (in 2023!), the Huntington Beach, CA city council voted to cancel Black History Month celebrations, only to rescind their ruling after public outcry.
The Book of Deuteronomy says: "Remember the days of old: consider the years of many generations; ask your father, and he will show you, your elders, and they will tell you.” (Deuteronomy 32: 7). The histories and genealogies of the Bible point to a very important truth: knowing where we come from, our history, our ancestry, is how we make sense of who and where we are today, and it informs what and where we can be tomorrow.
The New Testament provides two accounts of the genealogy of Jesus, one in Matthew and another in Luke. Matthew starts with Abraham and works forward, while Luke works back in time from Jesus to Adam. It’s fascinating to read aloud either account (although it is strongly advised to have a couple of practice sessions if you are the lector on the Sundays these scriptures are being read; Amminadab & Shealtil & Zerubbabel, oh my!). What I find especially moving is not just the inclusion of highly exalted yet highly flawed folks like David; it’s also the inclusion of people who have been ignored and pushed to the margins. Here I am thinking especially of Tamar and Rahab, the kind of women who are still shunned by society. But the biblical story says that their stories are important, that attention must be paid. And perhaps more importantly, that their stories are our stories.
I come from an ancestry of strong, resilient women. Women who were not afraid to speak truth to power, even if it cost them money, jobs, and power. My great Aunt Margaret (who was actually my 2nd cousin) was a woman who seemed unafraid of anything. She said what she needed to say with no apologies or regrets, often in language too colorful for the Trinity Church Epistle. I draw strength from Aunt Margaret’s legacy, a legacy that allows me to speak up even if my voice is trembling. And I am pretty certain that everyone reading this has some version of Aunt Margaret in their own family tree. Perhaps even Jesus.
As we as a parish think specifically about Black History, my history, our history, may we remember and reflect on the words of Carter Woodson, the historian and founder of what has become Black History Month; “We should emphasize not Negro History, but the Negro in history. What we need is not a history of selected races or nations, but the history of the world void of national bias, race hate, and religious prejudice.”