Excerpt
Church Girl
Chapter 1
Know ThyselfA Gospel Vision for Black Women’s IdentityGod created man
in his own image;
he created him in the image of God;
he created them male and female.
—Genesis 1:27
Greek philosopher Socrates is widely credited for the maxim “Know thyself,” which is inscribed on the Temple of Apollo in Delphi. On its face, that maxim seems good, speaking about an important kind of knowledge to have—the knowledge of the self. Many people argue that Socrates believed knowing yourself is the source of freedom, happiness, virtue, and self-improvement and is the beginning of wisdom. However, that runs counter to what we are taught in Scripture: “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and the knowledge of the Holy One is understanding” (Proverbs 9:10). This fundamentally teaches that the fear of God is the starting point for true wisdom and that to know God is true understanding. All other types of learning and knowledge (including the knowledge of yourself) are worthless unless they are first built on knowledge of God. It’s vital for us as Black Christian women to have an accurate understanding of our identity. Just like the hymn many of us have sung in church proclaims, “On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand: all other ground is sinking sand.” How we see ourselves as Black women must be rooted in God. We don’t start a quest to know ourselves with the self—we start with God. A gospel vision for Black women’s identity is a call to stand on the firm foundation of Christ and discover why God made us, how he defined us, and what he has declared about us in his Word.
Everyone has an opinion about Black women—who we are, what we can do, where our place is, what we should look like, and how we should show up or disappear in the world. Lessons on who we are have been taught by or caught from colonizers; culture; men; our mamas, aunties, and grandmothers; and our own grand imaginations. Some of these messages are helpful, but many are downright damaging. Throughout history, Black women have been under the proverbial microscope, being labeled, branded, classified, dissected, and defined in an attempt to erase, enslave, and at times empower us.
Historically, Black women have been assigned disrespectful and demeaning stereotypes that added to our oppression dating back to slavery, such as Mammy, Jezebel, and Sapphire. Then there are more contemporary stereotypes like welfare queen, baby mama, and the angry Black woman. Some labels and identities given to Black women, on the face, appear to be celebratory but have proved dangerous for us to adopt. Labels such as “the strong Black woman” or “superwoman” are unhealthy. These identities teach us to grin and bear the pain of life and carry the weight of the world on our backs without showing signs of weakness or vulnerability. These supposed strength-focused identities have kept us in bondage to pretending to be okay when we aren’t. “The Strong Black Woman Syndrome, which requires that Black women perpetually present an image of control and strength, is [an automatic] response to combination of daily pressures and systemic racist assaults.” While being called “superwoman” appears to be complimentary, it does more harm than good. For instance, when we are ascribed superhuman qualities, it encourages us to define weakness and fatigue as shameful, things to be rejected and ignored rather than embraced as symptoms and realities of the human experience. It encourages us as Black women to forfeit help and rest, two things we most need God to supply. Projecting superhuman qualities onto us as Black women invites us to see ourselves more like God than the dust he made us from. Our limitations aren’t a liability; rather, they remind us to stay dependent on a gracious God.
These exaggerated and unrealistic identities have left us exhausted, ignored, used, and celebrated only for our self-sacrifice and unnecessary savior behavior. We have also adopted new ways of naming ourselves, creating identities to rewrite and more accurately retell history. In the 1960s, to beat back harmful narratives about Black people, Black women and men identified with the statement “Black is beautiful.” When we were told by James Brown to “say it loud,” we shouted back with cultural pride, “I’m Black and I’m proud.” Black women haven’t stopped listening to our elders, and thanks to Representative Maxine Waters, affectionately called “Auntie Maxine” by millennials, Black women are now unapologetically “reclaiming our time.” When Black women exceed everyone’s expectations in sports, academics, and entertainment, we remind the world that “Black Girls Rock!” We wink at a world that wonders how we do what we do amid the many injustices we face and call the mystery of our thriving “Black Girl Magic.” Black women have called themselves boss chicks or corporate baddies to honor the way they have worked to pursue entrepreneurial passions, be leaders in their industry, and use their gifts to build a table of economic empowerment and freedom in a society that seems to hand them only disrespect.
Black women have called themselves sistahs, aunties, and mothers to emphasize the importance of extended family, and we call ourselves queens in a world that often saw us as slaves. Now more than ever, social media has been a vehicle for us to celebrate living life as Black women. With hashtags and groups—everything from Black Girls Run, Black women walk (GirlTrek), Black women read, Black women lift weights, Black women lose weight, Black women write, and Black women go to therapy (Therapy for Black Girls) to Black women (you fill in the blank)—we are unapologetically showing up for ourselves and one another. It’s nearly impossible to harness a comprehensive and worthy description of what it means to be a Black woman. How do you capture what is as numerous and as individual as snowflakes and yet as wild and untamable as the wind? What do we make of the buffet of characterizations for Black womanhood?
Have you ever considered how you should define your identity as a Black woman? One thing is certain: As Black women, we have been told who we are much more than we have been asked. Let me give you the honor and favor of asking you directly: How do you define your identity as a Black woman, and most importantly, where did you get your answer?
By the end of this chapter, you will have a deeper understanding and a more God-empowered answer. Our identity is the foundation of who we are, and it has a direct impact on how we think, feel, and choose to live. There is trustworthy foundational truth about womanhood, an identity bestowed by God, from which we can construct and express the diversity, beauty, and uniqueness of what it means to be Black Christian women. God didn’t make us unique the way he did for us to live as if all women are the same in every way. Christ is the ultimate unifier of all Christians (Black, white, Brown, or otherwise), and as believers, we certainly should stay on brand as disciples of Jesus Christ. However, God made each one of us unique, and that uniqueness provides an opportunity to show off something special about him. “Everyone who bears my name . . . is created for my glory. I have formed them; indeed, I have made them” (Isaiah 43:7).
