Welcome to Sunday Supper!
Set the Table
Say your grace
Prayer: Dear God, Help me make sense of this world. Amen
Affirmation: I will never underestimate the power of my words.
Gratitude: I am grateful for my 5th great-grandmother, Louisa, and so many others whose faith, righteous indignation, and work made this world better.
I am grateful for every reader, subscriber, commenter, and those who share this newsletter with others.
The Main Dish
Dig in
Forced Forgiveness and Failed Accountability
I'm currently writing a historical fiction novel based on the life of my great-great-great-great-great-grandmother, Louisa. She was born in 1815 on land that would later become part of Mississippi, and learning about her brings me great joy.
As I read through the records that offer glimpses into her life, including the inscription on her tombstone, I feel as though I've stepped back in time, taken numerous trips up and down the Mississippi River, smelled the smoke from the river's steamboats, and watched cotton become king, just as she did.
I've visited Natchez, MS, conducted research at the University of Mississippi's library, and examined records from St. Louis, Missouri, where she also resided. I also explored her land ownership records in Arkansas and the church records from the African Methodist Episcopal (AME) Church she attended—the same denomination my parents raised me in and where I serve as a minister.
I am grateful to reflect on the faith and the African Methodist foundation she laid for her family. Now, seven generations later, our family continues to worship at the church she attended. Two hundred seven years after her birth, I became an ordained deacon in the AME Church.
Throughout my faith journey, I have learned to speak truth to power and to speak truth with power. Although my natural introversion sometimes makes it difficult for me to use my voice, I understand my purpose and strive to push through because of those who came before me and those I serve.
Emanuel
As I wrote about Louisa's faith and resilience during my writing time last week, I thought of the faith community at Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, SC, where nine members—Clementa C. Pinckney, Cynthia Graham Hurd, Susie Jackson, Ethel Lee Lance, Depayne Middleton-Doctor, Tywanza Sanders, Daniel L. Simmons, Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, and Myra Thompson—were brutally murdered by a white supremacist while they engaged in a Bible study.
Louisa lived during a time when her faith was considered dangerous, so she joined an underground faith movement. She courageously persisted. Emanuel AME continues with that same courage. The congregation persists.
Louisa and Emanuel AME remind me that the struggle against violence has never been confined to one century or one community.
Forgiveness
Before the blood had dried at Emanuel AME, the familiar demand came: forgiveness. The expectation is that Black people will perform a moral miracle so that the nation can remain unchanged and unaccountable. I had a problem with that expectation then, and I still do. Forgiveness for this terror is not mercy; it is maintenance. It keeps the lie intact. The lie that the violence was an aberration. The lie that the river of white supremacy does not still run through this land.
Some demand forgiveness without acknowledgment of the suffering that necessitates it. To call for immediate forgiveness is to deny the reality of the murderer's violent grooming, to ignore the soil that grew him, and to absolve the very structures that nurtured the white supremacist views. Forgiveness should not be demanded where accountability has failed.
It was the families of the victims whom others asked to heal wounds they did not open. So, the cycle continues: broken bodies, spilled blood, and the system asking for grace it has never earned.
A Double Standard
This double standard becomes clearer when we look at how forgiveness is discussed in other moments of violence. Recently, after the assassination of far-right provocateur Charlie Kirk in Utah, there were no calls for his family to forgive. On that same day, when a school shooting shook a Colorado community, no grieving parents were asked to stand in front of cameras and extend forgiveness to anyone.
What ties the events in Charleston, Utah, and Colorado together is not forgiveness but violence and our nation's refusal to confront the forces that make violence so common. The evils of white supremacy, a violent culture, and political cowardice have woven themselves into the very fabric of America. Until we confront white supremacy, America will not be non-violent. Until violence is named an American heirloom passed from one generation to another, we remain trapped. Until the world urgently works to prevent violence, peace will remain a distant dream.
Louisa knew violence, too. She lived through slavery, racial terror, murders, and laws that denied Black humanity. Yet she built a life of faith, community, and courage along the Mississippi and in Arkansas. I’ve found no record of whether she forgave those who harmed her or her peers, but I know she resisted, persisted, and lived righteously. Maybe forgiveness was a byproduct of her faith—or maybe her faith showed her that God required her energy elsewhere: building, watching, and witnessing.
Louisa didn’t shy away from the hard times, and neither can I. Her strength calls me to continue the work, the watching, and the witnessing required for justice, righteousness, and love. That is my commitment.
I can't wait to share her story with you!
Table Talk
How are you doing?
Pot Likker and Cornbread Crumbs
There’s flavor in the small things.
Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.” James Baldwin
Potluck
From Our Community Kitchen: Book, Music, Art.
Book
Music
Art
Recipe Exchange
When I went to the University of Mississippi to conduct research for the book I am writing, one of the first documents I discovered contained recipes that “southern ladies” shared. The first recipe in the collection was a Mint Julep.
I was surprised by the discovery because I never considered what people ate and drank in colonial Mississippi until doing this research. So, I am sharing my recipe discovery with you.
Drink responsibly!
Mint Julep Recipe
Ingredients
8-10 fresh mint leaves
0.5 oz. simple syrup
2.5 oz. corn whiskey
Crushed ice
Fresh mint sprig for garnish
Instructions
Add the mint leaves and simple syrup to the bottom of a metal julep cup.
Gently muddle the mint to release its oils and aroma. Do not crush the mint excessively, as this can cause bitterness.
Add the corn whiskey and stir.
Fill the cup with crushed ice.
Garnish with a fresh mint sprig and serve immediately.
Dessert
A Sweet Send-Off
“The Negro Speaks of Rivers” by Langston Hughes
Until next time, feed your mind, body, and spirit, and don't forget to feed others, too!
The best corn liquor used to come from near Canton! This past week was very rough. I learned of the accidental drowning of a young man whom I had helped bring into this world 30 years ago. I wasn't the dad, but I was there the first few years of his life. Anyhow, because of this sad news, I didn't pay much attention to anything else. In other news, Real Estate sales have picked up in my part of the world; there's hope. Thank you, Andrea. I always look forward to your Sunday share and anything Mississippi-related. Which reminds me, the other day I had a nice lady on the phone from B of A, and we got to chatting and turns out she was from Starkville, MS, too, and she knew some family names that I'd grown up knowing, like Bell and Cotton out Oktoc Road.
You gave a Word. I have always felt the way you describe forgiveness expected from Black folks in this violent America. ESPECIALLY after the Mother Emmanuel massacre. I'm NOT that girl. Nope.