At a Bar in Atlanta, I lament

I find an empty seat at the hotel bar. As I open my laptop and wait for my lunch to arrive, a 67 year old man sits next to me. He groans in a way that reveals his aging body, and he plays it off as a grimace on my behalf. He begins the conversation, “Oh, you’re still working so hard at this time.” I politely grimace back, “Unfortunately.” A joke I use to be more relatable—I would rather be working.

He inquires about my work. I offer brief responses about my organization. He asks, “Why are you in tech?”

I tell him, “I am not in tech. I am in humanity and humanity is changing because of technology.”

He was silent as my food arrives. I was hoping this marked the end of our conversation, but he asks about the food. I tell him it is decent.

He then spits out the thought that had been sitting on the tip of his brain, “What do you mean by humanity?”

I told him, “To be human is to hold ritual and tradition. There has been a loss of ritual and we need new traditions.”

Quickly, he chuckles, as if wisdom only comes from years on earth, “Well, young lady, there are strong traditions from before. Why can’t we just return to them?”

His words remind me of my lament, so I remind him of my lament, “The rituals that worked before led us here now. Those rituals lost their value for many. The context of our world has shifted dramatically. So, returning just won’t do.”

I felt too harsh in my tone, so I consoled him, “But don’t worry, the new traditions will always be inspired by the ones before because rituals penetrate blood and travel lifetimes.”

He laughs. I’m tired, exhausted really, plagued by the same challenge: How can we build rituals that form communities who act together, create together. How can we build traditions that help each of us move towards life’s purpose first and status last.

I look around the hotel bar and I see everyone simply signaling status—Louis Vuitton and contrived laughter and glances at watches that I would never learn the names of.

He interrupts my lament, “Well, that’s lofty. What’s a ritual that needs to change anyways?”

I didn’t like his tone. It reminded me of the arrogant men who always mistake root cause analysis for some personal over ambition. They always think as if I am operating from the ego of their God.

I snapped back easily and without filter, “The church.”

He looks shocked. The response I was hoping to evoke. A response that brought me a petty joy.

Now, I take advantage of his silence, “I know we are in the heart of the Bible Belt, so it may be hard to see. But religion is losing its grip on the people, on the children. People may run to church in moments of recession, but they are quick to leave it when the money is good.”

I piqued his interest, brought him back in, “So, how would you go about it?” I appreciated his curiosity, a brief willingness to expand his imagination.

“I think the emergence of a new civic institution that allows people to explore life in community. I guess you can think of it as an interfaith church of sorts. Giving people the opportunity to share and learn from the experiences of others,” I respond. I am quite proud considering it’s the first time, I’ve articulated a solution so succinctly.

He grumbles, “Oh well! The church is doing great out here.”

And there you have it, I reached the boundary of his imagination. I don’t want to engage any further, and I’m hoping he doesn’t want to either.

Yet, he couldn’t get over his shock. Such a beautiful, dark brown woman who doesn’t believe in the power of his lord and savior. So, he allows his shock to go on. He mentions, “There is a church that young people love here. They have them lining up outside of the place and each Sunday looks like the entrance to a club.”

He says the name and asks if I heard of it. I shake my head no. He insists that I should check it out. I told him I would look it up in hopes of a quiet exit.

Finally, silence.

Disrupted again, he asks, “Well did you grow up in the church? I know the fam—”

I interrupt him, “No, I didn’t”Shocked again! I didn’t mean to interrupt him, but I didn’t assume the question was rhetorical.

Almost fully depleted, he lets out an “Oh well!”

Now, I smile. And in a way, I tell him not to worry for my soul: “Well…I value the wisdom that can be drawn from every tradition, including Christianity.”

He looks puzzled and a little perturbed. And this rubs me the wrong way, so I was intent on leaving him with my real final thoughts.

“But I do struggle with Christianity the most. Because how can I pray for liberation to the God of those threatening my liberation? I struggle to affirm the incantations and prayers that birthed an existence of destruction. Although I was born in the power of Black Christianity and loved in the power of Black Islam, I know I am my ancestors dream. I walk in liberation, so I decolonize my rituals and I go to the root of the spirituality that my ancestors were forced to hide in the traditions of Christianity and Islam. They existed in survival and fear. I no longer live in fear and I am free to do more than survive.”

He groans.

I smile politely and slightly turn my back.

Finally, in peace, I continue to lament my liberation.