I recently got back from an amazing week in Bahia, north Brazil. As cliché as it may sound, it’s an amazing place with a rich culture and a unique spirit. Bahia is an area where the majority of the population are descended from enslaved Africans. I immediately felt at home there, more at home than I do in the average British city. I was surrounded by Afros, dreadlocks, brown skin, food that tasted strangely similar to the Caribbean stews my Mum cooks at home and men that appreciated me post-tan (been trying and failing to get to Lupita levels of melanin).

On my second day there, I went to a Samba dance/workout class. Now, I usually avoid gym situations like the plague, being naturally averse to other people’s sweat. Like, I genuinely am disgusted by people who drip sweat from their head – which is most men (wipe yourself down before you hug me please), and I visibly shudder when I have to go near anyone who has anything more than a gentle post workout glow. This class was great though. I was working every muscle, had a lot of fun, felt absolutely no judgement about the fact that my melanin had not conferred any dancing ability to me and samba’d my non rhythmic self for 2 hours. It was all going so well, until we approached the end of the class. Our super energetic teacher summoned us towards the band at the front of the room who had been drumming us through the class. I was a bit bemused, but whatever, I samba’d my way over to the drums. She knelt to the floor in front of the drums. I knelt too  – figured this was our final stretch or cool down. Then before I knew it, she was bowing in front of  the drums, arms outstretched, wailing and arching her back.

Hold up. Wait a minute. Let me put some Jesus in it.

I finally cottoned on to the fact that this was some kind of religious activity. Which I respect, but I wasn’t about to be involved in. So I stood up and shuffled to the side.

Later, she explained that she was a daughter of Oshun, (one of the Yoruba deities or what is believed to be a manifestation of God) and that the drumming and dancing was used to summon the Orisha (spirit).

And what is strange about this? She is after all, an African descendent practising her religious lineage.

The history of the intersection of Europeans with Africans is the same in Brazil as anywhere else in the modern world. There are nuances , but the story of deceit, cultural stripping ,rape, whipping, forbidding traditional religions, segregation and hierarchy enforced amongst Africans based on their proximity to whiteness follows the same pattern it does anywhere else.

Unlike my home country of Jamaica, where the majority of the country is Christian and the traditional African religions are shunned by a sizeable amount of the population (although definitely practiced by some), Brazil has a strong tradition of syncretism. The basic definition of syncretism is the amalgamation of two or more religions. In the case of Brazil, Christianity, mainly Catholicism – which arguably is very different from mainstream Christianity, is blended with traditional African religions. The Yoruba religion has different Orishas – manifestations of the supreme being, and people can be daughters and sons of these various orishas. Many slaves were adherents of this religion but were banned by the Catholic church from following it once they arrived in Brazil. To maintain their practice enslaved Africans combined elements of the Yoruba, Bantu and Fon religions known overall as Candomble, with Catholicism.  The ritualism and worship of dead saints in Catholicism lends very well to the reverence for ancestral worship in the traditional African religions. The belief systems, although very different, have enough similarities that allow for their amalgamation.

Strangely to me at first, some of the followers of Candomble in Brazil that I spoke to, identified as Christian  and Candomble. One man simply said “Candomble is first because it is the religion of my ancestors, but I’m a Christian as well”.

I thought a lot that week about how I as a black Christian related to traditional African religions. Had I been taught to fear them more than other religions such as Hinduism, Buddhism? Did I think they were ‘more’ evil? Had I ignorantly referred to them as voodoo simply because I had very little understanding of the practices? The answer to all these questions is, yes.  I can accept that one of the functions of white Christianity was to instil a level of disdain for traditional religions that was part of an entire system created dehumanise people of African descent.

What does this mean for black Christians? If we understand that our receiving of what is termed  ‘The Gospel” – good news, was actually part of a package of what was admittedly bad news for anyone who shared our skin colour, is it necessary for us to reject it?

Firstly, religion being a cultural baton that is passed down through generations doesn’t appear logical. The idea that because my ancestors worshipped a certain way I should naturally follow it, although superficially compelling, seems a completely illogical way to decide on a belief system. There are many things our ancestors believed about a lot of things that we now question, regardless of our ethnic or cultural background. Few people would suggest that because Irish people once believed in leprechauns that Irish Christians are rejecting their ancestry. Clearly, Candomble is seen as a more sophisticated belief system than leprechauns, but the logic that ancestral belief trumps all, fails.

I realise that although I’ve been brought up in a Christian family, I don’t really see Christianity as something that was simply passed down to me. In fact, I think if I had done, I would be a lot more resistant to following it. Undoubtedly the fact that I was exposed to it contributed to my acceptance of it, and it’s obvious that parental beliefs influence children hugely, but most importantly I felt that it was ultimately an individual decision about a belief system.

Secondly,  suggesting that because a religion was initially presented via oppressive means automatically means that the belief system is inherently false is again, illogical. If we reject Christianity, it cannot be on the basis that we came into contact with it in a less than favourable way. Parts of West Africa were exposed to Western medicine via colonialism, but it would be ridiculous to suggest that we reject every aspect of Western medicine simply because our initial contact with it was via colonialism. A system, be that belief system or other, must be judged in and of itself and that is outside the scope of this post.

Before slavery and colonialism and the rise of the Roman Catholic church, Jesus was not white, and Christianity was not synonymous with white supremacy. Jesus was the son of poor woman who got pregnant out-of-wedlock, part of a minority group living under Roman colonial rule. James and John were anti-Roman activists who had a supernatural experience and laid down their placards for preaching.

One definition of colonisation is ‘to appropriate for one’s own use’, and Christianity has been and continues to be colonised by white supremacy. It manifests not only in the historical and present abuses of black bodies in the name of Jesus, but also in the continuing demeaning of black cultural traditions and black self-worth in our own practices of faith. From white Christianity’s refusal to address their racism, to pictures of white Jesus in majority black churches, to black Christians being guilted into accepting their oppression in exchange for a blessing in the afterlife – the manifestations are endless.

In an age where so many young black people are rejecting what they see as a failed faith, a relic of slavery that they cannot in good conscience engage with, the black church must be rigorous, evangelical even, in its attempts to contend for the faith. Decolonising Chritianity is part of our missionary work.  Practically, that means rejecting extra-biblical traditions that are founded on white supremacist ideology.  It’s simple things like not having only Brad Pitt lookalikes when we visually represent Jesus to our congregations, especially our children. It’s more complex things like dealing with the questions our young people might have about how Christians relate to social justice movements, and being open to supporting black theologians in their attempts to understand how our story as black people is positioned in the grand story of redemption. The problem of pain and suffering in the presence of a loving God transcends race and culture, and becomes even more poignant in the recent history of African peoples. It’s challenging ideas that European art traditions have an inherent holiness that African ones are excluded from. It’s lovingly speaking out against voices that suggest that to be proudly black and a devoted follower of Jesus is oxymoronic.

Individually, it starts from a place of accepting that our own blackness is purposefully designed by creator God.  It is not an aberration or variation of whiteness. It is not ‘other’. The Biblical declaration is that God created from rich, brown earth, sons and daughters of glory. The story of redemption IS our story, as much as anyone’s and we must reclaim it.

atheism meme

I remember the end of the first year and beginning of my second year of uni. I remember sitting in church, shivering, in the the midst of one of several seasons of doubt,and realising that this was it. I didn’t believe in this anymore. In between the stories of resurrection, talking animals and parting seas,I had found the ridiculous. I imagined telling my parents that this faith that they had grounded their whole lives on, that they had taught to my brother and I and practiced with consistency was something that no longer seemed plausible. I felt a sense of relief – no more confusion or questions. No more guilt over sins. No more struggling against the part of myself that wanted to do the wrong thing.

I had awkwardly a few years earlier, asked a friend at the time, “Do you ever doubt whether God actually exist?”. She looked at me strangely.”No..” she said, and shrugged.It was then that I decided that doubt wasn’t something that a lot of Christians coped very well with.

How I regained my faith is another story, but I will say that nothing miraculous happened (in the traditional sense of the word), there were no angel sightings, voices or divine coincidences.

Throughout my experience with faith though, I’ve had more than one person ask me how as someone who appears to value reason, I can believe in the God of the Bible. There are a host of websites which give reasons for faith, who offer answers for the difficult bible passages and scientific questions, and they do it far better than me.

What I do want to challenge, is this idea that the majority of people who identify as atheists are atheist because of some sort of rigorous thought process.

There is a new atheism that peaked in popularity a couple of years ago, before it’s patron saint -Richard Dawkins, went a bit doo-lally. The new atheism revels in painting believers and belief as a festering pustule of dangerous stupidity that has come to a head, and must now be eradicated from the planet if human beings are to ever progress. It delights in taking passages out of historical or social context, painting every moderate believer as a potential extremist, and making massive overreaches from science into philosopy. It prides itself on reason and intellect, and scathes at anything that hints at the spiritual.

But a lot of atheists are more apathetic than atheist. It’s become almost a badge of honour for 20 somethings to smugly proclaim that they are atheist. They are above the infantility  and naivety of virgin births and bearded prophets, but when you start to probe more carefully you find that their atheism isn’t very well substantiated. Not that there aren’t very good arguments against belief in God – there are – but they’re not familiar with most of them. They aren’t budding Bertrand Russells. They haven’t read David Hume and the New Testament and then come to a conclusion. Given the fact that belief in the existence or non existence of a God or gods could potentially be a life-defining decision, they haven’t given it much thought at all.

You see, some atheists tend to paint the decision to believe in a faith as an one that primarily rests in our emotions or as a result of cultural norms. It’s comforting to think that Sky-Daddy watches over you and there is something more than atoms, cells and oceans. I would argue though, that our natural instinct to self determination and our dislike of guilt are emotions that are just as powerful, if not more so.

It’s not the idea of God that is necessarily offensive to some of us, it’s the idea of a God with rules.  There is a reason why many of the new atheists tend to be less vociferous about Buddhism and some of the Eastern religions. They would contend that it’s because these religions are the most peaceful, that monotheistic religions cause wars and tragedy, (Which frankly, is a load of bunkum. People cause wars, many wars have little to do with religion and are largely cultural or economic with religion as a scapegoat)

I think a large part of the reason is that these religions appear (on the surface at least) to come with far less difficult terms and conditions. Western middle class interpretation of Buddhism appears to be mostly confined to meditating, various attempts at vegetarianism and a sense of ‘being a nice person’. This is a lot more simple and less guilt inducing for the average young westerner. If they discovered that included in Buddhism was no sex before marriage, no alcohol, modest clothing, some variation of kosher food laws, Saturday night clubbing being frowned upon, no lying under any circumstances, and a duty to actively share your faith with people you meet, they would have far less interest in Buddhism. (I can’t remember enough from R.E school lessons to comment on how many of these things do apply to Buddhism and to what degree)

Few people, even atheists, have a problem with spirituality, as long as it doesn’t prevent them from doing all the things they want to do or encourage them to do things they don’t want to do. Simply put, even if Christianity was true, many of them wouldn’t want to believe. This assumption that atheism or belief is solely to do with reason, logic and intelligence  or lack it, it simply that – a massive assumption.