Please Mr Preacher

I (Dai) recently heard the insanely talented Nyasha Munashe at the Urban Wordsmiths poetry evening in Cardiff. All of his pieces were fantastic, but one piece in particular hit me. It was titled ‘Please Mr Preacher’ and imagines a conversation between an African American slave and the so-called Christian he ‘belongs’ to. The video is above ↑ and the full script is below ↓. Enjoy…

“Please Mr Preacher, I come to thee with trembling hands and solemnity etched within the depths of my soul, it is uncharacteristic of me to open my mouth to express my grievances but on this occasion, I plead with you to lend a listening ear to the sorrows of your servant

You see, unlike you Mr Preacher, I may not be able to articulate the Institutes of the Christian Religion like John Calvin or expertly exegete Ecclesiastes expositionally or speak of the eschatological hermeneutics of a Pauline Epistle, Mr Preacher, I may not have the intellectual capacity to engage in critical dialogue regarding the Hypostatic Union or the distinct roles of The Holy Trinity, Mr Preacher, my comprehension of the doctrine of election may not have stemmed from Reformed teaching but I assure you that the same Spirit tells me I’m chosen too, Mr Preacher, my body might have been affected by the fall and my frame indwelt by sin, but I assure you Mr Preacher that my wickedness is not derived from the color of my skin, Mr Preacher, I may not be able to pick out TULIPs in the Book, the same way I pick up cotton in the field, but I’d like to assure you that the same Faith flows from the speech of my two lips, Mr Preacher, I may not have the eyes to identify all the Theophanies in a biblical text but I assure you that I too have seen the Hand of God, Mr Preacher

Please Mr Preacher, I’ve spent my whole life trying to appease Mr Preacher, like a Coke bottle I’ve bottled up all my blackness until your hatred left me shook and caused my contents to explode out and stain your white-tinted tiles, Mr Preacher, I would rebuke thee in vernacular but your forefathers colonized my mother tongue and bred the offspring of identity dysmorphia, Mr Preacher

My lack of academic and theological acumen may render me incapable of critiquing you but I would like to remind you Mr Preacher that it takes no theologian to identify religious hypocrisy, to subjugate people groups under the guise of evangelistic missions is to do violence to the Scriptures which you claim to so vehemently hold to, to echo the words of Frederick Douglass, “I love the pure, peaceable, and impartial Christianity of Christ; I therefore hate the

corrupt, slaveholding, women-whipping, cradle-plundering, partial, and hypocritical Christianity of this land. Indeed, I can see no reason, but the most deceitful one, for calling the religion of this land Christianity. I look upon it as the climax of all misnomers, the boldest of all frauds, and the grossest of all libels”

You see, Mr Preacher, each lashing on my back is a reminder that I too bear the marks of Christ on my body and that my Savior suffers with me, each lynching my eyes have witnessed a testament to Christ’s solidarity with the least of these, my soul takes solace having the assurance that God’s Chosen One will relentlessly pursue and establish justice on the earth. My soul finds rest in this truth, but what does this mean for you, Mr Preacher?”