The doors of the church are open. Good morning, Saints.
Beloved children of the sun, have Y’all ever been scrollin’ through social media, not lookin’ for a revelation, not seekin’ a word from on high, but just mindin’ yo’ well-moisturized business, and you stumble upon a post that is so petty, so precise, so spiritually hydrated that it snatches your edges mid-scroll?
Y’all know what I’m talkin’ about.
It’s the kind of post that looks like a joke but feels like prophecy. The kind that makes you sit all the way back and say, “Well I’ll be damned. That’s a whole fuqquin’ sermon right there.”
Because every now and then, revelation doesn’t come wrapped in stained glass and organ chords and a lit sermon. It comes wrapped in Wi-Fi and audacity. It comes in the form of a Black woman who proudly calls herself Uppity Negress like it’s embroidered on a satin church fan. It comes with this woman saying she has a 100% success rate getting racists to leave her the hell alone by telling them that they dog is ugly.
Not their ideology. Not their policy. Not their historical illiteracy. She said . . . they dog is ugly. And she said it works because they care more about dogs than Black people.
Saints …
Now, I had to close the app and go do a praise dance in my coat closet. A full-on Pentecostal two-step between the winter boots and the dry cleaning. I was slain in the spirit until Black Jesus was like, “Girl, wake up.”
Now church, on the surface, it sounds ridiculous. It sounds unserious. It sounds like something you whisper to your group chat after somebody says something reckless in your mentions. But the longer you sit with it, the more you realize this is not about the dog. It is about what activates people. It is about what they rush to defend. It is about how quickly compassion appears when the object of affection has fur instead of melanin.
Ohhh, Y’all ain’t ready to hear me preach this morning.
I said it is about activation, Saints. It is about how some folks will debate your humanity for three business days but will will lose their damn mind the moment you say they dog is ugly.
When you say their Labradoodle looks like somebody duct-taped two Swiffers together.
When you say their Chihuahua looks like a trembling chicken nugget.
When you say their Pomeranian looks like a dust bunny that learned to bark.
When you say their Shih Tzu looks like a Victorian footstool.
When you say their Mastiff looks like a beanbag.
When you say their French Bulldog looks like a collapsed croissant trying to breathe through a straw.
When you say their English Bulldog looks like a sack of undercooked biscuits left out in the rain.
When you say their Shar Pei looks like somebody tried to fold a comforter but gave up halfway through.
And when you look them dead in the eye and you say their purebred, double-registered, $4,000 show-quality pride and joy … is just plain ugly.
Saints, that’s when the spirit of righteous indignation descends upon you. That’s when they discover tone. That’s when they discover boundaries and what it feels like to have something they love described without tenderness.
And that, beloved, is where Jesus steps into the sanctuary. Because in Matthew 6:21, he says, “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
In that moment, you have not attacked a dog. You have located the treasure. You have gently tapped the altar. And the reaction tells you everything you need to know about where the heart lives.
Saints, we have just survived another Black History Month where instead of simply celebrating, many of us were defending. Defending history from distortion. Defending Black humanity from mockery. Defending our ancestors. And yet, the same culture that can scroll past that with indifference will combust if you say their Goldendoodle looks a little . . . experimental.
We made it through 28 days of “celebration,” Saints, and every single week felt like a new chapter in the Book of American Delusion.
In the first week alone, we got a racist AI monkey video circulating from the White House because apparently, in 2026, some folk still need primate graphics to feel alive. Even now, even after centuries, the oldest lie still gets repackaged with better software.
But the Scripture says in Proverbs 26:11, “As a dog returns to its vomit, so fools repeat their folly.” Some spirits just recycle themselves.
Then MAGA had a full emotional breakdown because “Lift Every Voice and Sing” was performed at the Super Bowl again. A hymn about survival. A song born out of suffering and hope for a better future. And somehow that melody was treated like a national threat.
But the Bible reminds us in Psalm 137:4, “How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?” The fact that we are still singing is the miracle.
Then the internet decided to “rediscover” Surya Bonaly, the Black figure skater who landed a one-foot backflip decades ago and got penalized for daring to be spectacular, only to turn around and credit a white skater with “making history.” We saw erasure and excellence rewritten on contact.
And the prophet Habakkuk declares in Habakkuk 2:3, “For the vision is yet for an appointed time . . . though it tarry, wait for it.” Truth does not expire just because it was inconvenient.
Meanwhile, in Philadelphia, there was an actual legal tug-of-war over whether a slavery exhibit telling the truth about the people George Washington enslaved. It was eventually put back. As if even bondage needs courtroom approval before it can breathe.
And yet John 8:32 still stands: “You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” Not comfortable, Saints. Free.
Then came the viral clip of that Black granny from D.C. hugging and kissing on Donald Trump like he personally gave her a sweet potato pie. This is the same man whose political rise was built on birther lies and racial grievance being embraced like a church deacon.
And the apostle Paul warned us in 2 Corinthians 11:14, “For even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.” Not every embrace is liberation.
Then there was that BAFTA mess. Once again Black folks were instructed to summon endless compassion while the n-word echoed on a global stage. We were not supposed to be angry. We were supposed to be gracious. Reflective. Expansive.
But we are reminded in Ecclesiastes 3:8, there is “a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace.” Anger at injustice is not a character flaw. It is discernment.
And then a tenured white professor popped up on Zoom to say Black children are “too dumb” to know they’re in broken schools. Not underfunded. Not structurally sabotaged. Just dumb.
And yet Psalm 8:2 says, “Out of the mouths of babes and infants You have ordained strength.” God never called our children foolish.
Then, because satire died somewhere around 2016, a Black congressman was escorted out of the State of the Union address for holding a sign that read, “Black people are not apes.” Imagine that. Being removed for defending your humanity.
And still, Genesis 1:27 declares, “So god created man in his own image.”
Whether you believe in Genesis or the Christian god or not, the oldest creation story humanity ever told insists that people are made in the image of something sacred. Not in the image of a slur. Not in the image of a caricature. Not in the image of somebody’s racist imagination.
Saints, that was February. That was the month set aside to “honor” us. So when Sista Uppity Negress says she ain’t debating no, when she says she will simply tell them their dog is ugly and let the reaction preach the sermon, understand the exhaustion.
Her words feel like scripture. And church, scripture is not always polite. Scripture is diagnostic.
When she refuses to argue, she is living out Titus 3:10: “Warn a divisive person once, and then warn them a second time. After that, have nothing to do with them.”
She warned you in February. She warned you in the comments. She warned you with patience and citations. And after that? Your dog is ugly. That’s a boundary in one sentence.
When she refuses to perform emotional labor for people committed to misunderstanding her, she echoes Matthew 7:6: “Do not cast your pearls before swine.”
She already gave you the pearls. She gave you the history, data, context, and grace. You trampled them and asked for more nuance. So now? Your dog is ugly. Not because the dog did anything. But because she is done offering sacred energy to unserious spirits.
When she taps the treasure instead of debating the doctrine, she embodies Matthew 6:21: “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
She doesn’t need a symposium. She doesn’t need a panel. She needs one sentence that locates your altar. Your dog is ugly. And the speed of your outrage will preach louder than any sermon she could deliver.
When she steps back from the argument, she stands on Proverbs 26:4: “Do not answer a fool according to his folly, lest you be like him yourself.”
Because arguing with somebody determined to deny your humanity is spiritual quicksand. So instead of sinking, she shrugs and says, your dog is ugly. Not every fight is holy. Not every debate is redemptive. Some conversations deserve a dissertation. Some just deserve a dismissal.
Your dog is ugly becomes the refrain. It becomes the exit strategy. It becomes the litmus test. It becomes the altar call without the choir. Hallelujah.
Because after a month of distraction, distortion, and disrespect, we are no longer auditioning for your understanding. We are keeping our hearts intact. Black Liberation Theology teaches us to confront Pharaoh. To name sin. To challenge Empire out loud. To speak prophetically and demand transformation.
But when Sista Uppity Negress says, “I’m not debating anymore,” she makes a colder move. She shifts from confrontation to boundary and from persuasion to preservation. She is not abandoning justice. She is abandoning the performance of explanation. She is saying, “Your heart has already testified. I am not your tutor.”
That move echoes Matthew 10:14: “If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, shake the dust off your feet when you leave.”
Turn to your neighbor and say, “Neighbor . . . shake the dust. Don’t carry it.”
And we must remember the words of our great ancestor Toni Morrison who told us that racism is distraction. It keeps you explaining, over and over again, your reason for being. It keeps you proving that you belong. It keeps you defending your history, your language, your body, and your worth. It is not designed to be solved. It is designed to exhaust, to make us sick, to keep us in constant fight mode, to make us joyless.
February was distraction on steroids. Every week, somethin’ new to refute. Somethin’ new to clarify. Somethin’ new to dignify with response. And the system thrives on that churn. It thrives on your reaction. It feeds on your engagement.
So when Sista Uppity Negress says, “Your dog is ugly,” she is stepping out of the distraction economy, refusing to debate the premise, and refusing to be drafted into another round of proving her humanity. She taps the treasure, lets the reaction expose the heart, and keeps her energy.
That is not surrender. That is a woman who understands that sometimes liberation is not found in winning the argument, but in refusing to be distracted by it.
Let us pray.
Black god of our weary years, and for those who don’t pray, steady our spirits. When the noise rises, keep our hearts from racing to every foolish argument.
When distraction calls our name, remind us we do not have to answer. When the system tries to draft us into another exhausting debate, give us the discernment to shake the dust and keep on walking.
Protect our joy from the churn. Protect our minds from the bait. Protect our bodies from the constant fight posture. Teach us when to speak truth to power, and when to simply say, “Your dog is ugly,” and log off.
Restore our laughter. Restore our clarity. Restore our energy for the work that actually matters. And most of all, keep our hearts intact in a world that keeps trying to fracture them.
Let the church say, Amen, Amen and Amen.
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