The doors of the church are open. Good morning, Saints.
So yesterday, America turned 250 years old. Bless its heart. Two hundred and fifty, Saints. A quarter of a millennium. Somebody get this country a sheet cake and a lawn chair because she ain’t aging too well.
And Black folks only been free for 161 of them years. And we’ve only had something resembling citizenship rights for about 60. So America is old, but Black freedom ain’t.
Amen?!!
While America was busy spending the day congratulating itself, I saw photos and video footage of hundreds of masked white racists dressed in khakis marching through the nation’s capital. Some of these men held American flags. Some of them held Confederate flags. Some of them carried big Captain America looking superhero shields through the streets while trying to look like defenders of civilization. Some of them flexed their muscles and talked shit. And they rode the Metro.
Did Y’all see them?
Beloved children of the sun, these masked men wanted to send a message to us. A message that says: We are white men. We are strong. We are many. We are the sons of Empire. We are the keepers of the nation. We are order. We are destiny. We are America. We will reclaim this country.
At least, that’s what they thought they were saying.
Now Saints, your atheist Black Liberation Theology pastor sat there thinking about John 3:19-20, which says: “ . . . light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil. For every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved.”
And there it is, Saints. John 3 says, men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil.
Saints, tell me somethin’ . . .
If your cause is righteous, then why hide your face? If you are so proud, then why cover yourself? If you are the keepers of the nation, then why are you dressed like a mob that knows HR might see the footage by Monday morning? If you are so brave, why do you need a mask, a crowd, a shield, a script, and a matching outfit from the clearance section of a fascist thrift store?
Come on, Saints!
If you are so strong, why can’t you stand alone? If you are so mighty, why do you need anonymity? If you are so chosen, why are you terrified of being recognized by your own mama?
If you are so patriotic, why do you look like you are sneaking out of a hate crime? If you are so proud of your “heritage,” why does your heritage require a disguise? If you are the future, why do you look like Jim Crow ducking a court summons?
Brotha Willie, they not ready to hear me preach this morning!
Church, the mask is the confession. The covered face is the testimony. The disguise is the altar call. Because somewhere deep down in those little khaki-clad spirits, those men know the truth. The truth is that righteous folk don’t have to hide from the light. Only cowards do. Only mobs do. Only men whose deeds are evil go looking for darkness and call it patriotic duty. The wicked hide their faces in broad daylight because even their own souls know they are guilty.
Hallelujah.
The message they really sent on Independence Day was: We are scared white men. We are afraid of the future. We don’t wanna disappear. We are spiritually small. We are impotent. Flaccid. Feckless. Frail. Frightened. Fraudulent. Feral.
Somebody say, “You better work all that f-word alliteration, Rev. Dr. Staceypants.”
The Holy Ghost got me up here with a thesaurus and a side-eye this morning. I ain’t playin’ with Satan today.
Their message was: We are hiding our faces because even we know there is shame in what we came here to do. We need costumes because we have no courage. We need numbers because we have no spine. We need a mob because alone, we are nothing.
Give the lord a praise up in here, Saints.
And Saints, the scary part is not that these racist men are monsters from some distant cave of extremism. The scary part is that they are probably the men we pass by every day at the gas station. The men standing behind us at the grocery store pretending to compare cereal prices. The men sitting three cubicles over at work. The men coaching Little League. The men smiling at the neighborhood barbecue.
The men holding the door open at Starbucks. The men shaking hands after church. The men changing lanes beside us on the Beltway. The men standing in line at Home Depot buying mulch and light bulbs like they don’t have a race war folded up somewhere in their spirit.
That is the terror. Not that they are far away. That they are close enough for us to smell their mustiness. Close enough to hold the elevator. Close enough to review your résumé. Close enough to grade your child. Close enough to pull you over. Close enough to deny the loan. Close enough to sit on the jury. White terror in America has always had an ordinary face.
Saints, Jesus warned us about these kind of people in Matthew 7:15: “Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.”
And that is the horror of white terror in America. It has never always looked like a monster. Sometimes it wears work boots. It wears a wedding ring. A company badge. Sometimes it wears a Little League whistle around its neck. Sometimes it smiles at you in the produce aisle and says, “Excuse me” or “have a blessed day” while carrying a whole lynch mob in their spirit.
Saints, these photographs and videos are not just political. They are biblical. Because scripture has always known these kind of men. The Bible is full of mobs. Full of empires. Full of frightened men who gather in groups, hide behind power, and call their terror and violence righteousness.
So when I saw those masked men marching through D.C. and riding the Metro, I did not just see Patriot Front. I saw Pharaoh’s foot soldiers. I saw Herod’s men. I saw the mob outside Lot’s door. I saw Rome’s soldiers. I saw every cowardly crowd in the scriptures that mistook their numbers for courage.
Exodus tells us Pharaoh could not imagine a world where the people he had exploited were free. He had built an economy on their bondage, and when freedom started walking away from him, he sent soldiers to chase it down.
Beloved children of the sun, that is what Empire does. It does not simply lose power gracefully. It panics and pursues. It sends men in formation to drag the future back into chains. These men marching through D.C. were not protecting freedom. They were mourning domination. They were Pharaoh’s foot soldiers in khakis, chasing a country they believe is slipping away from them.
And then there’s King Herod. He heard that a child had been born who threatened his throne. And instead of asking what kind of king murders babies to feel secure, he sent men to do the violence his fear required. That is the spirit of Herod. His power was so fragile that he saw every new birth as a threat and every demographic shift as an invasion. And white supremacists see every Black child, every immigrant child, every queer child, every child outside the old order as a prophecy it wants to kill before it grows up.
These white men marching through D.C. are Herod’s fear in matching shirts and pants. They are terrified of a future they cannot control, so they turn their biological insecurity into menace.
Those white men marching through D.C. are also the mob outside Lot’s door. In Genesis, the mob gathers outside the house demanding access to the vulnerable. They are not looking for justice. They are not looking for truth. They are looking for domination. They want the right to violate. That is what mobs do. They gather at the door. They surround. They threaten. They make the vulnerable feel trapped and then pretend they are the injured party.
These men on the train were that same mob spirit in transit. Circling public space. Claiming the right to make other people afraid. Acting as though their discomfort with equality gives them permission to menace the world.
And finally church, they are also Rome’s soldiers. The soldiers who mocked Jesus before the crucifixion. They put symbols on him. They staged his humiliation. They turned violence into performance because Empire always needs an audience. That is what those masks and uniforms are. They’re performance. Ritual. Theater. Empire trying to make itself look inevitable.
But church, Rome was wrong. Pharaoh was wrong. Herod was wrong. The mob was wrong. And these so-called white supremacist “patriots” are wrong too.
Because the Bible does not remember Pharaoh’s army as strong. It remembers them as drowned. The Bible does not remember Herod as secure. It remembers him as terrified of a baby. The Bible does not remember the mob as righteous. It remembers them as violent and depraved. The Bible does not remember Rome as eternal. It remembers Rome as the empire that could not keep Jesus in the grave.
And Black Liberation Theology teaches us that these masked white men are a revelation. They reveal what white masculinity becomes when it loses the lie of inevitability.
Because whiteness has always told these men that time belongs to them. The land belongs to them. The law belongs to them. The future belongs to them. The flag belongs to them. God belongs to them. The country is their inheritance, and everybody else is supposed to live here as a guest, a servant, a suspect, or a threat.
Brotha Willie play your organ as I close out this sermon.
But time is moving, Saints. Demographics are moving. Memory is moving. The children they were taught to rule over are growing up. The people they were taught to despise are voting, teaching, writing, organizing, building, inheriting, loving, refusing, remembering.
They are gettin’ ready for a post-imperial world. A decolonized world. A Brown world. A Black world. A Beige world. A Biracial world. An Indigenous world. A multilingual world. A world of fluid identities. A world where whiteness is no longer the sun that everybody else is expected to orbit around.
A world where empire’s old maps are being folded up and returned to sender. A world where the colonized remember their names. A world where the stolen come back speaking. A world where the border cannot hold back history. A world where the people they called minorities become the architects.
A world where their little shields cannot stop the future. A world where their flags look less like destiny and more like panic cloth. A world where the old gods of conquest are dying in public. A world where Black children walk into rooms without lowering their eyes. A world where Brown children speak two languages and owe apology in neither.
And Saints, that is what they are afraid of. Not disorder. Not crime. Not “invasion.” Not “replacement.” They are afraid of a world where they are ordinary. And they cannot survive ordinary. And so they cover their faces. Not because they are strong. Because they are watching history leave without them.
Somebody say Amen.
Black Liberation Theology teaches us that Empire always panics when the enslaved begin to imagine themselves free. Pharaoh panicked when Israel walked away. Herod panicked when a child was born. Rome panicked when a crucified man would not stay dead. And white supremacy panics whenever the marginalized stop asking permission to be human.
That is what those masks are. Panic. Shame. Not strength. Not power. Those masks are a funeral veil for a dying order!
These men are not marching because they believe in the future. They are marching because they are terrified that the future will not recognize them as kings. They are terrified that their children may not inherit their hatreds. Terrified that their women may stop worshiping their mediocrity. Terrified that history will name them accurately. Terrified that god is not on their side.
Black Liberation Theology teaches us that god is not fooled by the costume. God sees through the mask. God sees the trembling underneath the performance. God sees the frightened little altar they have built to whiteness, and god has already judged it.
So when the mob gets on the train, Black Liberation Theology tells us not only to ask what they fear. It tells us to ask what time it is. And Saints, it is later than they think.
Let us pray.
God of the captives, the hunted, the surrounded, and the still-standing, give us eyes sharp enough to see Empire even when it wears khakis and calls itself a patriot. Give us courage not to confuse a mob for strength, a mask for manhood, or a flag for righteousness.
Expose, o lord, what hides in darkness. Trouble what marches in arrogance. Break the power of every Pharaoh, every Herod, every Rome, and every coward who gathers in groups to make your children afraid. And remind us, o lord, even now, that the future does not belong to the mob. It belongs to the people they tried to bury and forgot were seeds.
Let the church say Amen, Amen, and Amen.
THIS CONTENT IS WRITTEN IN THE AUTHOR’S PERSONAL CAPACITY. ANY OPINIONS EXPRESSED ARE THE AUTHOR’S OWN AND SHOULD NOT BE ATTRIBUTED TO HOWARD UNIVERSITY OR MORGAN STATE UNIVERSITY.
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