By timone davis
When the racial unrest volcano erupted once again in the summer of 2020, the full-time faculty of the Institute of Pastoral Studies (IPS) at Loyola University Chicago gathered and said, “We must do something that addresses this situation and it can’t be another statement.” Though the details of the exact moment have melted under the lava of protests, the message was clear: We must do more than talk.
The IPS full-time faculty consists of nine people—two of color. I am one of the two.
As the volcano of unrest continued to pump out lava, we wrestled, like the biblical Jacob in the Book of Genesis, against a strong adversary—white supremacy and systemic racism. The urgency of the racial eruptions moved us to have truth-filled conversations that laid bare the white supremacist underpinnings of our department and our institution. We complained, cried, and cursed our way through conversations that allowed us to hear each other for real, for real.
By the end of the summer, we had decided we would teach a course that would prepare our students for antiracist ministry, a course in which each full-time faculty member would teach at least one week. This would be on top of each person’s normal teaching load. As the faculty member of record, I was responsible for course design, structure, assignments and grading. Thus was born the course Doing Liturgy in a Racially Violent America. Thirty students eagerly signed up.
Students, alumni, and friends of the Institute of Pastoral Studies have long been interested in community conversations about racism and the Church. Photo courtesy of Loyola University Chicago.
The point I want to make is about wrestling with a strong adversary until one prevails. This is what I want to call the cost of a blessing.
In Genesis 32:23-33 we read about Jacob wrestling all night long with a strong and mysterious adversary. Is the adversary God? An angel? A man? We do not know. But we do know that before the adversary departs, he leaves Jacob with three things: a blessing, a limp, and a new name, Israel.
It may be an imperfect, maybe even an uncomfortable, metaphor, but I think to advance antiracist teaching, we have something to learn from Jacob’s wrestling. First, Jacob doesn’t give in. He continues wrestling and struggling until the adversary finally asks him to stop, but Jacob isn’t about to stop, at least not without a blessing from the adversary. What Jacob teaches us is that even in the midst of struggle, even in the midst of hardship, even when things don’t look promising, there is a blessing to be received.
But beyond the blessing, he also gets two unexpected things—a new walk and a new name. As the scripture tells us, he “contended with human and divine beings and prevailed.” In prevailing, he came out different than he was before.
In a racially violent America, antiracist teaching is the commitment to wrestling with white supremacy so there will be a new walk and a new name.
Knowing there will be a cost, many of us seek the blessing without the wrestling. We want the blessing without the new walk because the new walk hurts. We want the blessing without the new name because the new name tells everybody that we had to change.
At IPS we seek to assist our students in wrestling with white supremacy so that they are able to deal with the racist magma that strengthens with silence, complacency, and inaction.
So what have I learned about antiracist teaching from Doing Liturgy in a Racially Violent America? I’ve learned that it is important to keep things real, honest, truthful. To create a space where each person’s voice is heard and valued. Requiring students to engage in action/praxis was key to understanding how beliefs and values become embedded in society. It is important to know that our wrestling is not without gain, and that the blessing itself might be a new walk and a new name.
timone davis is an assistant professor of Pastoral Theology at the Institute for Pastoral Studies at Loyola University Chicago.
The featured cover photo (above) is courtesy of Loyola University Chicago.