QUARTERLY REPORT

For the past few weeks, I have been trying to conjure up the right words—the perfect, all-encompassing descriptors that elucidate the depth, quality and significance of the past three months. I’ve been trying to recall with accuracy and precision, the insights into social justice that I’ve gleaned, the politics of charismatic Christianity that I have confronted, and the folders full of wisdom I’ve downloaded through it all. Unfortunately for you—and for me, I suppose—I am at a loss for words, really. The entirety of my journey thus far seems practically indescribable, unexplainable. There aren’t enough colorful adjectives that can fully characterize the value of my Watson quest, the breadth of the unfettered tranquility that has possessed me, the richness of the overwhelming passion that has consumed my soul. Below, I make an attempt, albeit a shabby one, at detailing key points of my Watson voyage in Trinidad and Guatemala (that I have not yet shared on my blog) and providing snapshots into the essence of my spirit. You will learn how I find sanity in madness, how I wrestle with those pimpin’ Jesus, how I define Jesus as justice and how I find wealth among the poor.


FINDING SANITY IN MADNESS
During my first day in Trinidad, I found myself walking in a cornfield for over twenty minutes in search of a Pentecostal church. What was initially a delight quickly became an act of sheer torment when the intensity of the summer sun embraced me. The Jamaican in me could take it no more; so, I loosened by tie, rolled up my sleeves and ran until I found my way. I was much relieved to find a church filled to capacity with a preacher speaking in tongues, jabbing his fingers toward the heavens and dancing like a crack-head.

At the mere sight of his ecstatic ecclesial experience, my spirit gave way to a greater holy heat. What would seem like madness to the naked eye was (through my spiritual eyes) a vision of sanctified supernatural social order and an expression of spiritual sanity. I resisted the urge to go buck wild (spiritually), for that was not what I had come to Trinidad to do. I was in search of activists, theologians, politicians, ministers and parishioners who integrate community activism and social justice with their Pentecostal spirituality. Would this Pastor and his parishioners be some of the many passionate Pentecostal public servants I hoped to meet? No. As a matter of fact, I hardly met any Trinidadian Pentecostals who were engaged in social justice. Oh, don’t get me wrong; there was ‘justice’ at work, but it was not ‘social’. It was what I perceived to be limited efforts of introverted congregation-based intervention, which matters too, I suppose. I went from church to church (sometimes five in a day), hoping to find worshippers who were not only fascinated by the prophetic peculiarity of Pentecostalism, but by its practical theological appeal to be Christ, to rend (and ultimately destroy) societies’ fabric of injustice until Jesus is seen by, in and through all things. Where was the socially relevant spirituality, the radical agape ethic, the politicized faith put into practice? I’ll tell you where it was. It was lost in hackneyed rhetoric, seduced my materialism, possessed by literalist, individualist, fundamentalist, conversionist views, all of which I reprove. This was mature, pre-meditated mess! Surely this kind of self-centered, self-righteous, Sadducee-inspired spirituality is not at all new, but has lingered in the halls of Christendom since the days of Christ himself. What’s new about this spiritual orientation is its expanding capitalist dimension, or what I like to refer to as efforts to ‘pimp Jesus’. There is absolutely no sanity in this madness!!


PIMPIN' JESUS?
The idea that religious institutions can function as stimuli for injustice is not a novel one. To behold it with my own eyes, however, adds depth to my personal understanding of this kind of reasoning and fuels a radically righteous rage within me. One Sunday morning at one of the largest independent Pentecostal churches in Southern Trinidad stands out clearly in my mind. Never before had I witnessed such an obvious attempt at selling a cheap grace, misusing the cross of Christ, and abusing a spiritually hungry people. I watched the pastor mount the rostrum, decked in a blindingly bright blue wide-legged suit and shinny Stacey Adams shoes.


There he was, looking like a Blueberry pimp, using a cord-less microphone to sail his velvety voice across the sanctuary. “It’s giving time,” he exclaimed. He then proceeded to ask his congregants if they were ready for a miracle (be it physical, spiritual, financial, emotional, etc.) and then instructed them to ‘sew a seed’, one greater than their tithes and offerings. He even implored them all to stand and read Malachi 3 vs. 8-11, which I know by heart. Once they were done, he got into a spirit hissy-fit and began ‘prophesying’: “Thus saith the Lord, ‘bring me my harvest, bring me my money’.” My jaw dropped. My eyes widened. I clenched my fists. Tears ran down my face. I knew he was faking the voice of the Lord (which is extremely dangerous, by the way) and couldn’t figure out why the congregation was wooed by his ‘prophesy’. Is this what I woke up at 5am and traveled from bus to bus to see at 8:30am? Definitely not! I was tempted to walk out, but I decided to see if things would get better, to see if he’d pledge to use the money to build a shelter for the homeless, or school for the poor. I sat on the edge of my seat and listened keenly to his every word. What I hoped he would have said, he never uttered.

I decided that I wouldn’t leave without confronting him about misappropriating the gospel and using the church as an entrepreneurial base and marketing scheme. If you know me well, you know that I can be fearlessly confrontational, when necessary. After the service, I pressed through the crowd of people around him until I shook his hand. I introduced myself politely as Jamaican Watson Fellow and then proceeded to say, “Sir, you have a lovely church here…I was disappointed by your sermon though. It seemed to be an attempt to pimp Jesus.” Yes, I said it! “I beg your pardon,” he replied. I then explained that his sermon was riddled with poor exegeses and saturated with the deplorable ‘health-and-wealth’ rhetoric. Do you know that this man had his Deacons usher me out of the church? At first I was deeply embarrassed, and I could feel the tears swelling in my eyes. When I got home that day, however, I just laughed, and laughed, and laughed. I was thrown out of a church?! I guess I should expect more of this because I will not suppress my opposition to the pimpin’ of Jesus. Not now. Not ever.


JESUS MEANS JUSTICE
Despite the disappointment with my findings in Trinidad, I was not at all dismayed. My spirituality coupled with critical theological inquiry keep me sane. I can’t fully explain the empowering peace they provide. I know who and what Jesus is to me and I count this understanding a valuable, non-perishable theological resource and social/spiritual asset. It matters not what’s happening around me; so long as I am connected to the supernatural, I find courage, patience, tenacity, peace, strength, and the will to laugh! As a matter of fact, that’s how I got through Wheaton and will continue to get through other places where I do not fit in.

In my eyes, the first century Palestinian Jew murdered as an enemy of the State was a social, religious and political radical. Jesus was a countercultural thought leader, a disturber of spiritual stagnancy, and a political justice-seeker. I would even venture to say that he was justice embodied. In my attempt to follow Jesus, I make a lot of mistakes. A LOT! I don’t have it all together, my friends. Seriously, I don’t. A close examination of the life of Christ is furnishing me with a deeper commitment to honesty…with the world and with myself. I feel free enough to boldly admit that I am a messed-up spiritual being attempting, seeking, working to follow Jesus. For me, this kind of thorough honesty (that leaves me vulnerable) is deep!

My understanding of Jesus as justice demands more than just honesty with my soul. It requires action in the world. I knew I could not leave Trinidad without getting dirty with justice. And so, whereas independent Pentecostal churches were not as justice-oriented as I expected, I was happy to find a charismatic Catholic church that was doing a lot to serve their community. By linking with them, I found and began working with the Catholic Commission on Social Justice. We assessed everything from health care to education policy. I wish I had found them earlier. My three weeks with them simply was not enough. Nevertheless, the experience was rich enough to yield a stronger, more practical understanding of Jesus as justice.


WEALTH AMONG THE POOR
I am very pleased to report that my time in Guatemala has been incredibly rich and unbelievably fruitful. There are so many churches here; I hardly know what to do with myself sometimes. I am being exposed to a people who live and breathe ‘engaged Pentecostalism’. Alas! Interestingly enough, unlike most of the congregants I met in Trinidad, the Pentecostals here are a relatively poor indigenous people with a serious and persistent passion for social justice. Their pockets might be empty, but they are rich with gems of wisdom and love. During my time in Solola, Quetzaltanango and Chichicastenango, I’ve been involved in founding a soup kitchen, working at a radio station and serving as a surgical assistant and rotating nurse at a Methodist hospital with charismatic roots. Yes, my friends; someone was crazy enough to let a sociology and African diaspora studies double major stick his hands into a human body! I’ll tell you more about this in my next correspondence. For now, I want to call your attention to the founding of the soup kitchen. During my time in San Pedro, Solola, I grew concerned with the number of homeless Guatemalan men and children I saw on the streets. Of the over forty churches I had visited, I didn’t see any mentally, physically or visually impaired/differently-abled persons worshipping in the church. I approached a local Pastor with this problem. I knew I could share my thoughts/criticisms with him and that he would not throw me out of his church! (He had become a brother to me; we talked about everything from American cultural imperialism to girls/marriage.)



After I confronted him (ooops, I did it again), he said. “Que hariamos?”, meaning “What should we do?” I proposed the soup kitchen idea and he jumped all over it. In the space of a week, we met with local business owners for donations, found messengers to go from house to house, recruited local women to work as chefs, and made the event happen! Not only that, but the church leaders have agreed to do this once a month using their tithes and offering. I spoke with the Pastor today and he mentioned that they also found Guatemalan doctors who will offer healthcare free of charge. Praise God forever! There are many more successful stories like this that I can share, accounts of the efficacy of local agency and talent. Stay tuned, and I’ll tell you more about the bountiful wealth of the poor.


The most challenging part of my Watson journey is not being able to help my family. Both my parents are now unemployed, and I must admit, that I feel incredibly selfish and guilty traveling the world while my parents struggle to pay rent. Justice for the world is good, but what about justice for my Black immigrant family? I take refuge in the unquestionable fact that this year is divinely ordained. As I am kept by the Spirit of the Divine, I am confident that God will do the same for my loved ones. Throughout the past three months, a season of tremendous spiritual fermenting, what has become abundantly clear to me is that this year of community and spiritual engagement has been (and will continue to be) food for my soul. For now, I remain enslaved to courage, bundled in prayer and focused on justice. I am hopeful that the best of the Watson is yet to come!

Peace & Blessings,
jr