The following post is an excerpt from his upcoming book, Hope Sings, So Beautiful: Grace Encounters Across the Color Line. For more information on the book and his other works, check out the following link to his Amazon page.
Arguably no person of recent memory has done more to resist and transform the sad legacy of segregation and racism in the Catholic Church than Sr. Thea Bowman, a Franciscan nun who inspired millions with her singing and message of God’s love for all races and faiths. Sr. Thea awakened a sense of fellowship in people both within and well beyond the Catholic world first of all by her charismatic presence. But she also did so through her willingness to speak the truth about racial injustice in society and church, and her remarkable ability to express such truths in the context of God’s universal love. “We need to tell one another in our homes, in our church and even in our world, I really, really love you.” Indeed, how we do need to tell! But as Sr. Thea taught us, we also need to sing the beautiful and demanding truth of God’s call into the mystery of love.
In 1989, at the age of fifty-two and confined to a wheelchair by the ravages of late-stage cancer, Sr. Thea spoke before a gathering of the nation’s Catholic bishops about the gift of black Catholic spirituality within the church. Her “voice clear and resonant, eyes sparkling and hands animated,” she did not hesitate to challenge and even chide the bishops for their complicity in a “church of paternalism, of a patronizing attitude” toward blacks and peoples of color.
What does it mean to be black and Catholic? It means that I come to my church fully functioning. That doesn’t frighten you, does it? I come to my church fully functioning. I bring myself, my black self, all that I am, all that I have, all that I hope to become, I bring my whole history, my traditions, my experience, my culture, my African American song and dance and gesture and movement and teaching and preaching and healing and responsibility as gift to the Church.
It is a point of some embarrassment and even shame for me to admit that as a young Catholic I knew nothing about Sr. Thea Bowman during her lifetime. Though her fame extended far and wide even in nonreligious circles, not once do I recall hearing Sr. Thea’s name mentioned in the Catholic schoolrooms and suburban parishes of my youth. Not once. Thus her challenge to another predominantly white audience in 1989 (I was twenty-five) still resounds with prophetic urgency, poignancy, and love, as though she were speaking directly to me: “Are you with us? We can stop and explain this stuff, but I’m asking you, Are you with us?”
Sr. Thea believed that Catholicism was uniquely equipped to forge healing relationships across the color line. “The beauty of universality is that the church is able to speak to people in whatever language they understand best—and we’re not just talking about verbal language.” It is also important to note that Sr. Thea resisted the tendency of fellow Catholics to elevate her into the status of a “saint,” insofar as doing so would relieve us of our own baptismal freedom and Christian responsibility for love. “I know people are looking for sources of hope and courage and strength. I know it’s important to have special people to look up to. But, see, I think all of us in the church are supposed to be that kind of person to each other.”
Once asked how she was coping with her cancer, she replied, “Part of my approach to my illness has been to say I want to choose life, I want to keep going, I want to live fully until I die.” Asked whether she had reconciled with her disease, she said: “I don’t want to reconcile with cancer, I don’t want to reconcile with injustice . . . racism . . . sexism . . . classism. I don’t want to reconcile with anything that is destructive.” Reflecting a moment further, she said: “I wish I had danced more, I wish I had run around more, I wish I had used my body more joyfully and more creatively.”
How, then, to unlock the “power of personal witness,” as Sr. Thea put it, and “get the word out”? How to ignite our baptismal freedom and go and do as she did? “My basic approach,” she says, “was to try to promote activities that help different groups get to know one another. As we learn to know one another, we learn to appreciate one another, then we grow to love one another. [You bring people] into situations where they can share your treasure, your art, your food, your prayers, your history, your traditions, the coping mechanisms that enabled you to survive.” This kind of mutual sharing opens the way for “points of convergence” to emerge between strangers. Characteristically, she added, “I think a sense of humor and a whole lot of fun can help.”
My prayer and challenge during this Lent is to hear the voices of witnesses like Sr. Thea Bowman. What might we do in our own communities to cultivate friendship, solidarity, and “points of convergence” across the color line? Like Sr. Thea, I want to choose love over fear, understanding over ignorance. Above all, I ask God to ignite in me the courage “to live fully until I die,” until that happy day when God calls us all together again around the great Welcome Table.
Christopher Pramuk lives with his wife Lauri, a pediatrician, and their four children in Cincinnati, where he teaches theology and spirituality at Xavier University. His award-winning essays have appeared in America magazine, Theological Studies, Cross Currents, and the prayer journal Give Us This Day. He is the author of four books, including “Hope Sings, So Beautiful: Graced Encounters Across the Color Line” (Liturgical, 2013) and “Sophia: The Hidden Christ of Thomas Merton” (Michael Glazier, 2009), which was awarded the International Thomas Merton Society’s 2011 “Thomas Merton Award,” a.k.a. “The Louie,” its highest honor. A lifelong musician and student of African American history and spirituality, Pramuk’s present work focuses on racial justice and interracial solidarity in society and church.