I never understood the excitement my friends shared about reading the entire Bible in a year. In my two decades as a believer, I tried to complete this elusive task more than once, and each time I failed. Sometimes I made it to the major prophets; sometimes I stalled out in Genesis. Other times, I bounced around and found solace in the Gospels and Epistles; and still others, I got lost in miles of Old Testament genealogies and ceremonial laws.
The Bible is the God-breathed Word (2 Tim. 3:16) that tells the truth of the Word who became flesh and dwelt among us (John 1:14). It holds the law, which teaches us how to live (Gal. 3:24); and it holds the gospel, which offers us the hope of Christ’s atoning sacrifice when we fall short (Rom. 3:23–24).
The Bible is also a story. It weaves a tale of God’s faithfulness to his people, from his first promise of a Savior in Genesis 3:15, to his providential choice of that Savior’s family line in Genesis 12, to the long and winding journey of that promise’s ultimate fulfillment in the person and work of Christ. And so, the Bible is also history—the history of the little nation through which God chose to bless all of the nations in the world.
Israel often retells the story of God’s faithfulness to them: when Moses led them across the Red Sea—before they entered the Promised Land itself—when they stood on the precipice of captivity—while they were in exile—when they returned. Story is written into their feasts and celebrations; they are commanded to recount the story of God’s faithfulness to their little nation, and they recount it with gusto. Often.
And it has only been through finally—finally!—reading the Bible from cover to cover in a year that I’ve seen the pattern of recounting over and over and over again.
We Christians also have to remind ourselves of the story of God’s faithfulness to our people over and over again. Because, like Israel, we are all too easily inclined to forget. And studying the story of Israel can help us understand the story of America.
We Christians also have to remind ourselves of the story of God’s faithfulness to our people over and over again.
By this comparison, I don’t mean to say that America is literally a replacement for Israel. Rather, I mean to point to the fact that, in Christ, Israel’s family has been expanded to include everyone who calls on the name of Jesus. And as a nation that claims Christian roots, Americans have a lot to learn from God’s faithfulness to his first chosen people.
Story of God’s Glory
When the Underground Railroad was at the height of its endeavor to free the enslaved people in the United States, the imagery of Israel’s rescue from slavery was often employed. Harriet Tubman herself was called Moses, after the man God chose to guide his people through the Red Sea and on their journey to the Promised Land. In some places, the story of Moses was considered so dangerous that slaves were not allowed access to it. Slave owners didn’t want to teach the story of the God who heard the cries of his people, remembered his promise to them, and led them in a victorious march toward freedom.
But they did hear the story—not just of Israel’s freedom from captivity, but of God’s unfolding faithfulness toward his people. And not only did they hear the story, they took up the work of sharing that story with their children, their children’s children, and the nations.
As an American, it can feel threatening to tell the entire story of God’s work in this nation, particularly during these polarized times. Is it unpatriotic to shine light on America’s unfaithfulness to God’s Word? Is it “dwelling in the past” to keep bringing up the unsavory subject of this country’s shabby record of acting in good faith toward its black residents? Should we move on from these facts, or try to paint them in a more understanding light to shield the “men of their time” from our judgment? How much retelling is enough retelling?
We could speak in vain platitudes about equality and opportunity for all. We could tout American exceptionalism as a religious truth and a coveted birthright.
What if we put God’s glory at the center of our concern for the telling of our story, and left America’s glory to fend for herself?
I want to offer a different perspective, though. What if, instead of putting Uncle Sam in a cape and putting Lady Liberty on a pedestal, we told the story of America as the story of God’s faithfulness—and not our own? What if we took a note from the people of Israel, and every time we stood on the precipice of a defining cultural moment, we reminded ourselves of God’s providential hand protecting us in spite of our waywardness? Our disobedience? Our forgetfulness? Our selfishness? Our avarice?
What if we put God’s glory at the center of our concern for the telling of our story, and left America’s glory to fend for herself?
What if, like Israel, the American church proclaimed our history from the perspective of God’s goodness in spite of our folly—not from the perspective of hiding from our folly?
Testimony of God’s Faithfulness
And so, I encourage you to study the stories of black women in the American church. Hearing their stories invites us to praise the God who wrote them. Seeing these stories merely as an indictment of America’s failings is seeing these stories as far too small. Any reflection on America’s sordid history is incidental to the bigger picture of the story God is weaving: no matter the failings of a nation, his work will not be silenced. No matter the invisibility of a certain demographic, his work is never silent in the lives of those who love him.
Hearing the stories of black women in the church is important, not because of the supremacy of blackness or Americanness, but because of the faithfulness of God. Their stories are a testimony of God’s loving-kindness, of his triumph, of the beautiful diversity he has invested into American history—a diversity that’s so often overlooked.
We consider their struggles and their triumphs not to elevate their blackness, but to elevate God’s grace in creating that brown skin in his image.
We reflect on their plight in our nation not to rub America’s nose in her corporate sin, but to proclaim the glory of the God who heard their cries and answered their prayers and used them mightily in spite of their country of origin. We consider their struggles and their triumphs not to elevate their blackness, but to elevate God’s grace in creating that brown skin in his image. The story of dignified black womanhood points to the inherent dignity and worth of women, whom God created in his image and for his glory.
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