Ponder – Why am I scared?

The image of the snakes illustrates my thoughts. The picture shows a snake I encountered on a hiking path at Camp Friedenswald this summer. The first image is the actual photo. The second photo illustrates what my mind saw (a big, more threatening snake). I think it is only fair to tell you, the snake did not bother me at all. It held its ground. I, on the other hand, got a running start and leaped over the snake. Silly, I know, but I fear snakes.

As I was preparing for a speaking engagement at a local Mennonite Church, I was confronted with some of those deep-seated fears and anxieties we often don’t realize we have until we are faced with them. I was to speak at the church’s family camp outing at a local State Park. The park is only 25 miles from my home, but I had never been there. I had heard of it, but never had reasons to visit. So, I thought it would be good for me to visit the State Park and sit in that space for a while to allow the Spirit to show me what direction I should go for the gathering. This is a typical way I prepare for sermons, so I thought nothing of it.

I toured the park, asked the staff questions, and admired its splendor. It is a beautiful park. I thought about maybe having my family gather there for our family reunion next summer. A very positive and uplifting experience. As I began to leave the park, I noticed some changes in my thoughts and awareness.

As I was pulling out of the park, several trucks with large campers attached were pulling in. My first thought, I wonder how long they are planning to stay? Then I pull off into the street heading back to the highway and noticed 4 or 5 pick-up trucks one right after the other. Maybe only one had a flag on it, but I noticed my anxieties rising about where I was. I quickly began to think whether my family knew where I was. I began wondering about who uses the park and how would they feel about me being there.

Camping, hiking, etc. are not typical activities for African Americans, especially here in the Midwest. I remember when Oprah tried to encourage African Americans to visit the national parks. She sparked our curiosity, but I don’t think attendance amongst my community rose much. I believe it has much to do with our anxieties about safety, welcome, and not knowing much about nature and the animals who call it home.

I know my fear and anxiety are irrational, but they have deep roots. My fears about being harmed in rural areas of our country come from a history of lynching and torture of black bodies who found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. African Americans have learned over the centuries that we are not welcomed in many spaces. That our very presence in some areas invite a hatred that is deeply embedded in racism. Our community has internalized those traumas associated with that history and we find it hard to shake. This is what led to my experience of fear even when there was no immediate threat.

I relaxed when I was back in a more populated area. But the emotional experiences are still there, leaving me to ponder, why am I scared?

Ponder: Lamenting “Guilty”

I can’t celebrate. I can’t find peace in Derek Chauvin’s guilty verdict because I am never happy to see anyone go to prison. Prison is a horrible place. Yes, Chauvin must pay for his horrific crime, but his conviction only reminds me of the men and women—especially those I know—tortured in our prison system.

Derek Chauvin is about to face great hardship. Prisons in the United States are not designed to rehabilitate but to punish, and they offer only a handful of outcomes. It might well be that, for his own safety, Derek will need to remain in coffin-like isolation for years. Or guards will turn their backs as other inmates inhumanely punish him. Or a hate group will suck him in, never allowing him to deal with the pain he caused. Or Derek will commit suicide. How is this something to celebrate?

These grim consequences of imprisonment have been Black people’s reality for centuries, yet most of us refuse to see our nation’s prison system for the dangerous and evil establishment that it is. There is no justice in America’s prisons—only punishment, revenge, and death.

The system that funneled George Floyd into a life of poverty and drug use is the same one that shaped Derek Chauvin into an authority abusing his power—killing another human being—while fellow officers stood by. Why do we evade responsibility for this calamity? It is our system too.

Punishing Derek Chauvin is not the only answer to the loss of George Floyd’s life. While it’s easy for us to point the finger at him and cathartic to watch his conviction, we can never forget that there are thousands of Derek’s patrolling our streets every day. There are myriad George Floyds about to suffer and die by their hands. Until we address the issues that collided on May 23, 2020, we will never truly achieve a more just justice system.

George Floyd’s death opened our eyes to the racial injustices in our country; our penal system’s violence and inhumanity should do the same. Many of the recent cases in the limelight have involved Black and Latino men logically fleeing and resisting arrest. They know that law enforcement could destroy their lives in an instant, without a fair trial. George Floyd and Daunte Wright were rightly afraid.

I wish I did not care what happens to Derek Chauvin in prison, but I do. I wish I could say he deserves what’s coming to him, but I can’t. Derek and his family will never know what George Floyd experienced before and during his arrest, but they are about to get an up-close and personal look at why people of color fear imprisonment. We who uphold the penal system must not close our eyes. We have a moral obligation to consider Derek and his family and the pain they endure.

I’ve experienced trauma with the penal system that makes me lament anyone being sent to prison. Whenever I learn of a crime, my heart and mind shift to the perpetrator because I know that our punitive response will harm or even destroy that person. We are no better than the criminal when we feed our need to punish. Why don’t we focus on enabling Derek to recognize that he made a big mistake, confess, and demonstrate that he is truly sorry? Our system doesn’t allow for this. Instead, accused individuals must minimize what they have done to protect themselves from laws, policies, and practices focused on harmful retribution. 

We must transform our way of dealing with crime to shift our focus from retribution to redemptive and restorative justice. I pray for the day when I’ll be able to celebrate a guilty verdict because of good reason to believe it will lead to shalom.

Celebrate: Women

It’s women’s history month, and the Discovery Channel is featuring a series called Genius Aretha, about the phenomenal Aretha Franklin. The story shows not only her genius but the extraordinary hurdles she overcame and the family that helped her clear them. It’s a beautiful testament to the Black family and our complicating challenges.

I talk often about growing up in a Black community where the men often caused the women more harm than good. As a child, I struggled to love my father and many other men in my life because of their blatant disrespect for women. I didn’t understand why so many women remained in torturous relationships. I vowed never to let any man have that kind of power over me. By this stage in my life, my mother had rejected my father’s philandering and was raising us children alone. She was a militant Black woman akin to Angela Davis. She spoke truth to power and strived to empower her daughters to reach high and far. I am thankful for that today.

The Aretha story reminds me of the many hills and valleys women go through in the course of one life. Though the elder women in my life struggled under many chains of oppression, they pushed the next generation to break those chains before being constrained by them too. So, when one of the younger generations stumbled, our elders felt a tremendous blow to their legacy.

I remember when I told my mother I was pregnant at 16. Disappointed and concerned, she sighed deeply and simply said, “Cyneatha.” I was the one with potential, the one who would get out from under the dark cloud of our circumstances. I was the one the family knew was going to make something of herself. Then, so close to the finish line, I got pregnant. After the initial shock, my family rallied around me, as Aretha’s family did for her, and prepared for a baby. I now see how blessed I was through it all, but my choices led to a decade of valleys.

CeCe Winans song “Alabaster Box” is my anthem. It reminds me of what I have been through and how giving all to Jesus is my only means of survival. You should listen to this powerful song about Mary and her costly jar of perfume poured out on Jesus’ head. My jar, too, is extremely expensive. It has been poured out far more times than I care to admit.

What price have you paid to be a woman, daughter, wife, mother, teacher, lover, friend? In the dark days, have you stumbled your way to Jesus? Read Mark 14:3-9 and notice how Mary forged on to Jesus despite much criticism. That is what it means to be a woman: pushing forward no matter what.

To all the women I admire—from the great Aretha Franklin, Shirley Chisolm, Angela Davis, and Mother Teresa to my close and most adored friends including Pat Plude, Nekeisha Alayna Alexis, Jenny Moffett, and my big sister Vicky Scott—I am grateful for knowing even a small part of who God has created you to be. Your light and your dark places too guide me. As women, we grow stronger in the powerful cloud of sisters around us.

Affirm: Asian American Solidarity

Recent videos of people harming elderly Asian Americans break my heart. I try to make sense of them and feel ashamed as an African American. While I know that not only African Americans have been targeting Asian Americans, seeing people with my skin color harming anyone—especially senior citizens—is soul-crushing. I sense gravity in this moment that I don’t yet fully understand.

I remember being told months ago of the hate being directed at Asian Americans. I stated how sad it was to hear, said a quick prayer for the Asian community, imagined appropriate governmental responses, and then moved on. I didn’t give the issue space in my heart, soul, and mind.

My response was wrong. I did exactly what many people do when they hear about horrors being committed against African Americans: say a quick prayer and follow up with excuses to blame someone else for the problem.

The recent violence against Asian American senior citizens shows me how I too have fallen into my culture’s typical response to right and wrong. Instead of standing up for the vulnerable, I have followed our society’s pattern of viewing the issue as someone else’s problem; worrying about how it might affect me personally; and then trying not to get involved.

When I speak out about issues facing African Americans and this nation, I am quick to tell White Americans they must act; they cannot sit comfortably on the sidelines. I recognize that this holds true for me as well. Whether it’s a hate crime against Asian Americans or any other group, I am called to voice the wrong—better said, the many wrongs—that these incidents against bring to light. It is shameful that individuals are being victimized for their racial identity. It is shameful that elderly persons’ physical vulnerability is being exploited. It is shameful that so many in our society have deemed the elderly unworthy of our attention.

I, like many, want to figure out why these crimes are happening. In particular, why are African Americans targeting Asian Americans? Is it the loss of family values, poverty, hunger, unemployment, poor education, or the new coronavirus?

Any of these systemic problems may be contributing to the recent aggressions against Asian Americans, but before we continue to investigate and look for explanations, we must first and foremost condemn the wrongs committed and find ways to protect those being victimized. When George Floyd was murdered in May 2020, our nation in its great diversity stood in solidarity against the wrong. That same collective response must be seen now when another group is being victimized. All of us need to stand alongside neighbors when their trials come, advocating for justice and lending a helping hand.

Today I purchased Encyclopedia of Minorities in American Politics: Volume 1, African Americans and Asian Americans (American Political Landscape Series) by Jeffrey D. Schultz. It’s my first honest step in trying to understand the plight and history of Asian Americans. If you have suggestions on books or movies I should read or watch, please email them to me.

To the Asian American community: We see your beauty and your strength. We stand against all hate and racism toward you.  

Question: Military Creates Peace

My niece is reenlisting in the United States Army for another 6 years. Why? Her number one reason is peace. Peace of mind and security. 

My niece tells me there is nothing in the civilian space that can provide the lifestyle she has as an officer in the army. She has a job, housing, financial resources, and travel perks. The army doesn’t afford her a lavish lifestyle, but it provide a safe, peaceful, and interesting one. Because her basic needs have been met, my niece no longer worries about food, clothing, or shelter. She is required only to do her job and stay physically fit. Beyond that, her life is her own.

During her first 7-years with the military, she has traveled to more than 10 different counties. She told me that the opportunity to travel is alone worth enlisting. Outside of the military, young people growing up in poverty rarely get to see the world beyond their immediate communities. The army opens the world to them and provides a new and expanded worldview.

My niece has never set foot in a war zone. While she can be called to any location at any time, being sent to war has not been a major concern of hers. Part of that might be because her hometown in the U.S. is more violent than anywhere she has been stationed.

The United States loses more people to homicide on our own soil than soldiers to violence abroad. In 2018 alone, the United States recorded more than 18,000 homicides. In the years 2006–2020, approximately 17,650 active-duty soldiers died while serving in the armed forces. Of those, only 26% died while serving overseas in military operations.

So how do we Mennonites—traditionally anti-military—address the fact that, for many recruits, the military is their only option for peace? If we seek to direct young people away from enlisting, we need to provide them with viable options for achieving economic and physical security at home.

Though the military has worked for her, my niece says that she would prefer civilian life. While it is changing, the military is still very much a white man’s world. It has a long way to go before people of color, women, and LGBTQ persons feel seen and valued as equals.  She would not advise them to enlist.

At the same time, the military provides stepping stones for those lacking resources to succeed otherwise. The first stepping stone is economic. To hook recruits, the military offers bonuses ranging from a few thousand to tens of thousands of dollars. Such a financial boost is a big benefit to people living in poverty. The second stepping stone the military offers is education. Soldiers are able to receive college or other education while serving, enabling them to return home more qualified for jobs with a living wage.

The third stepping stone the military provides is discipline. When she enlisted, my niece was an angry young woman whose life wasn’t going anywhere. Largely because a Black, female officer took her under her wing, she endured the demands of the military and learned the discipline she needs to succeed.

My niece believes that the military will be many young people’s most logical road to peace until civil society offers those three stepping stones: economic security, good education, and healthy discipline. We Anabaptist Christians who oppose military service in the name of peace must consider what peace means and how to offer young adults different means of attaining it. Until we offer another way of peace for those fleeing the violence of poverty, the military will continue to attract them.

Ponder: Positive

My test results came back positive. Bummer.

The results came six days after the onset of symptoms. By then I had chest pain, fever, body ache, and what seems like a head cold.

The positive test added anxiety to my symptoms. It also meant spending a half-day being interviewed by the health department and calling my contacts. Our family had been gathering in a bubble—so when my husband, daughter-in-law, infant grandson, and I all tested positive within a week, it burst our bubble in a bad way.

We’re all worried about those of us who tested positive because everyone in our family hasn’t survived. We have already lost three family members to Covid-19, along with five others who have died this year for reasons unrelated to the pandemic. Many of our family members and friends have managed to beat the virus, but they continue to suffer lingering health problems and financial hardship caused by their illness.

With four of us Covid-positive at the same time, we’ve seen how differently this virus affects different people. We’ve each had different symptoms, and we’ve each responded to our symptoms differently. This has added up to a lot of family angst! We are nearing the end of our two-week quarantine, but none of us, besides the baby, feels as if the virus is gone. Many of our initial symptoms are still present, and new ones seem to be showing up. For me, it’s depression.

I have been remembering other positive test results that brought our family profound sadness. My husband and sister tested positive for cancer. I am happy to say that both of them survived. Another family member tested positive for HIV and is living with that diagnosis. And now four of us tested positive for Covid-19.

Right now, I just want to go on a long walk. Breathe in the cool winter air. I want to look at the trees and houses decorated for Christmas and see healthy children playing in the yard. I want to hold my grandson. I want to comb my granddaughter’s hair.

I want my life back, but I am not sure that I can walk to the end of my yard and make it back without searching for air.

I keep thinking about what our world will look like a decade or so from now. How will the virus change us? Our nation has always been known for its individualism, but my hope—and thank God I still have hope—is that this experience will help us to prioritize being with one another. That we will no longer wait until holidays and funerals to gather with extended family. That we will get back to weekly meals and games with friends. That we will stop storing up money for the end of our life. Because this virus has shown us that life can change with one word: positive.

To all the frontline workers, thank you. We would not have made it this far without you.

Affirm: The Lowly Boast

This past weekend I lost four family members—none to COVID but simply age and health issues. At one of the three funerals I attended, God spoke to me through a sister, a woman I grew up with. She told me she has been richly blessed because God has brought her through many things in the past year. She blessed me with her story.

This woman who self-identifies as blessed told me that her husband left her, she lost her job, and she lived for months in her storage shed. When she could no longer pay for the storage unit, a friend let her stay with her a few nights until she got into a local group home.

God has been good to her, she told me. God has seen her through. She is blessed.

My encounter with this woman’s story shocked me out of the protective shell I’ve been cowering in. These past few months I have found it hard to write. I haven’t sent out blog posts. I haven’t written articles. I struggle to be positive and hopeful in the midst of the pandemic and racial tension. In my isolation and lack of travel, I’ve missed hanging out with other women across the country. It’s been a bummer, and I thought I had it bad.

My conversation with this woman opened my eyes to blessing. To help the organization stay afloat, I cut my hours—but I did not lose my job. I have a home. My family has been okay financially through the pandemic. Even as we lost three of our matriarchs, I have welcomed three grandbabies since March. God has been good to me.

We followers of Jesus are told that, somehow, all of this amounts to joy:

“My brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of any kind, consider it nothing but joy, because you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance; and let endurance have its full effect, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking in nothing. . . . Let the believer who is lowly boast in being raised up, and the rich in being brought low, because the rich will disappear like a flower in the field. For the sun rises with its scorching heat and withers the field; its flower falls, and its beauty perishes. It is the same way with the rich; in the midst of a busy life, they will wither away” (James 1:2-4, 9-11).

As I try now to dwell on the positives—as evasive as they may be—I consider this: we as a people are more aware. Instead of being too busy to simply be with one another, we are longing to be in the presence of others. Instead of ignoring those in need, we are confronted with the scale of it. We can no longer ignore the unemployed; we and those we love are increasingly among their ranks. The rich are being brought low.

No matter how these months have treated us, let’s remember the many families who have lost their homes or are unable to pay utility bills. Remember communities of color battling the virus physically and economically. Remember women enduring domestic violence and seniors unable to hug their loved ones. Remember those in poverty whose state of well-being goes from bad to worse. Let us pray that those who suffer will be raised up so that they might boast. 

I thank God for my conversation last weekend with the women who unknowingly humbled me, reminding me that I am rich, and I must boast when I am brought low. When I am low, I must boast when I am raised up. As hard as this pandemic and racially divisive time in our history, I am blessed. I will praise God.

Question: A vaccine for COVID-19

All we hear these days is that there is a vaccine coming for the novel coronavirus. I think it’s wonderful and necessary for scientists to be working on a vaccine, but rushing the process could prove dangerous for the next generation.

It takes years to create vaccines, 10-15 years on average (https://www.ifpma.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/IFPMA-ComplexJourney-2019_FINAL.pdf). The standard procedure requires years to study their effects in the lab before even moving trials to humans. We are planning on having a vaccine for a virus that is not yet a year old, and we are trying it first on the most vulnerable in our society. Does that seem like a good idea?

Seniors, people of color, the economically poor, and those with preexisting conditions will be first to get the vaccine. Are these people in the clinical trials? An article from UC Health stated that some vulnerable populations will be in their trials, which I am thankful for (https://www.uchealth.com/press-releases/clinical-trial-for-covid-19-vaccine/). But how extensive will trials be before subjecting these populations to the vaccine?

I believe I am more skeptical because of the Tuskegee Study. In the years between 1932 and the early 1970s, African American males were placed in a study to track the long-term effects of syphilis in the body (https://www.cdc.gov/tuskegee/index.html). The problem with the study was that the men did not know that they were being used in the experiment. They were simply lab rats for the United States public health system. Most participants—individuals from an already oppressed and marginalized population—were exploited until their death with only the promise of free medical appointments and meals.

When we rush, we often make major mistakes even when our intentions are good. And we often look to those most vulnerable to carry the risk. As much as we want an answer to COVID-19 and to get back to our lives as usual, the most defenseless in our population should not be the first to test the vaccine on a large scale. The most vulnerable should remain in isolation as much as they can, as we all practice social distancing, wear masks, and maintain the social bubbles of those at risk. We should prepare safe spaces for them to gather and navigate our society. They deserve that kind of care.

Each of us should be prepared to do our part in the years before widespread inoculation to COVID-19. If wearing masks and social distancing helps slow the virus (whose lasting effects we have yet to learn), would it not be safer for all to continue these practices? Consider your loved ones. Consider the next generation. What if this vaccine works in the short run but over time causes other health issues? We need to not push for a vaccine fast, but a vaccine that will tackle this and many other coronaviruses if possible. 

Some people are willing to be the subjects of vaccine testing. I thank God for those who risk their health as an act of service to humankind, for the betterment of all. But a human subject of such an experiment should be fully aware of one’s choice and reasoning for doing so. No one should do this out of fear or ignorance. We will need people from all walks of life to help ensure that our world is better prepared for the next pandemic, but they should do so only in freedom and through well-informed decisions. The vulnerable must be protected and treated with the dignity they deserve.

Ponder: I am starting to breathe

The past month has been a terror for my spirit. I have tried to write this blog for over a month now. Every attempt was stopped by another issue. I first wrote about human trafficking and the concern for women and children in our country. Then the Varsity Blues scandal, with actor Lori Loughlin and her husband plea bargaining for 2 months in jail, after defrauding a university of a half a million dollars which sparked my anger over privilege and our justice system. As I was ready to release the blog again, I saw the news of George Floyd being choked to death and my spirit and will to fight left.

I felt like I could not keep up with the world around me. My thoughts and actions were moving too slow. I felt hopeless and physically drained. All of these new emotions were coming on top of the loneliness and isolation of our stay at home orders and the concern for a virus that was taking out people of color and our seniors at an alarming rate.

Today, I am starting to breathe. I feel like my mind is clearing up and my thoughts are taking shape. We have a lot of work to do in this country. I am thankful for the energy and vision of the younger generation. I believe they will change the way this country operates. I believe they will chart a new path forward.

So where do we go from here now that we can take a deep breath?

I am excited about the concept of defunding police departments. I know we need a police force, but I am excited about the conversation centered around what an effective police force might look like, if we train them to be “peace officers.” If you are willing to join me for a virtual Coffee & Conversation on this subject, please click here and fill out the form to register. The Coffee & Conversation will be Tuesday, June 16, 3pm EST.

Coffee & Conversation: Creating Peace Officers

  • Defunding police departments
  • History of police and Black community
  • Demilitarizing community police offices
  • Creating peace officers – steps to changing the culture of how we protect ourselves

Remember we are not professionals, but we have thoughts and hopes. Coffee & Conversation is a safe space for women to ask questions and share ideas. When we listen to one another, we create a space where we can process our own ideas and begin to work together to affect real change.

Litany for Pentecost 2020

Litany for Pentecost 2020 in response to the death of George Floyd

The Litany below from Joanna Lawrence Shenk’s Facebook page posted 5/30/20 was used at my church (Hebron Mennonite, Hagerstown, MD) in our Zoom meeting on 5/31 and it touched me deeply.  I join my voice to this prayer.  Rhoda Keener

Joanna wrote:  “Along with Mark Van Steenwyk and my pastoral colleagues, Pat Plude and Sheri Hostetler, I created this prayer which First Mennonite Church of San Francisco will include in our service tomorrow. We are grateful for others to pray it with us. Lord have mercy.”


LITANY FOR PENTECOST 2020

God of the enslaved and God of the crucified, meet us in our anger, our despair and our grief at another Black life suffocated by the enduring violence of white supremacy in this country.

Meet us with the fire of your Holy Spirit sent to renew the world. May this fire refine our vision, separating truth from lie, separating an uprising born of enduring oppression from state-sponsored, white supremacist violence.

Meet us with your justice embodied by Yeshua and the prophets, who overturned tables, disrupted the status quo, and unflinchingly spoke truth to power. Amplify our cries for justice as we say the names of precious lives lost:

George Floyd
Ahmaud Arbery
Breonna Taylor
Mario Woods
Michael Brown
Eric Garner
Philando Castile
Sandra Bland
Stephon Clark
Trayvon Martin
Oscar Grant


May the fire of the Holy Spirit ignite transformation and healing. We pray for a righteous revolution—a society that no longer oppresses Black bodies. Where Black struggle isn’t exploited for white prosperity. Where the powerful are torn from their thrones and the people can live in beloved community.

This is the message of Pentecost: that God is birthing a new world. Come Holy Spirit, birth the new world in the shell of the old.

AMEN.