tag:janicelagata.com,2005:/blogs/my-mind-grapes?p=2My Mind Grapes2020-01-31T18:15:00-05:00Janice Lagatafalsetag:janicelagata.com,2005:Post/61888582020-01-31T18:15:00-05:002020-02-02T14:23:11-05:00The Life and Times of FavouredWiles<p style="text-align: center;"><a contents="(TL:DR - Janice needs help, go check out her new Patreon page.)&nbsp;" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.patreon.com/scandusical"><em><span class="font_small"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/374352/0cd454c6ee926124b158b7894fa5e37a47cb9c1d/original/img-6364.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />(TL:DR - Janice needs help, go check out her new Patreon page.) </span></em></a></p>
<p>Have I ever told you about FavouredWiles? She was born on Twitter and was briefly semi-famous... famous? That's seems like a reach. She was briefly semi-popular in a Shondaland corner of the internet in the early twenty-teens. Known for her <a contents="musical&nbsp;three minute recaps of Scandal episodes" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLzPiELalAxzDkfclh7UlPo5zP3F1g5z_j" target="_blank">musical three minute recaps of Scandal episodes</a>. She was something special. And she was me. An alter-ego I created because I didn't want my friends to help me. </p>
<p>The year was 2013 and I had decided that if I couldn't write for TV (yet), I would write about TV. So I started blogging about <em>SCANDAL</em>. But before I pressed "publish" on my first post, the faces of all my friends flashed before me and my pride said <em>"They don't want to read this. No one wants to read this. But your friends will because they feel bad for you."</em> And I felt bad about that. So I created a whole new internet persona, a writer that no one knew, who would rise or fall (most likely fall) completely on her own merit or lack thereof (most likely lack thereof). So <em>FavouredWiles</em> was born. And she started blogging. And she did okay. Actual people who didn't actually know her actually read her blog and actually liked it. And then she/I had the idea of the three minute recaps... and actual people actually LOVED THEM. </p>
<p>I remember it was a Tuesday when the third recap BLEW. UP. And I went from like fifty Twitter followers to nearly a thousand. And it was so surreal because I was going to hang out with some friends that night and my phone was just blowing up, my internet profile was on fire (in the best way possible) and almost no one in my real world had any idea. It was wild. Also wild, the fact that I <em>STILL</em> didn't really want to tell friends about what I was doing, because then it felt like bragging. In the end, I was never fully able to integrate my two personas and eventually I deleted the <em>FavouredWiles</em> account, killed the alter-ego and gave up all those followers because I felt that they didn't even really know me and we're only following me because they felt bad for me... wait, what?! I don't know. My self-sabotage is even more creative than I am. </p>
<p>Long story short, in the end, I both created and killed a version of myself because I didn't want anyone to feel obligated to help me. </p>
<p>But now it's 2020. And I need help. </p>
<p>One of the last things <em>FavouredWiles</em> started working on was a ten-minute recap that turned into a full-length musical that JaniTheCat <span class="font_small"><em>(FKA: FavouredChild) </em></span>finished. It's called <span style="color:#e74c3c;"><em><strong>SCANDUSICAL</strong></em></span> and it's pretty fantastic. <a contents="It'll be playing for 4 nights at The PIT in March" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://thepit-nyc.com/events/scandusical" target="_blank"><strong>It'll be playing for 4 nights at The PIT in March</strong></a> and then after that... I'd like to get it up and running for longer. But I can't do it alone. Everything costs - rehearsal space, rehearsal snacks & water, printing scripts and sheet music, costumes, props, ACTORS, MUSICIANS and ASSISTANTS!! It would honestly be great to make money from my writing someday, but far above that and way before that (if ever), I want to be able to pay the people who are giving their time and talent to bring this show to life. I'm used to my writing costing me, I don't mind; but I would really like for it not to be a burden on the people who are literal gifts to me. <strong>So I've started <a contents="a Patreon for this project" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.patreon.com/scandusical" target="_blank">a Patreon for this project</a> and this is me asking you to help me, by becoming a Patron. </strong>For a little as $3 a month you can help me defray some of the upfront costs which will leave me more room to pay all the people who are not me on the back end. And maybe (god-willing) I'll break even one of these days! </p>
<p>Listen, as someone who was once born, lived successfully and died on Twitter, and is now older and wiser in the real world, I am finally humble enough to proudly ask for help. From anyone and everyone - my friends, enemies, frenemies, strangers (with candy or without), YOUR friends, enemies and frenemies. Whosoever will, for whatever reason. If it's because you feel bad for me - so be it. I'll take it. My pride would prefer that it's because you think I'm good at what I do and totally worth supporting, but at this point, I think I'm good at what I do and totally worth supporting, so I'm fine believing that for the both of us if need be. </p>
<p>So please, take some time and <a contents="visit my Patreon page" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.patreon.com/scandusical" target="_blank">visit my Patreon page</a> and when you're ready, for whatever reason - become a patron of <span style="color:#e74c3c;"><em><strong>SCANDUSICAL</strong></em></span>. Make all of <em>FavouredWiles' </em>dying wishes come true and let's get this show on the road together. </p>
<p>Thanks for everything, from every version of me. </p>
<p>xx janice </p>
<p><a contents="https://patreon.com/scandusical" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.patreon.com/scandusical">https://patreon.com/scandusical</a></p>Janice Lagatatag:janicelagata.com,2005:Post/61905412020-01-23T12:30:00-05:002020-04-10T20:06:17-04:00WWJD? Stop Trying to Be Like Jesus<p> </p>
<p>My friend, S, loves Friends. Loves it. That show was, is, and as far as I can see, always will be her jam. So in most any situation, at almost any time, she can relate a real life situation to some situation in that comedy, or one of her flesh and blood friends, to a character in the cast. <em>“That is so Monica/Phoebe/Joey/Chandler/Ross/Rachel.”</em> I could say that I’ve heard it all (and could I <em><strong>be</strong></em> any less enthused?) but I recently realized that I actually haven’t. There are two essential character I have NEVER heard her compare anyone to. Never has she ever said to me or anyone else, <em>“You are being such a Marta Kauffman/David Crane right now.”</em> Who and/or who? The creators of Friends. Who along with their production partner Kevin Bright were the joint force that spawned an entire pop culture. If Friends was a universe, (and let’s be honest: it is) it’s trinitarian god would be Bright-Kauffman-Crane. And S, knows that. She knows the bible of that show front to back, but she has never compared herself or anyone she knows to the gods of that gospel. </p>
<p>And I really wish Christians would keep that same energy. </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/374352/8710cdd9802af75b0f21ec757f1251058b0bcc85/original/benevolent-tweet.jpeg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpeg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>There was a twitter flare up recently, re: slavery and the myth of the benevolent slaveholder. Because apparently present day United States is doing so well, some Christians on twitter (Christtwits?) are finding it hard to believe the horrific history of our nation was as horrific as some of us keep insisting. We’re at a 10 and they’d like us a negative two, but they’ll settle for a three. <em>Protip: If the conversation is ever about slavery and you’re on the side saying it wasn’t that bad; kill yourself.</em> (I’m sorry, is that mean? Okay, but it’s not that mean.) Anyway, white folks be whitefolkin’ and one of them said the reason some of us have a hard time believing in the myth of a benevolent slave owner is because we can’t conceive of a benevolent Father who calls us all slaves to his son… okay, Christtwit. </p>
<p><em>Benevolent Father, I’m tired. All the women in me are tired. And all the slaves in me are tired... of Your shit, Dad! Let me go!</em></p>
<p>Whoops! That escalated quickly. But you know what, let’s go with it. Imagine with me, a slave saying that to their benevolent slave owner. Whether it was whispered through tears, shouted in anger or stated calmly through gritted teeth — what would the response have been? WWBD? What would Benevolence do? </p>
<p>Obviously, Benevolence would turn in their bible to our very helpful text of the day: Romans 6:22. And having read such clear wisdom, Benevolence would immediately set their slave/child free. Immediately. They would have obviously have to, because they would read it and either: <em>a) see themselves in the slave character and do unto others as they would want others to do to them</em> or <em>b) see themselves in the slave character, be honest about the fact that they don’t want to set their slave free, but accept that the mandate of a slave is to do things they don’t want to do.</em> Either way, Christian benevolence begins and ends with the enslaved being freed. There’s no other option. Unless… No. No way. No one would do that. No one would read a bible verse involving God and slaves, and see themselves in the God position. That would be downright devilish. </p>
<p>And yet here we are. With Christians likening slave owners to God, instead of humbly recognizing themselves as slaves to supremacy. </p>
<p>Because a flaw in our theology has become a feature. We have made the goal of Christianity becoming Christlike. **record scratch** Wait… What’s so bad about that? Nothing when you say it like that because we're used to hearing it like that, but let's switch things up a little bit. Jesus Christ was God, right? So let's go with that. Switch Christ with God — and now, when I say we have made the goal of Christianity becoming Godlike… yikes… it just hits different; right? Godlike. Like God. You will be like God… where have we heard that before? </p>
<p>So what’s a Christian to do? Aren’t we supposed to be like Jesus? Wasn’t that the point? Isn’t that the point? I don’t know. Was it? Is it? Did He die to take our place? Maybe. Did He die to change places with us? Absolutely not. How do I know? Because He still alive. Remember? That’s the whole deal, right? He lived and died and rose from the dead and now *checks notes* He’s alive. So why would I ever ask myself What Would Jesus Do as if He's missing in action and needs me to fill in for him? He’s present and accounted for. He's got it covered. And yet we’re steadily out here trying to assume a role that is not open. Trying to become like a man who was God. And doing a terrible job of it. Because we just don't have the range. Jesus was man and is God. He can play both positions. We cannot. We never could. We were never meant to. We have only ever been meant to be man with God. We are best, when we are man with God. We are worst when are trying to be man and God. We need to stop trying to live like we’re Jesus, and start trying to live like we’re with him. </p>
<p>What’s the difference? Let’s take a quick look at another two-character scene we’ve probably all heard a few sermons on — the Temptation of Christ. What are some of the common takeaways from that story: being led into the wilderness to be prepared, having your identity questioned, being hungry, being tempted, overcoming by knowing the word… cool cool cool. Message received. <em>Narrator voice over: The message has not been received.</em> Because again, we’re looking at this story and we’re just automatically seeing ourselves in the God position. Jesus hasn’t even died yet and we’re stepping into this scene like <em>“Oh, this is my part!”</em> But is it? Two characters were led into the desert, one following the other… be honest, which one are you more likely to be? The one not using their power to take shortcuts or the one trying anything and everything to talk Jesus into taking one? But how many of us have ever looked at the story and seen ourselves as anything other than Jesus. </p>
<p>That’s a problem. </p>
<p>We have literally lost sight of ourselves. And our view was never reliable to begin with. You realize that not one of us has ever actually truly seen ourselves, right? We’ve only ever seen reflections. So if my bad theology centers Jesus in me and tells me to see myself as Jesus in the world, the view can only grow more and more reflective. Not of Jesus, but of me. Because I am bad at recognizing myself. And that’s how we end up being able to imagine such a thing as a benevolent slave owning God. Because we want to be like Him, almighty, all powerful Him. At any cost. Including our own humanity. </p>
<p>So we need to change the question, stop asking What Would Jesus Do and start asking Where Is Jesus Now and then be honest about where we are in relation to Him. Because while we can do bad all by ourselves and Jesus can do Jesus all by Jesus-self, we can only do Jesus badly. So let’s just stop. Please Christian, for God’s sake, stop trying to be like Jesus.</p>
<hr><p>Tell your friends.</p>
<p>Janice Lagata was born in California, but born for New York. A writer, fighter, igniter and matron saint of cats; smirking is her favorite. She's just a girl feeding herself to the world and asking it to love her - that's a lyric from a song she wrote, you can probably find it and lots of other things she's working on by asking the internets (<a contents="insta" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://instagram.com/jani_the_cat" target="_blank">insta</a>/<a contents="twitter" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://twitter.com/jani_the_cat">twitter</a>/<a contents="soundcloud" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://soundcloud.com/janithecat">soundcloud</a>/<a contents="spotify" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://open.spotify.com/artist/1g443e1cAsTWQLjYKTdS71">spotify</a>/<a contents="youtube" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://youtube.com/janithecat">youtube</a>/<a contents="your mom" data-link-label="Home" data-link-type="page" href="/home">your mom</a>) for @jani_the_cat.</p>Janice Lagatatag:janicelagata.com,2005:Post/61903902019-11-29T11:50:00-05:002022-04-13T06:33:52-04:00Roadtrips to Legacy<p><span class="font_large">Who Wore It Better: Queen and Slim or Frozen 2? </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/374352/0a19a9caedda1d252d8911f9b8eb77d47a7a8c04/original/qsfrozen.jpeg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></span></p>
<p>When it comes to moviegoing, I’m a feast or famine kind of girl. My AMC A-List membership is either struggling to keep up or gathering dust. This Thanksgiving week, I was on feast mode. On Tuesday night, I agreed to sit through Frozen 2 for the sake of two of my friends, and on Wednesday I happily caught a late-night showing of Queen and Slim, for the culture. Two very different movies entered with wildly different expectation levels and left with wildly different reactions. One of them moved me with a surprisingly deft handling of difficult cultural history while the other one, Queen and Slim, left me cold. </p>
<p>When Frozen was released in 2013, I was not a fan. It’s possible I waited too long to see it and hearing so many rave reviews burdened me with insurmountably high expectations. I only saw it once. And that was enough. It didn’t live up to the hype for me. My next interaction with Frozen was in 2017 as the interloping, overly long short before Coco. Once again, not a fan. Frozen 2 was nothing I was looking forward to, but friends wanted to see it, so I made my reservation with no expectations and no idea (or real interest in) what the sisters of Arendelle would be getting into. </p>
<p>I was excited about Queen and Slim. As a Black woman, I was excited to support the work of Black women. From the trailer and promotional campaign, I knew what the premise of the film was, but had no idea how it would play out or how it would end. The possibility that it could end tragically, didn’t dampen my enthusiasm. Heavy themes can be handled well when handled well. Not with perfection, but with perspective. Just ask Princess Anna. In one of the heavier moments of Frozen 2, she grapples with what it is to face loss alone. By that point, I was holding the hand of my friend who is just two years shy of losing her mother. Holding my breath and hoping they wouldn’t botch it, wouldn’t lead the audience into a cave it couldn’t be bothered to show them a way out of. Because they could have done whatever they wanted — they knew they had us. Long before any of us settled into in our assigned seats, they knew they had us. Frozen was a juggernaut, Frozen 2 was not going to be a flop. It didn’t matter what the story was and for the opening weekend, it wasn’t even going to matter if it was good — the audience was built in and it was going to show up. I didn’t even like Frozen and I was there, no questions asked. Just like they knew I would be. </p>
<p>The team behind Queen and Slim knew I would be there too. The promotional campaign was strong and effective: this is an important movie (a new classic!), brought to you by important creators with something important to say, to people already familiar with caves. About caves? Question mark. I don’t know. The built-in audience for Queen and Slim was going to be significantly smaller than the one for Frozen 2, but significantly more prepared to be challenged. I was ready to be challenged. I was not ready for one of the challenges to be figuring out what this challenging movie was trying to say. And why. And to who. Queen and Slim knew exactly who would be showing up to see them but didn’t seem to have anything specific to say to them. So, it stylishly and sluggishly recapped things that have been said before, including, but not limited to: Tinder is a crapshoot. Being Black in America is a crapshoot. White people are cray. Black is beautiful. Love is complicated. Family is complicated. Life is complicated. Gas is expensive. You’re always hungry. You never listen. Cops are people. Black people are people. It be your own people. Your legacy matters. And we are oceans away from freedom? </p>
<p>Strangely enough, both movies involved attempts to cross large bodies of water for purposes of securing the future. Both reckoned along the way with history’s effect on present day journeys. Both featured orphans trying to make sense of their legacies. But only one left me feeling hopeful about mine. And it was the one that didn’t have to. </p>
<p>Barring some insane natural disaster or apocalyptic media misstep Frozen 2 knew everybody in the world was coming to see them. They could have continued the stories of Elsa and Anna in any direction, could have said settled on a story that said anything, including nothing at all. They chose to dive headfirst into issues of revisionist history and mistrust between people groups. Not with perfection — yes, there is some very convenient whatever-the-opposite-of-white-washing-is to the background of two extremely umm… blue-eyed princesses and significant smacks of white savior-ism; but with perspective — nimbly introducing the idea that history and truth are not automatically synonymous and that truth matters more. In a country being pulled apart by people desperately opposed to reckoning with the truth of our history, for Frozen to intentionally drop that seed was a revolutionary act that said we’re all lost, but not all is lost. The paradigm shift Queen and Slim was loudly promising, Frozen 2 quietly delivered better on. </p>
<p>Both stories were fictional, one was animated and the other one was unreal. Maybe that’s why it left me so reluctant to try and state what its message is. Gun to my head, I would say the message is that Black people are both beautiful and endangered from all angles. And I believe that. I knew that before Queen and Slim. It’s evident. Unquestionable, I thought, until I saw it so clumsily transcribed through improbable scenarios, questionable decisions and inconsistent urgency. It couldn’t convince me of something I already believed, but maybe it wasn’t for me. A few hours ago, my friend texted “I still can’t believe how Frozen came for me.” Days later, I’m still unsure who Queen and Slim came for. Maybe it’s you. But just in case it leaves you cold, Frozen 2 is standing by to warm you up in ways it really didn’t have to.</p>
<hr><p>Tell your friends. </p>
<p>Janice Lagata was born in California, but born for New York. A writer, fighter, igniter and matron saint of cats; smirking is her favorite. She's just a girl feeding herself to the world and asking it to love her - that's a lyric from a song she wrote, you can probably find it and lots of other things she's working on by asking the internets (insta/twitter/soundcloud/spotify/youtube/<a contents="your mom" data-link-label="Home" data-link-type="page" href="/home">your mom</a>) for <a contents="@jani_the_cat" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://instagram.com/jani_the_cat">@jani_the_cat</a>.</p>Janice Lagatatag:janicelagata.com,2005:Post/59374512019-10-31T09:00:00-04:002020-01-28T11:45:21-05:00Miss Misrepresentation<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/374352/d73607a81facbee0add488731f0d2f3655da4df8/original/img-5060.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" />I was already on my way out, but the brown little Black girl was the final straw. Well, the first final straw. It has been over two years now and I have gone on to go much farther in leaving church than I would have ever thought possible. But that’s a story for a different day. Anyway, we were standing outside the venue where church was being held that week. It was before service and after service, so I was coming or going or staying, I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. It’s all the same. Anyway, two kids were playing. A brother and sister. Running around and jostling each other, the way kids do before and/or after church, but you know the saying: It’s all fun and games until somebody messes up somebody’s hair. So when the younger brother reached out to mess up his older sister’s hair, the game came to a sudden stop. And as Big Sister turned her attention to fixing what Little Brother had done, I turned to Little Brother with a laughing, but real reminder: <em>“Come on man, you know better — you never touch a black woman’s hair.” </em></p>
<p><em><strong>“NOT BLACK!”</strong></em> The words were fast and panicked. And Big Sister was upset. With me. Her brother completely forgotten as she turned her full focus on correcting me. <em>“My hair is brown. Brown. Not black.”</em> And after years of instigating and being part of “diversity” conversations that culminated with leadership favoring “organic” change over making intentional choices, when I looked at her, this brown little Black girl, so upset over a cultural joke she misheard, distraught at the thought that something brown would be called Black, and already heavy with a burden I recognized from working so hard to be rid of, I knew I had to go. </p>
<p>To be completely fair and clear: the church I was part of did not cause that little Black girl’s discomfort with being associated with Black. That need to draw a distinction between brown and black, that automatic aversion to Black as a descriptor — that’s the signature work of America. That church did not do that. But there was nothing about that church that was undoing it. Based on what types of people were (and were not) consistently deemed worthy of being seen, heard and followed, the messages I had to sort through about myself, my worth, my purpose as a Black Christian in church weren’t any different than the ones I faced as a Black American in the secular world. And with a healthy dose of Trump voters on staff, that church definitely wasn’t helping me feel any safer or more hopeful about America in general. In the fight for equality, there was no rest for the weary, no sanctuary in that particular sanctuary. And as someone I used to know, used to be fond of saying <em>“If you ain’t helping, you ain’t helping.”</em> And for all it's posturing, that church wasn’t helping. </p>
<p>Representation matters. Where we see people and what we see them doing matters. And when we get used to seeing certain types of people in certain types of positions, it matters. We subconsciously begin to not only associate, but disassociate certain traits, strengths and status with certain demographics. I remember bringing a white male friend to that church for the first time and the speaker that day was not just a white male (no surprise there, there was a 9/10 chance), but happened to be one that happened to look very much like him. It was his first day and he could already (literally) see himself in leadership. Imagine that. No seriously, women and people of color (and especially women of color!) — you better imagine that. Because your actual glimpses of it are going to be few and far between (specifically sometime during Black History Month, Mother’s Day and immediately before/after the women’s conference). </p>
<p>And why is that? The first stab I ever took at addressing the diversity-slash-representation topic was two or three years in, after a mid-week service when a brand new white boy was unveiled as a new associate pastor. He was the MC for the evening. And he was bad. So bad. So so bad. Like seriously, and I cannot stress this enough: bad. So I texted the lead pastor… <em>“Hey, next time the roster opens up, howsabout we slide a woman and/or a person of color in there??”</em> and his response was… agreeable? <em>“I’d love that! So let’s pray for God to send one!” </em>Send one? I remember looking around, at a crowd heavy with women and people of color, and wondering how not one of us was sent… </p>
<p>And that’s where this all this “representation” talk gets super dicey, super messy and super important, super fast. Because when Christian leaders couch their leadership choices as God’s will, God’s revelation, God’s choice — they make harmful assertions about God. Riddle me this: <strong>When it comes time for this all-knowing, far-reaching, wild, redemptive and unpredictably creative God, who created such a wild, varied and colorful array of humanity, to choose someone to represent Him; why would He continuously makes the same standard, uninteresting and predictable choice?</strong> It’s a real puzzler. And very troublesome. Which is why we need to start calling it exactly what it is… </p>
<p>Conversations about diversity are awkward and often difficult; and as marginalized people trying to coax often reluctant leaders to engage in awkward and difficult exchanges, we have had to learn how to cushion all the blows: being overly appreciative of any little effort, allowing for certain false equivalencies, overlooking boundary oversteps and softening language. So when we address issues of diversity in leadership, we tend the name the problem as gently as possible, and always as something that is a struggle for us that we need the powers-that-be to assist with — <em>Let’s talk about how you (well-intentioned leader) can help us (disappointed minority) with the lack of diversity</em>… <em>Thank you (champion among men) for being willing to hear us (needy women) re: our issue of under-representation</em>… <em>Bless you (white savior) for being willing to explore solutions to our (complaining Blacks) lack of representation</em>… but what if we started calling it what it actually is: </p>
<p><strong>Misrepresentation</strong> <br><em>noun</em> <br>the action or offense of giving a false or misleading account of the nature of something. </p>
<p>Leadership teams, church staffs, pastoral rotations and church boards that consist primarily of white men are misrepresentations. They give a false and misleading account of the importance, ability and significance of white men. Of women. Of people of color. Of women of color. Of everyone. And worse: they give a false and misleading account of the nature of God. Of God’s will and of God’s all-knowing, far-reaching, wild, redemptive and unpredictable heart. And misrepresentation is always harmful. For everyone involved. Even you, White Male. With your restricted view of who God can use, coupled with your colossal (colonial) mandate to lead people in God’s will, which almost always seems to be the call of someone who looks/thinks/lives like you… how can you not be a bit of a self-important monster? Favor ain’t fair, amiright? So why should you be? And why shouldn’t you congratulate yourself (and be congratulated!) for just being willing to humor conversations about how you can help the under-represented? </p>
<p>But what if… Here’s an interesting humble thought experiment: <strong>What if we (the long-suffering marginalized) have actually been sent to help you (over-represented demographic) give up some of your power?</strong> It’s hard work, but somebody’s gotta do it… and you, white male, literally can not. No offense, but you just don’t have the range. </p>
<p>But honestly, and unfortunately, neither do a large number of your followers. Years and years of misrepresentation have done their job. And we (everyone/anyone who is not you) has gotten so used to seeing you lifted as the standard, our own imaginations and expectations have been stunted. We’ve settled into accepting the way things are as the way they’re supposed to be. And we credit every minor concession as a revolution, because we’re not completely convinced the God we believe in, believes in us. </p>
<p>But God does. So much so, that They has left it up to us to see “thy Kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven.” So we each have to do the hard work of taking stock of the spaces we occupy and asking ourselves: Is this as it is in Heaven? And when it’s not, we have to speak up. Speak truth to power. Speak truth in love. Speak. And when the time comes, step out. Of our comfort zones. Of line. Of places that foster misrepresentation. For others. For ourselves. For God’s sake. And for all the brown little Black girls who need spaces that see them and show them differently; churches that actually reflect Heaven instead of mirroring America. Because it’s not going to happen without intentional and sustained effort; and if you ain’t helping, you ain’t helping.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/374352/7b9acd7507a38bdb5db5d2dfc8a309b7b2a5f747/original/img-5039.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>Janice Lagatatag:janicelagata.com,2005:Post/58133172018-12-27T21:55:00-05:002019-07-03T19:52:12-04:00Lamborghini Lives<p>It all gets jumbled for me. And honestly, I’m not always sure what I believe. And whether it even matters what I think. People are… people. And everyone is (I assume) just doing their best. But… it’s all jumbled. </p>
<p>It’s probably going to seem like this post was inspired by a Lamborghini. Specifically the one Pastor John Gray bought for his wife a few weeks ago, but it would be more accurate too say that Lamborghini parked itself in the middle of a post that I’ve been writing for the past year or so. </p>
<p>I don’t think it’s any secret that Christianity and I have a complicated relationship. We love each other dearly and are in this thing together, forever (literally), but it gets tricky when a relationship looks one way at home and completely different in the streets. When so many people are claiming Christianity is so concerned with some things and so unmoved by others. What’s the truth? </p>
<p>Well… let’s start with something we can all agree on: Martin Luther King Jr. He was pretty great, right? Something he said, that has been rising to the top more and more over the past few years was a shot fired directly at “moderate” Christianity: </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><em><strong>“First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Council-er or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season.” </strong></em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em><strong>“Letter From A Birmingham Jail” </strong></em></p>
<p>And then there’s this Hillsong song that has been echoing in my head and heart since I first heard it. And, ironically, was part of what ultimately led me away from Hillsong. The song is “As It Is (in Heaven)” and one of lines/thoughts is: </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>And while I’m waiting, <br>I’m not waiting <br>I know Heaven lives in me. </strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em><strong>“As It Is (in Heaven)” </strong></em></p>
<p>With the entire song coming from The Lord’s Prayer which is Jesus’ prayer template for Christians, asking for God’s will to be done and His Kingdom to come on earth, as it is in Heaven. Which is why, while we’re waiting, we’re not waiting, because we’re supposed to be bringing God’s will and His Kingdom here. <strong>On earth. </strong></p>
<p>So then the question becomes… Well, what is God’s will? And what does His Kingdom look like? </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>Each of the twelve gates was a solid pearl. The streets of the city were made of pure gold, clear as crystal. </strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em><strong>Revelation 21:21 </strong></em></p>
<p>Pearly gates. Streets of gold. Dope. Got that. But there’s something my pastor has said a few time over the past few weeks (or maybe he only said it once and it’s just been echoing non-stop in my head, unclear.) Either way, his revelation was this: </p>
<p>The streets are made gold. Pure gold of the highest quality. And Heaven is worth so much that pure gold of the highest quality, is like asphalt there. It’s nothing. So common and of such little value, it’s something to be walked on. </p>
<p>And yet, classic us, we are mesmerized. By the ground. By the basest, most basic thing. </p>
<p>But while we’re waiting, we’re not waiting. And so we buy Lamborghinis here. Because… </p>
<p><strong>“I got one wife, I got one life, I got two kids, and while they’re alive, I’m going to do whatever I can to bless them. And I hope you do the same to your family.” <em>Pastor John Gray, via Facebook Live </em></strong></p>
<p>There has been no lack of words and opinions and hot takes on the whole Lamborghini situation, but that one line in that quote from John Gray has been the one that has made the most sense of everything to me: <strong>I got one life.</strong> </p>
<p>And I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he was just in preacher mode and going with the flow and it rhymed with “I got one wife” and it fit the motif, so he just went with it, but it’s problematic. Because it’s not exactly true: there is after all, in the Christian tradition, life after death. And this life is just the beginning. A mist that’s here and then gone. It’s smoke. A blip on the radar of eternity. </p>
<p>And the vast majority of us will have to wait until Heaven for our Lamborghinis. </p>
<p>And I’m fine with that. But not every Christian is. They want to live their best life now. And I’d actually be fine with that too, if they wanted it for everyone. But they don’t. And I know they don’t because they’re still telling some of us to wait. Not for gold or for cars or for fame, but for justice. For refuge. For reparation. For good news for the poor. Freedom for the prisoners. Sight for the blind. Freedom for the oppressed. </p>
<p>You can have all that there, but here… </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/374352/5e77fef51cbd769ee51270280e5f6f37513caaab/original/get-that-candy.gif/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.png" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>So what am I saying? Nothing definitive yet. Because it’s all still jumbled. Mostly, I’m just wondering… </p>
<p>What parts of Heaven are we really the most interested in bringing to earth? What parts are we happy to wait for, for ourselves. And, maybe more importantly, what parts are we very happy for others to wait for. </p>
<p>Because for some us, while we’re waiting, we’re not waiting, we know Heaven… Lamborghini.</p>Janice Lagatatag:janicelagata.com,2005:Post/58132752018-04-05T16:40:00-04:002019-07-03T19:42:33-04:00A Quiet Place: An Extremely White Parable of Black Life<p>Left to my own devices, I NEVER would have seen A Quiet Place. But as the designated plus-one of a friend in the industry, it was my duty to attend the screening premiere, so I did. With great fear and trembling. Horror movies are not my cup of tea. When I went to see Get Out last year, (with great fear and trembling, dragging equally reluctant friends along) I was only doing it for the culture. And I was shocked at how much I enjoyed it. The fear stoking was expected, the thought-provoking was not. But there must be something in the water because the kids these days are Making Horror Movies Great Again. (Says I, with my completely inadequate knowledge of the history of horror movies, but I digress…) </p>
<p>A Quiet Place is a white movie. It is so white that it just touched my hair. The closest we get to a person of color is when John Krasinski’s character tries futilely to reach out to Japan in Morse code. But it’s fine. It makes sense – the whole film is centered on one family and this one family happens to be white. And what is this white family doing? They are trying to survive after earth has been overrun by mysterious and (seemingly) invincible monsters who hunt by sound. In order to stay safe, they need to stay quiet. </p>
<p>Does that remind you of anything? Anyone? Any certain people? No? </p>
<p>It took me a while, too. Mostly because I was annoyed with choices made by the family in the opening scenes. As a family of five (mom, dad, 3 kids) they are out on a post-apocalyptic shopping trip – all barefoot, tiptoeing through emptied streets and deserted stores, communicating with looks and sign language. We quickly figure out that quiet is key, but we don’t know why yet. And it’s not exactly clear how quiet they need to be or how high the stakes, because the youngest of the children is given, what is in my opinion, a nonsensical amount of freedom to run around – grabbing and very nearly knocking a loud toy off a shelf. Then later, when walking home, in a formation that is SO STUPID it can only be ascribed to plot contrivance; the little troublemaker makes a noise that sets off a sequence of events that reveals how very high the stakes actually are. And how imperative their silence is to their survival. </p>
<p>But, I’ll be honest, I initially felt more apathy than empathy for that oblivious little kid, because if he would have just followed what he was told and kept quiet instead of acting like… any normal child would under normal circumstances… wait… do you hear it yet? </p>
<p>If he had just been quiet, if he had just complied… </p>
<p>Alright, this isn’t a quiet place, so I’m going to stop tiptoeing – in their relationship with the thing endangering them, the white people in this movie aren’t seen (the monsters are blind) and are safer the less they’re heard. The white people in this movie live in a reality where reasonable sounds and reactions can result in unreasonable danger and death. The white people in this movie might as well be Black people in America. </p>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<strong>“It’s the fear of not being able to protect your children from a rather brutal environment.” </strong><br><em>Emily Blunt (on the underlying theme of A Quiet Place) </em>
</h3>
<p><em><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/374352/800262382230ae6bbef248341829d4c13199abcc/original/quiet-place.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></em></p>
<p>A Quiet Place is a white movie. It is so white, that for a moment, I felt White. For a moment, I understood the ambivalence toward victims of America’s monsters. I didn’t blame them for the presence of the monsters, but I did, fault them for not being better at playing by the rules of the monsters. But only for a moment. When there a came a point where we as the audience realized the monster had a weakness, but the white people didn’t know yet I turned to my friend and whispered “They need to hurry up and figure this out.” Because I was invested. I wanted the people to triumph. No one should have to live in constant quiet dread of monsters. </p>
<p>But I’m not convinced White America is truly invested in finding and revealing the weaknesses of our monsters. Their children aren’t the ones in perpetual danger. </p>
<p>Anyway, A Quiet Place is beautifully shot (shout out to upstate New York); with hardly any dialogue the acting is fantastic (everybody does a phenomenal job but Emily Blunt is a BEAST) and a few plot holes/contrivances aside, it’s scarily enjoyable and thoroughly thought-provoking. It invites the viewer to imagine how they’d fare in a world where being heard comes with a high risk of being harmed. And perhaps, taking it a step further, to ponder, who they more actively sympathize with in the real world – the silenced or the monsters? </p>
<p>A Quiet Place is an extremely White movie that is an accidentally accurate parable of Black life. So even if you’re not horror fan, it’s definitely worth seeing. Do it for the culture.</p>Janice Lagatatag:janicelagata.com,2005:Post/58108712018-03-15T22:55:00-04:002019-07-03T19:29:58-04:00For White Pastors Who Want To Plant in Wakanda<p style="text-align: center;"><em>“I think you’re wrong. But I love you, so I’ll take it down. <br>But you don’t think Wakanda is for white people. And you need to own that.” </em></p>
<p>That was one of the last texts I received from white pastor friend of mine after I asked him to take down whimsical snap announcing a Wakanda campus of his church. I thanked him for taking it down and because I didn’t want there to be any misunderstanding on my thoughts about white people and Wakanda, I addressed his suspicion of my underlying feelings. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>“I own it completely: I don’t think Wakanda is for white people.” </strong></p>
<p>And I don’t. Because it’s not. And let me say it one more time for the people in the back (who in this particular case are the people in the pulpit): Wakanda is not for white people. <br>Look, I get it. Black Panther is what’s hot right now. And not for nothing. It is not only a stunning piece of cinema (a “marvel” if you will), but with Black Excellence on display from top to bottom, it is a moment. We can all see that. And we can (and should!) all enjoy it – multiple times, by all means. But we can’t all own it. <br>Wakanda Forever. But not for everyone. </p>
<p>As a Black person who lives in and loves a country that, historically, has not loved me back and still refuses to fully admit to its injustice and inequity, past and present; Wakanda is a fantastic vision of an alternate timeline – not where white people don’t exist, but where they have not encroached. And yet my friend’s first instinct, as a white pastor, was to immediately inject his leadership and write his name on something there. Nah homie. Or in the words of Shuri: </p>
<p>Don’t sneak up on me, Colonizer. </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/374352/e3f6fde1f537204afe10e501e245ab20f5c954c2/original/black-panther.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" /></p>
<p>So for white pastors who would love to plant in Wakanda or just want to talk about it sensibly from the platform, I’m going to ask you two questions and then give you one suggestion. Ready </p>
<p><strong>1. What is it that you like about Wakanda? <br><em>a. Its technology <br>b. Its Black leadership <br>c. The Dora Milaje <br>d. All of the above <br>e. Other: ________________________________ </em></strong></p>
<p>Okay. Cool. Now… </p>
<p><strong>2. How would your presence improve whatever your answer to #1 was? </strong></p>
<p>What’s that? Yeah… that’s what I thought. It mostly likely wouldn’t, right? Because you don’t want to go to Wakanda for Wakanda’s sake, you want to be there for your sake. And whether it’s to learn from or straight up take what you like for yourself, there’s a word for that, several words actually depending on the severity, but at its most basic level it’s appropriation. And if nowhere in your burning desire to get to Wakanda or to speak about it from your platform is there any recognition for the significant role that the absence of white people played in the magnificence of it all, then you’re not actually ready to be there. So consider yourself travel banned for now. </p>
<p>But it’s not all bad news. Look again at that list in question #1 – Wakanda might be fictional, but not everything on that list is. Why not try incorporating the real things you liked about Wakanda in your church here and now? Because I know it wasn’t just the technology that you liked… So ask yourself the hard questions about where people of color find themselves in world of your church. Think about your congregation – the mix of races, ages, genders, life stages, etc. – who do the decision-makers around your leadership table more closely resemble: your congregation or you? You don’t have to answer. I can take a pretty good guess at the answer for your church, White Pastor that I don’t know. </p>
<p>Wakanda, for a good many Black people, is a vision of escape from the day-to-day reality of the otherness, disdain and disregard that we face in the real world. And functioning as it should, as an imperfect preview of Heaven, the church should already feel like Wakanda on some level. But this all sprung from a social media post on a social media platform that I don’t even use. Sent to me by someone who attends my pastor friend’s church and was upset by it; because the sad fact is that his church, (and most likely your church), as great and diverse as it may look on the surface, and as wonderful as it may be for some, is nothing that we’d want to see in Wakanda. And nothing that Wakanda needs. Praise the ancestors. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>Want to ponder this topic some more? You should check out… </strong><br><strong>This Article. <a contents="A Quiet Exodus: Why Black Worshippers are leaving White Evangelical Churches&nbsp;" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.nytimes.com/2018/03/09/us/blacks-evangelical-churches.html" target="_blank">A Quiet Exodus: Why Black Worshippers are leaving White Evangelical Churches </a> <br>This Book. <a contents="The Divide: Spoken Word Unspokens on Racial Rifts&nbsp;" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://a.co/1BA73wn" target="_blank">The Divide: Spoken Word Unspokens on Racial Rifts </a><br>This Book. <a contents="The Politics of Jesus&nbsp;" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://a.co/aSrqvVJ" target="_blank">The Politics of Jesus </a></strong></p>Janice Lagatatag:janicelagata.com,2005:Post/58132742018-03-11T19:35:00-04:002019-07-03T19:36:24-04:00Lowlights<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<strong>“When they go low, we go high.” </strong><br><em>The Sainted & Saintly Saint Michelle of the House of Obama </em>
</h3>
<p>I can almost still feel the righteousness of that moment. The cheers, the admiration, that feeling that the darkness before the dawn was actually a great sign – proof that the dawn was coming. Because, as we learn from fairytale endings and carefully curated MLK quotes, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that.” And light always wins. Right? </p>
<p>What? You’re really going to have to speak up, because I can’t read lips in all this darkness. </p>
<p>And I can’t stop thinking about Stephon Clark. Minding his backyard business, in the dark. And I wonder if he even knew what happened to him or did he find himself standing before God trying to figure it out, “I was in the backyard and then there was some noise and light…” </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/374352/68d7073b21f55df3ff9d0c479289109bfb535d09/original/stephon-clark.png/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.png" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>Light. We all keep waiting for it to win, because that is the right and natural progression of things, right? But we keep forgetting how unnatural our lives are. When was the last time you went to bed because the sun went down? Or woke up because it was rising? I have blackout curtains in my room to keep the sun from bothering me; but guess what? I don’t live in darkness. I live in the artificial light of my choice. We all do. But we keep quoting Dr. King as if we haven’t harnessed light and made the natural irrelevant in our preference for the artificial. </p>
<p>So how is any of this supposed to work now? It may be better to light a candle than to curse the darkness, but how much good can a candle do in a culture lit by white supremacy and fragility? When we’re standing here with candles and they’re rushing at us with tactical flashlights? Or worse – we’re standing here with nothing but the natural light of our humanity and they’re flooded with the illumination of certain News networks and the entire racist history of America that lights us as less than? </p>
<p>Do we have a problem with darkness? Absolutely. This is a dark time in a dark nation with a dark history. Darkness is seeded into our roots and at the root of all of our problems. But we can’t even get close to dealing with it, because we can’t stop turning on lights. “And no wonder, for Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light.”(2 Corinthians 11:14) </p>
<p>You know what I would love? I would love the option to curse the darkness. For us to stand in nothing but the truth of our humanity and our brokenness and light candles together. We’d all be much safer if we were just in darkness. Stephon Clark was. Until he was flooded in too much artificial light and extinguished. In darkness, lit by centuries of distorted light we’ve been trying to rise above. </p>
<p>On paper, going high when they go low sounds noble, but honestly, I don’t want to go high anymore. Not if taking the high road means just hoping, praying and waiting for truth and light to somehow burn through everything we’ve spent generations building to harness, temper, dampen and supersede them. So what does it actually mean to go high in a battle of lights? </p>
<p>Darkness can’t drive out darkness, we know that; but is there anything that can drive out false light? Because the artificial can’t kill the natural – the sun will keep rising and people of color will always be resplendent – but it can override them. One of the prophets once asked “What’s a mob to a king, what’s a king to a god, what’s a god to a non-believer?” And I’d like to add: What is darkness to a candle? What’s a candle to the sun? And what’s the sun to a fool on the other side of a blackout curtain?</p>Janice Lagata