Rooted in Truth: Reclaiming Contemplative Spirituality for Justice and Wholeness
Contemplative spirituality is often misunderstood. It is not about retreating from the world to commune with God, but rather about finding the strength and courage to engage the world more fully. Alice Walker names this in her definition of womanist: “Committed to survival and wholeness of entire people, male and female. Not separatist, except periodically, for health. Traditionally universalist…”[1] The fifth guiding principle in Shalem’s Vision 2025 also speaks to this: “As beloved community, we will face our fears and act with compassion and courage to challenge injustice, dismantle systems of inequity, and pursue reconciliation.” While Black History Month is imperative in celebrating and preserving the rich legacies of African Americans in the United States, it need not be limited to February. Black history is American history and our commitment to justice, equity, and reconciliation must be lived as a daily spiritual practice.
With the inception of Shalem’s work with CounterPart Consulting to help us on our DEIB journey, we begin this devotion.
I was groomed toward silence. As a Black woman growing in an antiblack and patriarchal world, learning to swallow words and my pride to focus on allowing God to fight my battles was a matter of survival. However, survival at what cost? Privileging silence redirected my rage at the injustices of the world into my interior life, causing extra stress and ”weathering,” or wear and tear on the body, that manifested in an autoimmune disease. In her book, Violence and Theology, Cheryl Kirk-Duggan defines violence as “that which harms” and is “relational.”[2] She specifies that violence can be “internalized” and embedded in rituals that obscure its effects, offering the following: “If we are not aware of the violence or we have become anesthetized to its existence, what impact does this have on our bodies and psyches at a cellular level?”[3] While numerous studies confirm the positive effects of contemplative spiritual practices, they often do not consider the violence of privileging internalized piety and silence at the expense of speaking truth to power. As I navigate the intersections of ministry, theological studies, and my identity as a Black woman in this precarious moment, the call to reclaim a life of contemplative spirituality – one that nurtures the soul to survive and inspires a powerful commitment toward just actions and truth-telling – resonates deeply within me and I pray it does within each of you as well.
My ancestors, particularly my grandma Vallie, taught me as a toddler that when chaos rises, stillness, prayer, and the wisdom of nature can be a source of empowerment. As I waddled alongside her on daily walks in my velcro shoes, it was not the words nor the thoughts that stuck, but the wind, the trees, and the birds she invited me to marvel at that embedded themselves into my sacred memory. Through the wind, my grandma taught me that God’s ruah is ever-present. Through the trees, she taught that their interconnected roots exemplify Ubuntu, a Zulu proverb that teaches, “I am because you are.” Today, I remain rooted in the sacred wisdom of my grandmother and other ancestors– recognizing that contemplation is not a method of escape, but a way to reach deep into the inner call to listen, feel, resist, and speak. I suspect my grandmother’s spirit knew this, anchoring me in truth that neither time nor silence can steal from me. As the wind carries her breath and the breath of all our ancestors, may this same wind carry us too. May this wind carry us towards wholeness, courage, and the unshakable call to bear witness to inward sacredness and sacredness within the world. Amen and àṣẹ.
[1] Alice Walker, “Womanist,” preface, in In Search of Mothers’ Garden (New York, NY: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1983), xi–xii, xi; Terrell, Power in the Blood?, 138.
[2] Cheryl A. Kirk-Duggan, “Landscape of Violence,” essay, in Violence and Theology (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 2006), 1–24, 2.
[3] Kirk-Duggan, “Landscape of Violence,” 3; Cheryl A. Kirk-Duggan, “Violence and Systematic Theology,” essay, in Violence and Theology (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 2006), 67–92, 67.
ArDonna, thank you for channeling your beloved Grandmother, Vallie. As there are efforts to erase Black History Month, your piece serves as a powerful reminder of why we must honor and remember our cherished ancestors. I also hear in your voice the strength of my three Black daughters who have achieved so much despite the obstacles they have faced.