Tag Archives: W.E.B. DuBois

Race-ing Toward Nicea part 2: Constantine, DuBois, & Lynching

                                                                                                                                    Whither, Eusebius of Caesarea?

For part one see: Race-ing Towards Nicea part 1: The Incarnation

I am continuing to wrestle with Peter Leithart’s Defending Constantine: The Twilight of an Empire and the Dawn of Christendom. Simultaneously I am working through James Cone’s The Cross and the Lynching Tree and today I would like to present a potential inter-textual reading of both works.

In Defending Constantine (Chapter 10 “Justice For All”), Peter Leithart goes through the nitty gritty details of Constantine’s views on justice as well as his executive decisions when it came creating laws. Among some of his peculiarities was Constantine’s contention, much like Liberation Theology, that justice must be served to the oppressed. In those days, the Roman court system was oppressive and heavily biased towards the rich and powerful. Some of Constantine’s laws worked against this. In addition, Constantine outlawed crucifixions. The theological imagination for the secular philosopher/emperor Constantine was attracted to Christianity, and in that move, ended a murderous practice. However, Constantine still kept capital punishment itself around; Leithart just notes that Constantine just found more “creative” ways of executing criminals.

Torture and gory body-policing activities sponsored by the state such as the cutting off of thieves’ hands were acceptable Constantinian practices. Back then, these were social norms. It was expected that Constantine not to be able to transcend his cultural milieu. Like the Christian realists of the mid-20th century and even today, Constantine achieved what they would consider a “proximate justice.” The death penalty was such the norm back then that Constantine joked with Arius that the Emperor considered Arius and his fellow dissidents to be “gallows rogues,” or persons who found ways, time and again from being hung from the gallows ala Mordecai in the Book of Esther.

One interesting move that Leithart makes (as part of his larger Dominionist agenda in looking at the theological & social conservativism of the Global South) is to point out the African context from which the Donatist and Arian cotnroversies arose. In both instances, Christian bishops INVITED Emperor Constantine to help resolve these disputes. In the case of the Donatists, property rights were at stake. Radical Libyan Christians who took an uncompromising stance against bishops and laity who gave in to Roman persecution by denying Jesus as their Savior to save their own hides. The conflicts were so intense that Donatists were sometimes murdered for their beliefs. Appealing to political powers that be (an outside third-party) seemed to be the realistic approach to these issues.

James Cone’s The Cross And The Lynching Tree is written at the intersections of atonement theory, theodicy, and the struggle against White Supremacy. As Cone is making his argument in favor of USian Christians looking at the Cross through the history of the lynching tree, he notes that it was poets and artists during the Harlem Renaissance that first made the connection. Jim and Jane Crow was institutional, legal white supremacy maintained by placing black bodies on the gallows. One such writer, novelist and Christian scholar was W.E.B. DuBois DuBois’ Christian anti-racist imagination enabled him to use theological imagery to work to dismantle White Supremacy. Lacing his Christian prayers with appeals to the Prince of Peace, commenting on the race riots started by White Supremacists by referring to the book of Psalms, DuBois lived as an example of liberating Christian orthopraxis.

A few years ago in seminary, a group of African American students (including myself) protested against the injustices done to the Jena Six. The Jena Six situation was a high school fight started because someone hung a noose around the tree where the white kids usually sit. Under the murderous threat from the history of imperialist, racist KKKristianity which includes Emperor Constantine who himself had threatened an African man (as a joke) with lynching, the black high schoolers had little choice but to STAND THEIR GROUND.

No one can do an honest assessment of the Nicene-Chalcedon tradition without acknowledging its enforcement through, at minimum, the threat of violence (i.e., the anathemas and damnations and exiles etc.).  However, the Nicene-Chalcedonian formulas are not beyond the liberating grasp of the Holy Spirit.  In fact, Nicea & Chalcedon & the Apostles’ Creeds are are important to the extent that they remind  us Gentile Christians of our metanarrative that we find in Scripture, and that our stories are not our own, and that THE story is not about us. Tradition (with a capitol T) ideally should be used to keep our nationalistic desires in check, but when it fails to do so, history and Scripture witnesses to the fact that God uses outsiders, the rejects to prophesy deliverance to the Body of Christ.

No one represents this moreso than the the U.S. American prophet W.E.B. DuBois.  Living in the 20th century context where white Christians could recite the Creeds by rote memory, and then in the very next breathe, call a black person n*gger before lynching her, W.E.B. Dubois embodied Nicene-Chalcedonian orthopraxis as a testimony to Jesus Christ Our LORD and Liberator. In his essay, “The Gospel According To Mary Brown,” Dubois writes the Gospel narratives for his time, with a mulatto man portraying Jesus. Joshua is lynched because of his message of peace and anti-White Supremacy. As his mother Mary is found weeping, Joshua appeared to her, with his hair shining, white clothes (biblical language for holiness of the martyrs), “for his voice was the Voice of God.” When Mary asked where did Joshua go, Joshua tells her, “I was crucified, dead, and buried. I descended into Hell. On the third day, I rose from the dead. I ascended into Heaven and sit on the right hand of my Father, from whence I shall come to judge the Quick and the Dead.”

In an earlier post, I was mistaken to suggest that Constantine and Athanasius represent two different kinds of Christianity. It would be better for me to have said that Eusebius of Caesarea and the bishops and presbyters that made room for the devil by inviting Constantine to the table represent the imperial version of Christianity, the one where the nation-states’ story matters more than the Resurrection itself.

Eusebius and Athanasius represent two types of Christianity that we all have to struggle with. Eusebius and the Christian empire/dominionist tradition that Leithart favors is obsessed maintaining power over others (coercion, violence, war, white supremacy, lynching). The Nicene-Chalcedonian orthopraxis of Clement & Athansius of Alexandria and W.E.B DuBois offers a different way of being & doing in the world, that of living on the margins of exile, and pointing to the Logos as our Teacher & Prince of peace.

Other posts of interests:

Nestorianism Returns: Tea Party Politics vs Hypostatic Unity

Book Review: W.E.B. DuBois: American Prophet

Emperor Constantine and the Conservative Case for Reparations

W.E.B. Du Bois: American Prophet

I received a free copy of this book but I am not required to do a review for it. But I am anyway.

W.E.B. Dubois: American Prophet by Edward J. Blum


What can I say? I started this text as a cynic in all honesty. I had read and been transformed by DuBois’ biographies done by David Levering Lewis (which are gigantic volumes by the way). Lewis had ingrained in me the idea that DuBois was an atheist, he was a Communist. But there wasn’t really citation, it was just a well known fact. DuBois was portrayed as a bitter revolution who left this country for the shores of Africa. DuBois’ depiction was one of a quitter. Well, using facts like actual prayers and church attendance records kept by the government on DuBois, Blum breaks down the “secular orthodoxy” of Lewis’ books. I am now persuaded that DuBois was probably more of a theist who was committed to social justice. I don’t want to give any spoilers away because I highly recommend this book, but why did it not ever occur to historians to track down speeches DuBois gave at Christian colleges and universities? Or to look over his written prayers? Or to read his novels as narrative theology like we do with C.S. Lewis? Does race has something to do with it? Does it have to do with religion? Perhaps both! I will let you decide for yourself (no actually I haven’t!). 😉

WHAT I DID NOT ENJOY: It was WAYY TOO SHORT! I wanted more, more more. I am greedy, I know! I am already re-reading this book again. I hope that Blum follows up on this with a look at DuBois’ literary contributions.

The Cross And The Giving Tree: A Guest Post #NewTown

“Jeremy McLellan is a writer living in Charleston, SC.”

young lynching

The past has been a mint
Of blood and sorrow.
That must not be
True of tomorrow.
Langston Hughes


On December 28th we remember the Massacre of the Innocents. Much like Holy Saturday (the awkward middle-child of Lenten Season) its significance is often skipped over by American Christians. And for good reason: there is no Easter morning on December 29th. There is no cause and effect in view here and we see none of Yoder’s cross-and-resurrection that transforms the emplotment of the world, for the Massacre of the Innocents comes after the Incarnation. Stanley Hauerwas is fond of joking that there is no felt ram in the corner of the storyboard to let us know that Isaac will be spared, that these deaths will have a larger meaning that can outstrip their tragedy. God is with us, Jesus is born, and the long night of suffering and exile is thought to have passed. Do our hearts not swell this season as we sing “Born a king on Bethlehem’s plain, and gold we bring to crown Him again, king forever, ceasing never, over us all to reign”? Is our faith not quickened by the prophet as we ask “Lo, how a rose e’er blooming, from tender stem hath sprung”?

And then suddenly , a late frost. A madman tears children from this world, while a young child barely makes it out. A sword pierces the souls of the mothers from whom these children are snatched. I have no doubt that Jesus grew up with this knowledge, aware that the wrath of Herod and the towers of Siloam fall like rain on the just and on the unjust alike. He and his family knew of those missing Jewish boys when he vanished in the Temple during Passover. Years later, he came back to his hometown synagogue to worship with those he had known as a little boy, but this time it was not honor that his elders were owed. Instead, he reads from Isaiah and begins taunting them for being Jewish exceptionalists. In turn, he barely escapes a lynching.

The secret of Newtown is there is no Secret. In the wake of such tragedies, metaphors fail us. We must resist making children like Jessica Rekos ciphers for lost innocence or the American experience. Neither the Jewish boys in Bethlehem nor the Gentiles in Connecticut were collateral damage or “the price we pay for our freedom.” There is no narrative that can hold the deaths of Jack Pinto or James Mattioli within a larger story.

We must, like Rachel, refuse to be comforted. We must hold our anguish in our arms as a mother holds a child. We cannot paraphrase Tertullian and say that in becoming a child, God became all children, nor join with WEB Dubois in evaporating the particularity of a child’s death through abstraction into the black experience. For God did not become all children. He became this child, as this child. These children were not spared in death from Dubois’ vision of “being choked and deformed within the Veil.” They were choked, they were deformed. One child’s body had eleven bullets.

I too pray for deliverance from the scourge of mass shootings, that we would beat our AR-15s into ploughshares and our Glocks into pruning hooks. I know that it’s complicated, that the history of guns runs not just through Littleton and Newtown but also Oakland and Charleston, where armed black veterans stemmed the tide of lynchings. As Akhil Reed Amar writes in the Washington Post, “If guns are outlawed, only Klansmen will have guns.”

Yet I also know that “praise God and pass the ammunition” was the slogan of Judas, and though Jesus could have called down legions of angels like most of his childhood friends had hoped, he instead gave himself freely to the same powers that continue to claim our little ones, surrendering himself at last to a death that had been waiting for 33 years. I tremble for this nation when I reflect that God abhors violence, that if the white church in America keeps beating its ploughshares back into swords, the axe that is laid at the root of the tree may come anon.

As in Nazareth, our leaders and elders who have promised the peace of Judas through the proliferation of firearms deserve not our respect and deference but our contempt. They are the ideological sons of those who murdered the prophets on the lynching tree. Bonhoeffer reminds us that “No peace is peace without the forgiveness of sins,” and a nation at peace through fear of retaliation is a nation at war. Though I pray the Lord’s Prayer each Sunday with the rest of the American gun-loving faithful, there is this nagging thought that when the Day of the Lord comes like a thief in the night, it will be our victims who will be delivered from us.

They will say it is not for Caesar to beat our weapons into ploughshares. Fine. Let us do it ourselves.