Between the World and Me: Rituals for Crossing Over,in Memory of Dr. Katie Geneva Cannon

My History with Katie Cannon

I first met Dr. Katie Geneva Cannon in the fall of 1978 when I entered the Master of Divinity program at Union Theological Seminary in New York. She was one of three Black women at Union working on their Ph.D. degree. I was in paradise. Even though there were no Black women on the faculty from 1978-1981, I had three Black women who I called my “big sisters”: Jacqueline Grant, Katie Cannon, and Delores Williams, who mentored me like a three-headed goddess of wisdom.

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Katie Cannon with Connie Bau and Lynn Rhodes. Courtesy the Presbyterian Foundation.

I had never met a Black woman like Katie Cannon. She had a brilliant, wide awake (“woke”) sense of humor. She was a writer, thinker, encourager, and storyteller who always had a deep question to which one might want to respond, “Now you are getting in my business” (full neck movement). She raised questions that I and others may not have been pondering. Example: After sizing you up and asking a few questions, she would say, summarily and with authority, “Now, Emilie, as soon as you finish the D.Min. over there at the UC, you ought to be getting on the Ph.D. up there at G-ETS!” Or, “Linda, the way you take care of things with the Black men at Union makes me call you Sojourner Truth henceforth.” Cannon would imagine things upon a person we ourselves may not even have been considering; in so doing, she pushed us toward the greater good of the community.

Moreover, it was as though she could read your mind, stating the questions we had not yet articulated. She worked with a sharp knife with a curve on the edge and a little curly cue on the end that put a twist on what she intuited that the community and the world needed from “little ole you.” I can hear her voice even now: “Y’all didn’t have to do all of this here for me, but since you did, I’m gonna sit back and enjoy. Carry on!” This may be a long way around saying that Katie Geneva Cannon was a towering intellect with a wit that could make me roll on the floor laughing.

Womanist Theological Hermeneutics in Light of Katie Cannon’s Work ¹

A womanist approach assumes that historically dominant people (across intersectionality) and historically subordinated people (across intersectionality: people of color, LGBTQIA+, etc.) have ethical duties and tasks. People with achieved and ascribed privilege, power, and wealth need to understand how the vectors of demonarchy operate to give them freedom at the expense of othering others. They need to know how they perpetuate demonic systems that advance them and grant them a social subsidy. In other words, historically dominant groups need to know the ways they advance and keep the cancers of racism, sexism, heterosexism, and Islamophobia alive so that they metastasize. They need to know the ways they can become allies with subordinated people.

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Katie Geneva Cannon. Courtesy of the Presbyterian Foundation.

For historically subordinated groups, our ethical duty calls us to lean into the process of empowerment that involves resisting and fighting against power and control of internalized, demonic, social oppression. In the U.S. context, a womanist approach attempts to develop models that value and build leadership among people of color while holding accountable those with advantage and systemic power (e.g., white people accountable for their racism; non-LGBTQIA+ responsible for LGBTQIA+-phobia; and temporarily abled-bodies accountable for undermining those living with disabilities of any kind [intellectual; physical, mental, etc.]). Diversity training asks people with privilege to change their consciousness while leaving their dominance intact. But a racial justice approach requires an organizational transformation of power relations.

The biblical narrative is also of central importance to Christian womanist theological reflections, exemplified by Katie Cannon. Katie Cannon writes:

In essence, the Bible is the highest source of authority for most Black women. In its pages, Black women have learned how to refute the stereotypes that depict Black people as minstrels or vindictive militants, mere ciphers who react only to omnipresent racial oppression. Knowing the Jesus stories of the New Testament helps Black women be aware of the bad housing, overworked mothers, underworked fathers, functional illiteracy, and malnutrition that continue to prevail in the Black community. However, as God-fearing women they maintain that Black life is more than defensive reactions to oppressive circumstances of anguish and desperation. Black life is the rich, colorful creativity that emerged and reemerges in the Black quest for human dignity. Jesus provides the necessary soul for liberation. ²

Fierce love for my people and the death of my “big sister” from Union compel me to tell the stories of how my people are buried with dignity amid a culture of rampant white supremacy. The deaths of black and brown bodies are disproportionately premature and inform the issue of race.

Thus, I offer the following: (1) a womanist approach to African American burial practices in light of the idea of “Crossing Over”; (2) exploring what meaning womanists give to the black body and (3) exploring the significance of African American burial practices and their history.

What is “Crossing Over”?

Many people believe that when the physical body dies the soul/spirit emerges from the body with full consciousness. The idea of physically “crossing over” and spiritually “crossing over” has for hundreds of years intersected in spirituals sung by enslaved African people in songs like “Goin’ Up Yonder” and “Roll, Jordan, Roll,” where the Jordan River serves as a symbolic border between the earthly realm and the heavenly kin-dom of God.

The same songs that were sung by enslaved Africans became part of the musical accompaniment at their funerals. These and other practices have been strung together over the centuries in the Americas to become an integral part of the African diaspora’s burial practices. Ronald K. Barrett opines that Africa as a continent provides sources from millennia of “experienced and mature reflection” on life and death. As such, Africans contribute salient wisdom and expertise to a discussion about the “significance of life and death.” It is important to notice that “life” and “death” are joined rather than separated. In other words, death is a natural part of life; therefore there is no fear of death, but rather awe and wonder about the natural rhythm of life and death—it is a continuous circle and cycle integrated into the vernacular. ³ But this cycle is not natural when black bodies are subjected to violence and premature death in our society.

Enslaved African people in the Americas represented the diversity of an entire continent of customs, rituals and traditions in life and in death. Research provides evidence that “many of the attitudes, beliefs, and traditions regarding funeral rites, death and dying are deeply rooted in African cultural traditions.” ⁴

Exploring What Meaning Womanists Give to the Black Body ⁵

Our society’s reluctance to talk about bodies is further hindered by our inability to talk about race. Black and brown bodies, over the course of history and even presently, have been subjected to abuse, even by Christians. James Cone’s book The Cross and the Lynching Tree brings theological reflection upon the scandal of Christians using the lynching tree as a method to rid society of Black and brown bodies. ⁶ The Romans nailed Jesus’s body to a cross in full view of the world, seeking to intimidate others who sought to continue his subversive actions in service to the God of Israel. Jesus talked about the kingdom of God dawning, and this was a threat to Rome’s authority. In the same manner, white Americans hung Black bodies from trees to intimidate Black people to stay in their socially appropriate place and space.

It was a scandal that Christ was crucified, and it is a scandal that Black and brown bodies have been and are still lynched by many methods, including the use of guns. Those who speak out against discriminatory practices are executed—just as Jesus was executed for being a threat to the Roman state, as Martin Luther King, Jr. was a threat to the American state, Oscar Romero was a threat to those in power in El Salvador, Steve Biko in South Africa, Israa al-Ghomgham in Saudi Arabia, and as Margarita Neri is known as the Rebel Queen of Morelos.

Just as Jesus stood among disciples who were fearful and terrified, Black and brown bodies stand among us, and like the disciples, we are fearful and terrified. Give guns to people who are fearful, and we have a cataclysmic situation. Videotapes, Facebook, and Instagram are witnesses to that fear. Just as the women stood at the cross in agony, so do those related to Black and brown bodies riddled with bullets agonize for their loved ones whose lives have been taken by those who pledge to protect. We all agonize. The good news is that the embodied Christ who stood among the disciples comforted them; talked about their ancestor, Moses; opened up the Scriptures; and instructed them about next steps they were to take.

The negative treatment of black bodies is an intergenerational reality. African Americans understand this as known fact. It is not a secret, because the “historically” dominant group knows that this is the case, although this nation treats each death as an individual circumstance of death rather than a collective phenomenon. This attitude makes the reality and fact that the African American experiences an intractable nightmare with which each generation must painfully deal. This situation can be explained by family systems theory, which shows that patterns of behavior repeat themselves unless there is an intervention. Barrett observes,

In a social context where people are treated like objects and with minimal respect, and the channels by which respect can be achieved are blocked, it is understandable for the victims to desperately seek a way to affirm themselves and confirm some sense of self-worth and positive identity. ⁷

From generation to generation, black bodies live with unacknowledged trauma. Intergenerationally, black people teach their children how to be safe in white culture and how to dodge bullets. Death is all around us, but there is an invisibility that denies a problem that is in plain sight.

Black bodies are in peril, and burial becomes a painful reality of parents who must lay to rest their children gunned down. The African American community bears the brunt of a history of death by unimaginable violence in the United States. This death of Black bodies by lynchings, bullets, and knives, often without an arrest or conviction, is repeated. History is painfully re-lived, intergenerational families passing on fear and denial about the magnitude of the problem. Lawmakers have not planned any intervention, so communities are left to bury the Black bodies of their loved ones. History is repeated; intergenerational trauma is passed on. In some cases faith sustains the injury of the loss. In other cases hearts are hardened, revenge is planned, and more innocent people die. African Americans live with an expected norm of premature death. Many have small life insurance policies to cover the expenses of those slain, and the cycle of the death of black bodies is repeated because few care to take the time to create a solution. ⁸

What Are African American Burial Practices? ⁹

Similar to African cultural approaches to life and death and funerary practices, African American rituals have evolved over centuries. With the first people of African descent, enslaved as well as indentured, arriving in Jamestown, Virginia in 1619, concerns about life and death have been building for close to 400 hundred years. The historical context of life and death is one of the many things that make funerary practices among African Americans so unique, because Africans were stolen from the land of their peoples and brought to this country involuntarily. The impact of slavery upon people with black skin has been present in U.S. history over nearly four centuries, even after slavery was ended. Therefore, the practices of numerous generations passed on to contemporary descendants are rich in symbolism, bearing a resemblance to African cultural practices across various African peoples. As mentioned previously, Africa is an enormous continent with millions of people of different ethnicities and cultures; therefore, there are a myriad of funerary customs expressed in African American culture in the United States.

Life and death for African Americans has a precariousness to it. The stress of not knowing when violence and loss of life will occur erodes bodies with undue stress and disease that are disproportionately experienced among a numerical minority when compared to the population in general. These realities complexify the ways that African Americans live and die in this country and therefore impact life and death rituals.

Many who suffer economic challenges claim their self-esteem by providing loved ones a “dignified” funeral. Central to this dignity is a casket—which in many cases is expensive. Having participated in the funerals of several family members, my observation is that the casket is the symbol that indicates the high regard families have for deceased loved ones. Even if the deceased had been cantankerous or temperamental or had problems with the law, families often rise to the occasion and provide a distinguished funeral. There is a correlation between the amount of money spent on a casket at the death of a loved one and the respect a family demonstrates for the deceased in a public ceremony. In our cultural context, grief naturally creates a perfect storm for overspending, and funeral directors often make a bundle on African American families in mourning. ¹⁰

History of African American Burial Practices ¹¹

During slavery, arranging funerals was difficult when a loved one passed, because slaveholders were afraid of a rebellion by the enslaved gathered for such an occasion. There was good reason to be fearful; after all, to be enslaved was not a natural way to live. Chattel slavery was very different from slavery portrayed in the Bible. Chattel slavery was brutal: it meant being beaten, whipped and raped at the pleasure of the slaveholder or his sons. It meant seeing your children stolen away from you. Chattel slavery was abject ownership of one person over another; it was not simply working at someone else’s direction. It meant giving up your life to someone else’s power. Whites’ fears of blacks’ rebellion lead to the enactment of laws that kept enslaved people from gathering in large numbers.

During the time of slavery, funerals were held at midnight to accommodate the work schedules of enslaved people who worked all day. Imagine what it was like to work all day in the burning sun and then to attend a funeral at 12 a.m., only to have to get up to work in the heat of the day. The funeral was a time of reunion, because families often were separated from each other. News of the death of people was communicated by carriers; people who had passes to travel from one plantation to another; people who had not seen each other over long periods of time reconnected.

The actual burial of a body and having a funeral were two different events. The first ritual was the sending on of the deceased, a “home-going” as it’s referred to in the black community. There was also the practical matter of folks from other plantations getting news of the death and being able to get away from their various locations to the place where the funeral would be held. Thus, several weeks or even months might pass before the second ritual took place. It was about the fullness of time; when the right time emerged the second burial was held.

Lynn Rainville argues that these second burials represented a continuation of African burial practices that varied because enslaved Africans came from different countries and ethnicities. Even so, all held common ritual practices for burial of the dead, which usually included a first and second burial. Death was considered part of the circle of life. After the first service, the deceased person began his/her journey. The second funeral celebrated the person’s voyage and assured passage to the realm of the ancestors. An improper burial ritual was cause for the relative to return and create problems for those still living. If people had unsettling dreams, frequently a ceremony was conducted to appease the ancestor. Rainville writes, “These rituals provided African descendants with an opportunity to pass on their traditions and beliefs, often mixed with the Christian teachings of slave owners and itinerant preachers.” ¹² Seemingly in keeping with ancient Egyptian practices, items left on top of the grave were often the last items that the deceased used, with the thought that they would want to have them, as well to discourage their spirits from returning to retrieve them.

Enslaved communities managed burial grounds provided by white slaveholders. Funerals were held in the home (cabin) of the deceased, then taken to the burial place. In Rainville’s study of thirty-six enslaved Africans’ burial grounds, almost all of them were located on a hill not far from the slaveholder’s house. Visits to these burial grounds today reveal the presence of a large amount of periwinkle, along with cedar trees and yucca plants with “lance-shaped leaves” covered with needles that traditionally indicate a belief that this plant kept the devil away. ¹³

Significance of Gravestones and Markers in Burial Practices

Let’s visit for a moment the burial practices of Gullah—descendants of enslaved Africans who lived in the low country regions of Georgia and South Carolina—as observed by David Lauderdale. While many things have changed, an old-timer who ran her deceased father’s funeral home said, “But still a lot of our African culture runs through our people. They might not know what it is, but it’s African culture.” ¹⁴

Traditions include staying away from graveyards. There is one exception to staying away, and that is when a person has dreams or has visions of the dead person. The remedy is to go to the cemetery and leave coins on the grave. According to Young, speaking of Gullah people, “They say you pay the person to leave you alone.” ¹⁵ Older people discourage anyone from crying or openly grieving at the cemetery, because the deceased person’s spirit recognizes that as a weakness, and a person who cries is vulnerable to the deceased’s spirit coming back for him/her. This means another death will occur in a short amount of time.

Coffins are no longer opened after the eulogy or at the gravesite in order to lessen the emotional impact of the living. The impact of discontinuing these rites is a decrease in emotionality, which is a major shift. Young comments, “As African Americans, we were very expressive in our mourning.” Widows no longer wear long black veils for six months. It was taboo to touch the body of a deceased person, but that is changing. Evidence of this is a daughter asking to “fix their deceased mother’s hair.” ¹⁶

Conclusion

My mentor Katie Cannon’s death drove me to document the ways that Black folks buried their kin from the Atlantic slave trade era forward. In our complex, violent, and unjust society, the question is what does cause of death have to do with burial practices? What does burial mean? What does it mean for Black bodies? How is it different from white bodies? In the United States of America, the color of a body matters. Is burial only about putting a corpse to rest? Is there some dynamic process involved? Does the emotion of a family or broader communities have anything that ties into burial?

With equal pursuit we must care for the spirit, energy and health of Black and brown bodies that work too hard, earn too little, and are subject to the absurdly discriminatory dehumanization by white supremacy. By so doing, we are mindful of the risen Christ who stands among us saying, “I am a living body!” ¹⁷