Recognizing a fuller,more expansive God in unassuming places and people

Biblical implications

Peter said to them, “Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven; and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit” (Acts 2:39).

The canonical Scriptures have been influenced by literary principles and objectives as they exemplify the interweaving of historical, social, political, ethical, and lived experiences. These texts describe powerful narratives of a people influenced by traditions that pointed to their divine purpose and whom their God was in their lives. In the biblical narratives of the Hebrew and Greek texts we meet a Dynamic Power, a God who is intimately involved with creation. The biblical texts illustrate how God and humanity are intimately involved in and responsive to changing historical, social, political circumstances, and moral considerations. These texts also describe a God whose creations—particularly, human beings—are active co-partners. The NT introduces the ideology of co-partners at the Feast of Pentecost (Acts 2) as it sets the tone to envision the eradication of all judgements relating to ethnic groups, gender, age, and/or social class. In Acts 2, the story begins by describing the Disciples going into an upper room to process what their hearts and minds have just witnessed—the trauma of Jesus Christ’s Crucifixion and Resurrection (Acts 2:14, 2:23–24, 2:27, 2:31, 2:32, 2:36). As the disciples began to pray together with conviction, the writer depicts a great wind filling the place and provoking the disciples to speak fervently and charismatically (Acts 2:2). This torrential wind was active, and creative—comprised not of hierarchies, in contrast to the traditional form of the outpouring of the Spirit, i.e., only to kings and prophets (1 Sam 10:10; 16:14; Ezek 11:5), but of an inclusive, anointing and engaging Spirit (Act 2:3). This rushing and pouring wind was the Spirit of truth grounded on a foundation that proclaimed all lives as worthy and desirable regardless of nationality, color, age, social status, gender, etc. This wind created an intimate encounter that anointed all who could see and hear the truth of their belonging and acceptance with God (Acts 2:39). The story of Pentecost tells us there are multiple sides to a tragic event and of Spirit’s capacity to meet each witness right where they are. People reported an engaging presence and could speak of it in a way that informed their faith and worship (Acts 2:6–7). In the end, this depiction tells us of a founding event for a new kind of congregation as unassuming prophets were ordained and filled with an omnipresent and mighty Spirit that performed and spoke to its believers and called for a new way of being for those who chose to believe. Essentially, the account describes a disruption in beliefs that required a change of heart and mind concerning God. The Greek word used in Acts 2:39, metanoia, denotes a change of mind, i.e., thinking a different way. The word signifies a change of mind or purpose: thinking one way, but then afterwards thinking another. ² The writer uses metanoia in the imperatival form imploring that some traditional beliefs about God and the law needed to change (Acts 2:38). Unlike a definition of repentance that narrows the context to remorse, metanoia also calls one to think in a different way. ³ This call to a new way of thinking invited the Acts 2 community to reconsider the traditional view that obedience to the law was the road to salvation and to consider, instead, a call to wholeness for all. It required them to rethink a dependency on legislation and religious laws in order to diagnose and reform thoughts that separated people from each other in order to move toward an ideology that would support creating and sustaining loving relationships across socially imposed boundaries. Metanoia involves a consistent practice of recognizing separation from the Omnipresent Spirit that resides in all of us and of innovative ways to create a deeper connection to all life.

It is important to note that the New Testament was written in the context of first-century Judaism in a Greco-Roman world. The Acts community was composed of former Jews, pagans, and others who were followers of Jesus. ⁴ One of the most significant themes in the book is the work of the Holy Spirit, which played a prominent role in Jesus’ ministry—galvanizing the power of a movement during traumatic times. Specifically, Acts 2 illustrates a deep capacity for caring and connection that had been largely discouraged within the context of Roman and Jewish laws.

Noteworthy when reading the biblical book of Joel in comparison with Acts 2 is the idea of memory, which sets the scene for wholeness or salvation. The writer makes a seemingly deliberate and bold reinterpretation of Old Testament texts to call attention to an eschatological ⁵ message. The author of Acts shapes Joel’s message to expand and form a revised community that at one time included previously excluded peoples. A reformed inclusion is now possible as people commit to Jesus as Messiah in line with a variant meaning of Joel 2:32. ⁶ This new ideology introduced at the Feast of Pentecost sets the tone to envision the eradication of all judgments relating to ethnic, gender, age, and/or social class groups. The writer of Acts relies on resignifying cultural memory as he contextualizes Joel in Acts 2. When this occurs, the text is able to communicate a culture of tradition that is still present and alive. By transforming the meaning of Joel’s message in Acts 2, this story provides hope for all humanity during the aftermath of Crucifixion and Resurrection times in first-century Christianity. This resignifying of the text is known as intertextuality, a literary method that primarily involves the reordering of the meaning of words, texts, laws, and traditions. ⁷ Helpful for understanding the meaning of a text is the engagement of other texts that are similar, or that it refers to either directly or indirectly. Thus, intertextuality can place an emphasis on a text’s existence within society and history. It is important to note that texts have no unity or unified meaning of their own; they are thoroughly connected to on-going cultural and social evolutions. ⁸ When engaging another text while creating a new text, the writer invites the reader into a revised version of the original in what Julia Kristeva calls the “simultaneous activation and negation of the tradition.” ⁹ In Joel’s use of Scripture and the Scripture’s use of Joel, “[Kristeva] emphasizes the role of the author; mainly that an author is not constrained to maintain or freeze past literary traditions. Instead of X (in this case Joel) influencing Y (Acts 2), she emphasizes Y’s autonomy over X.” ¹⁰ In the end, Joel’s message, reinterpreted in Acts 2, illustrates the writer’s desire for his community to be in empathetic and intimate relationships with their families and other groups—to proclaim mutual partnerships despite their current frameworks of laws, doctrines, and cultural traditions.

Theological implications: The need for intimacy and memory

Today, churches tend to be reticent in exposing their humanity to social and political considerations of the day, partly because generally churches do not want to relinquish pieces of their isolated selves. Instead, churches have been trained to take refuge in binary classifications that create hierarchies and isolations, filled with the urgency for denying our inherent relationality. As Christians, we are called to engage in a form of intimacy that will create variant meanings in our belief systems—belief systems that require rethinking and thinking in new ways as our religious and cultural ideas evolve into larger more inclusive and mutually interactive diversified groups. For example, assessing narratives, wisdom and leadership roles of African Americans, the LGBT community and Women, must become essential to commissioning a better future for all communities. In today’s cultural context, the practice of metanoia requires that we reimagine who God is and where God can be found. Challenging our limited perceptions of who God is in the Hebrew and Greek texts will answer the questions about who and where God is today. Confronting our limited perceptions of God and of God’s people will reveal that God can be found in displaced children that currently reside in places only fitting for those who are poor, queer, African American, or female—places only properly constructed for the criminalized, Muslim, Latino, or people of Asian descent.

This failure to embrace a greater intimate reading and reinterpretation of the sacred Scriptures denies the intersectionality of social ills, and it feeds the cyclical traumas that distort our memory. Through our western practice of dehumanization, demonization, criminalization, and contemporary lynching we have forgotten the core of our Christian belief systems. We see manifestations of these horrific practices perpetuating traumas in targeted minority groups, with affects so profound they will be inherited by future generations. ¹¹ These same traumas also harm the oppressors as they lead to a sinful conscious mental dissonance. These traumas have caused physical, emotional and spiritual dis-ease that negatively impacts our call and drive for right relationships.

Invoking collective memory promotes liberation and is a crucial factor for navigating generational experiences of trauma. For example, in the United States lifting stories of African American people and their comrades ¹² during the month of February provides sources of power and connection by naming ancestors and honoring contemporary champions for rights of African Americans. It also honors those who have been harmed. This ritual renews and transforms our daily lives as it satiates our thirst for remembering who we really are: resilient and loving people. African American Theologian M. Shawn Copeland examines the importance of reviving and renewing the memories of those who have been oppressed. In her book, Enfleshing Freedom: Body, Race, and Being, she defines memory as follows: “the intentional remembering of the dead, exploited, despised victims of history.” ¹³ In Copeland’s work, memory is crucial to the practice of being in relationship or in solidarity with one another. It also forges salvific practices centered around connections among people and other inhabitants on the planet. Today, the wholeness of our children, our brothers, sisters, family, and friends depends on telling stories of wholeness. Hence, transformational practices that invoke the remembrance of stories of those historically cast aside creates a realistic opportunity for wholeness. The act of remembering holds the power of life and survival for present and future generations. We see this in the sacred texts, e.g., the Gospels, as they illustrate the collective power invoked by telling and retelling stories. Today, storytelling provides the unveiling of a more expansive and inclusive God in the traumatic aftermath of contemporary crucifixions and resurrection times of twenty-first-century Christianity (Acts 2:21). Today’s storytelling is a practice of witnessing that empowers the whole community—a practice not based on self-sufficiency but instead on a reciprocal and divine mutuality constantly interacting with one another and building collective power.

In Spirit and Trauma, Shelly Rambo, a feminist theologian, challenges traditional conceptions of salvation ¹⁴ by offering a reinterpretation of “remaining” in the Johannine Gospel. She suggests that the results of violence, oppression, and social injustices do not necessarily call for a cry for an end, but a cry for change brought about through witnessing the trauma in this liminal space. By bearing witness to traumas experienced, something else can come into existence. Instead of proclaiming salvation as death and resurrection, Rambo proposes an alternative type of salvation: witnessing suffering in the liminal space even when one does not fully comprehend it. Rambo further adds that, as Christians, we stand as witnesses of suffering in the very middle space between death and the Resurrection. ¹⁵ This form of witnessing can be, and at times is, uncomfortable and inconvenient, and may remain unresolved. Frequently, there is no obvious or logical path for repairing the traumas experienced, nor a clear means for supporting the transformation of grief into love. At the same time, witnessing traumas and/or descriptions of traumas can and will refashion one’s love ethic with an improved sense of purpose.

Omnipresent theology

Relationships must be intentional and cultivate sacred spaces of acceptance and belonging, creating sacred spaces that go beyond the church walls on a given Sunday. We must realize that the humanization of relationships is not something we intellectualize or just do, but rather it is something we become. Hence, the framework of an omnipresent theology is that the Spirit of God’s domain ¹⁶ is “shared by more than one person;” it is the “communion among equals, not the primacy of one over another” as this “arch is relational, personal and shared.” ¹⁷ Korean theologian Sang Hyun Lee’s writings support the description of relationships in this way when he states, “individuals have set aside social roles and status [so] that they can experience a mode of relationship in which people ‘confront one another … as … integral beings who recognizably share the same humanity.’” ¹⁸ It is the place where we forget all identities and cultural definitions that determine a hierarchy based on perceptions that set us apart as different. Instead, we view others in their “wholeness by being wholly available and present.” ¹⁸ Communities built around social justice issues, specifically through ritual protests, are a perfect illustration of such places. Ritual protests create salvific relationships among people with diverse backgrounds. These ousia(s) ¹⁹ of God work together as peers creating intentional reciprocal relationships that lovingly require them to seek God in themselves and others in every waking moment. The practice of seeking God expands their omnipresent theology in such a way that it promotes koinonia—communion with God. ²⁰

Cultivating an Omnipresent Spirit through transformational practices and ritual protests

When performing ritual protests, incorporating imagination is vital in supporting and expanding the providence of God to address social justice issues. It sets the stage to imagine a more inclusive and relational God who moves us outside of church doctrine and dogma. During ritual protests there are moments like Acts 2 when something shifts out of its liminal space into a life of reunion with self and others; the chanting and singing one observes in organized protests supports that shift. Chanting and singing incorporates calls and responses that begin spontaneously, grow into a mass that eventually dies down, and eventually rebirths itself into another song or the same one. It involves a cord of words that will transform a group of individuals who are walking together into a visible collective that can be regarded as and become powerfully transformative. These chants or songs solidify relationships among people, places, and situations that emphasize a Spirit for dynamic and fluid action. These sung phrases are responsive, active, and engaging performances with the capacity to influence the way in which those who observe those singing or chanting can be drawn in and become intimately involved. Chanting and singing creates an immediate pathway that ties emotions between singers/chanters and those who listen. These emotional connections flow from a common language of the heart shifting to a new altered state, leading to salvific moments. Essentially, God in the form of song and chanting presents God’s self, pouring God’s self out into the community as a way of communion. Thus, songs and chants are an effective method of making the inaudible and the invisible come to light. The Peace Poets’ song “I Can’t Breathe” is such an example, as the word describe the experiences of police brutality. In only five lines, it evokes a connection with others who can hear and feel the song:

I still hear my brother cryin’—“I can’t breathe”

So now I’m in the struggle singing—“I can’t leave”

We’re callin’ out the violence of these racist police

And we ain’t gonna stop—til our people are free!

We ain’t gonna stop— til our people are free! ²¹

Another way of cultivating an Omnipresent Spirit involves a new method of oral story: the telling of sacred texts known as spoken word. It is a method used as a transformational practice, engaging the senses as it demonstrates a profound passionate agape love and communion. Spoken word is a form of biblical storytelling in culturally relevant ways that closely parallels the oral tradition of ancient times. It is a form of public witness that allows a community to get in touch with dimensions of grief within their original contexts, and in turn, allows the release of oppressive souls. Linguist Daniel Chandler emphasizes that certain elements in culture and literature determine how individuals will respond to patterns in communication either through writings or oral interactions. ²² These words can be formatted similarly to the Psalms in the Hebrew Bible in which laments depict a relational struggle with the outside world while still remembering the promise of God’s deliverance. Using familiar rhetoric from African American culture and through the repetition of words that sound true can invoke communal transformations. Oral storytelling of Christian texts through spoken word can make one feel like the Spirit of God has flamboyantly stepped into the room. Simply put, public speech filled with words, phrases, and voice inflections can stir the divine within. Spoken words become a prophetic voice, much needed, as they acknowledge the epidemic of separation that endorses killing black and brown bodies, raping and pilfering sacred-native lands, healthcare debacles, gun violence, and the denial of housing. The words spoken passionately address the truth that we are all connected and that what affects just one affects us all. Acknowledging our communal negative conditions prophetically allows for sacred and communal/transitional spaces where the presence of Spirit can be felt and revealed more fully. ²³ The speeches are either memorized and recited or written down. The orator and audience are constantly fluid—constantly in motion together. The same speech is never the same performance, as the following example illustrates:

At the heart of Christian belief is prayer. One such form of prayer that may be used is known as Affirmative Prayer—a powerful method for setting the imaginative process into motion and changing oppressive narratives. This style of prayer believes in an interrelated God and a practice of knowing that worshippers are one with Spirit as it recognizes the omnipresence of God. It is a direct, focused, and organized method using five steps:

Below is an example of an affirmative prayer, I Trust in the Lord (inspired by Psalm 25):

I know that there is One Great Power.

It is the Spirit of all things working and through itself whispering only goodness

Whispering I am with you always … trust.

I recognize this Spirit today. The One who created the heavens and the earth, sets the sun and causes the winds to blow.

The one who awakened me this morning.

Every time I inhale and exhale I remember Spirit which lives and dwells in everything … everything includes me.

I call this Spirit God.

In this declaration, I stand with great conviction knowing what is mine to be and do:

My God, I have trusted in you (Ps 25:2). In every season of my life you have been there in my good times and have been with me in my sorrows. Therefore, I will trust you today and I will continue to trust you tomorrow. I will no longer walk in the wilderness of shame allowing fears to triumph over me (Ps 25:2). I shall wait on the same God of my ancestors and quiet my mind, waiting for the healing of lovingkindness, forgiveness, tender-sweet mercy to reveal itself. Then shall I know your ways once more. Speak to me God and teach me your ways (Ps 25:4). It is through this discernment that I allow the will of my Father to orchestrate the safety and protection of my being at all times. I deny all conditions of limitation that attempt to control my Soul. I choose this day the highest King, a loving and merciful God.

And as I awaken to this transformative opportunity I am in thanksgiving that you always remember me. I am in thanksgiving that you are a just God who restores my soul (Ps 25:1). I am in thanksgiving that I will remain steadfast to your covenant of righteousness and justice (Ps 25:10). I trust you, Father, and declare a healing has taken place and am thankful.

I send out this word, knowing that the meditations of my heart are true, pure, worthy and healed once again. It is done … Amen, Ashe’, And So It Is.

Public worship: Liturgical direct actions

As God was with Jesus on the cross, so this same God of all life is with those who suffer contemporary crucifixions attributed to gun violence, immigration, homelessness, and discrimination. Even under the most horrendous conditions and places, where our inhumanity is the crime scene of contemporary crucifixions, it may be possible to experience a God that permeates love—a passionate form of love that is interconnected and empowering. Thus, it is important to note that Omnipresent Theology does not believe in a God who wills traumatic injustices that result in contemporary crucifixions.

Ritual protests, specifically liturgical direct actions, are public worship services. The intent of liturgical direct actions is to make the word become flesh, reclaiming some old traditions while creating new ones. This particular type of public worship service makes the biblical text culturally relevant, giving it life and form as it illustrates how God and humanity are intimately involved in and responsive to revolutionizing historical, social, and political circumstances, and moral considerations. Liturgical direct actions also allow one the opportunity to come to public squares and identify common human rights. Members are trained in direct action and public witnessing with practices in nonviolence. These services involve a bodacious and courageous form of creative tension. As Martin Luther King Jr. explained, nonviolent direct actions seek to create such creative tension that a community that has consistently refused to hear the cries of its people is forced to confront the issue upfront and in person. ²⁵ The creative tension facilitates a shift in power dynamics as those implementing liturgical direct actions believe change happens at the impact of such tension. These actions involve risks that have led to arrests or threats of arrest. At the heart of these worship services, symbols disclose to the community the faces of our Creator that call for liberation. Members will articulate particular narratives by using their bodies as instruments before groups. The actions themselves embody symbols that not only involve the use of human bodies, but expressive arts as well. The expressive arts include spoken word, theatrical props, slogans, banners, and posters. The arts enhance the performance of ritual, making it more visible, palatable, audible, and tangible, as well as culturally relevant to the times.

In current times, during ritual protests there are moments similar to some of the writings of the sacred Hebrew texts when something shifts out of our isolated and traumatic spaces into a life of reunion with self and others. These protests can tap into these spaces where something new is birthed, cultivating an Omnipresent Spirit. Metaphorically, these are hotspots (Wi-Fi) where one can access Spirit. There is an insertion point in witnessing that allows one to heal spiritual atrophy because of society’s relentless unwillingness to remember and activate our interrelatedness. Coming from a place of deep vulnerability, the liturgy is intimate which allows one to witness in a way that ushers the unhealed away from the false narratives of demonization, shame, and non-acceptance.

One group, of which I am a member, that performs liturgical direct actions on a regular basis is known as Second Acts. Second Acts is a Christian liturgical direct-action affinity group based in Oakland, California. Its members are mostly clergy and lay leaders who participate in direct action, both on their own and in solidarity with other alliances, in an effort to end racial, economic, and environmental injustice. It involves a core group of people, mostly women and queer-identified, who incorporate modified traditional Christian practices in public spaces to address social inequities. It is the only liturgical direct-action Christian based group in Oakland. Regardless of the commonly touted religious principle of “love thy neighbor,” Second Acts perceives the reality of the existence of dominant misogynistic and European thinking that conspires to maintain the status quo of oppressive structures. Therefore, Second Acts confronts political, social, and religious systems that deny and ignore our interrelatedness and result in the warfare of certain communities. Second Acts’ mode of operation is to reveal the Omnipresent Spirit through justice-oriented collective power-building that creates transformative public worship. Second Acts does not rely heavily on hierarchy, doctrine, or how-to books to do its work. As a result, liturgies are not heavily sacramental or traditional. Instead, Second Acts demands creative forms of “worship” that require a deep well of compassion, trust, and an erotic agape love. This new church offers a spirituality that is hopeful rather than coercive and dogmatic, eliminating historical negative practices that oppress. The worship space involves a communion among equals in which the energy of creativity is spontaneous and mutually reciprocal. ¹⁸ It is the place where we forget all identities and cultural definitions that have determined a hierarchy based on perceptions that set us apart as different; instead, we view others in our “wholeness by being wholly available and present.” ¹⁸ Most of the core members have worked together for approximately three years, meeting regularly in homes or churches. Although our theologies vary, the members of Second Acts share a common belief in a God who validates all life as worthy, especially those lives that have been cast aside. This belief system leads to the creation of liturgies of resistance that are filled with prayer, songs, reflections, and demands. Through creative liturgies, Second Acts aspires to connect with a legacy of an Omnipresent Spirit spanning generations, cultures, and religions.

The planning meetings of liturgical direct-action events frequently start with silence, fervent prayer, and check-ins as the Spirit of God loosens within each of the core members. In planning our liturgical actions, we often encounter enormous uncertainty as there is no set formula other than an enduring faithful and loving commitment to the process. Recognizing that intellect has the capacity to take over our hearts, excessive platitudes or God talk are rarely pontificated as they obstruct the workings of the Spirit. The virtues of transparency, vulnerability, and trust are vital players in the meetings. Dates and times are mostly determined by the lectionary, with services designated in public arenas such as city halls and courthouse steps. Service planning can frequently take weeks in determining basic details, as the pace allows for kairos—the right, critical, or opportune moment to be the guide as we discern the mission of the Gospel. Visioning is also essential, as together the group reimagines the Omnipresent Spirit relaying symbols, messages, and pictures setting course for the new mission of today’s church.

Second Acts is aligned with the Black Lives Matter Movement (BLM) that condemns systems that support social marginalization, demonization, and discrimination against people of color and poor communities. Since 2014, people across the country have been taking to the streets in unprecedented numbers as they have blocked highways, marched through neighborhoods and business districts, and interrupted cultural events and public transit systems, restaurants, etc. BLM chapters and groups began to shake up and shut down “business as usual.” ²⁶ The BLM urges communities to create new methods in dealing with the effects of collective trauma that speak to a caste system of social injustices and oppression. It also demands that local communities take the lead in endeavors that proclaim the humanity and the inherent worth of oppressed people. Our worship services are centered around this model.

One such liturgical event happened in the cold, windy, and early morning hours in Oakland, California on Good Friday, 2017. The prevalence of violence by police officers is instinctually too familiar among African American communities. Our Gospel mission that day was to highlight the complicitness of the state in its sanctioned violence against people of color, many of whom are African American men. Various spiritual Christian and Jewish activists, spiritual but non-religious activists, and atheists collaborated in a liturgical direct action that began at the side entrance of Alameda Superior Court of the State of California. This building operates as the trial court for both criminal and civil cases filed in Alameda County. Our location was very specific and appropriate in honoring Good Friday, on which the Crucifixion of Jesus Christ is commemorated in the Christian tradition. The group felt the location of the event modernized the meaning of Good Friday, traditionally a day of fasting and remorse. On the sidewalks of the Federal Courthouse, the service focused on the roles that Peter, Barabbas, Pilot, and the Roman soldiers played in perpetuating the suffering of Jesus. The service opened with prayers of supplication before reading Scripture to set the context of the liturgy. Using John 18:16–19:12 as the text, the liturgy iterated that Christ with the help of religious members and leaders was crucified some 2000 years ago by state powers. As we read scripture and sang songs, there were moments for those gathered to reflect on their visceral fears of violence wrought against black and brown bodies as well as fears of the demonization and crucifixion of Muslim, queer, undocumented, transgendered, and disabled peoples. In our responsive reading, the group was invited to read, “The crucifixion continues. There is blood on the wall, how am I complicit?” throughout the service. This question was a means of reflecting on one’s own role in the Good Friday narrative, imagining oneself as possibly: Peter the betrayer; or a member of the crowd representing a consciousness that betrays humanity; or a pious religious leader that was not courageous; or a Roman soldier who was disconnected from his brothers and sisters. As mentioned earlier, expressive arts can capture the complexity of grief and support, changing the perspectives of social justice inequities by using the power of creativity in sacred spaces as an agent for transformation. Employing theatre, some of those gathered confessed to their sins, dipped their hands with a fake blood-like mixture, and marked the courthouse walls with them. This act was filled with the tension of resistance, and it was an offense that carried the possibility of arrest. The liturgy was filled with symbols of a huge cross, marked with pictures of those who were shot down by the police, bringing a contemporary contextualization to the meaning of Good Friday. After the individual confessions, the group moved to the front of the courthouse to continue the service, indicting the criminal justice system for its complicit participation in state-sanctioned violence against people of color. One Second Acts core member, Mollie Costello led the indictment, asking the witnesses to take notice of the blood that had been shed by police officers and to negate the assumption that Mothers do not raise Martyrs. Her statement follows:

“We’ve heard everyone’s confessions and we stand here in front of this hall of injustice where—this is the source where so much of our brothers’ and sisters’ blood has been poured out—out of this building. Out of this building that houses the guilty. There is no confession coming from them but we stand here in front of these steps, these gleaming stone steps in the bright light of God’s justice, in the full light of truth. We stand here in all of our united power because I believe, we believe actually no, I refuse to believe, and I think all of us refuse to believe that mothers like Wanda Johnson and Jeralynn Blueford give birth to martyrs who die in vain. Those women, women like them, the blood of their sons that runs out of this building and into our streets that is our salvation—that blood that pours from here out. This blood we must recognize because remembering is revolutionary. Remembering is revolutionary.”

We repeated the words, “remembering is revolutionary,” as buckets of fake blood ²⁷ were poured down the courthouse steps connecting to the feet of those gathered. This liturgical act was a conduit to connect to the pain of contemporary crucifixions. This form of storytelling can reach hearts and minds that are not possible to reach through rational thought and speech in a City Hall meeting or inside a courtroom. Telling stories of traumatic injustices acknowledges that our survival is dependent on one another. An unorthodox liturgy, this service was filled with metaphors and theatrical acts that denied anyone the ability to witness it from a comfortable place. Grief has the capacity to galvanize communities that demand change. Because Second Acts identifies with the vision of the BLM, the space created the opportunity to have conversations around a shared history of trauma that actualized power among individuals and communities in a sustainable way. Frequently, trauma and healing are difficult to talk about when a system is solely designed for punishment. The enactment of this action on the courthouse steps also became a place where one could be surrounded with love and support.

In the end, the event was a spiritual conspiracy, and like Good Friday disrupted beliefs that required witnesses to change their hearts and minds about how and where they saw God. Second Acts live-streamed the public ritual and posted numerous photos of the action on Facebook and Twitter to spread the gospel message. Through digital platforms, nearly a thousand people were able to connect and participate in the event. By using the hashtag, #rememberingisrevolutionary, we intended to point to contemporary crucifixions.

Social media is vital to social movements and building momentum. Digital platforms are a mode in which social activists can connect with millions of other believers with just a phrase or a hashtag. Social media has proven its potential for supporting social movements, for announcing community organized events, or simply deconstructing harmful power structures. This form of spiritual activism has contributed to the disruptions of business as usual as it identifies and collaborates with many social justice prophets to end the war on marginal lives, particularly those of African descent. These prophets, unlike those depicted in sacred texts, are unsuspecting ordinary folks who, through Facebook, tweeting, snapchat, and other digital forums, speak for the unheard and sinned against. They are inspired educators, agents for change, bullhorns for the unjust and, most importantly, they believe that there is more than just the ONE. Like Oakland’s Risings’ social justice slogan and the Warriors campaign for a National Championship, social media activism has facilitated the creation of strength in numbers. This strength in numbers includes a collection of people of color, women, the economically disadvantaged, queer, etc.—unheard voices creating the beloved community we envision. Social media also support liturgical direct action debriefing as people are able to articulate their thoughts and feelings of the event.

Conclusion

We must acknowledge that we have systems in place that teach, condition, and socialize us to forfeit connections to people who are perceived as different from us. Like Acts, liturgical direct actions provide a story that is richly filled with resistance against religious forms of ostracizing. It tells a truth, that people can change within the context of deep relationships and profound encounters. However, it requires a disruption—a form of spiritual conspiracy to disrupt the sleeping and to wake them up in order to recognize our relationships with self, others, and the sacred Spirit of God. Practicing intentional relationships with those who seek God in unassuming places and people is not for the faint at heart. This practice starts within, emphasizing a heart-centered approach directing it in ways that recognize separation and point toward righteous relationships.

The preservation of traditions through a variety of innovative and culturally relevant means will support the Church’s growth toward true service and mutual freedom. It is unfathomable that after seeing God move in impossible situations, people, and places, we continue to witness the displacement of people within our communities, to see one in four children living in poverty, to know that the third largest US employer is the prison industrial complex, to watch our citizens fight for clean water, or to witness the murders of black and brown bodies by militarized police. I would expect the lived experience of a living God of all would be very different.