I Am Beautiful: A Celebration of Women in Their Own Words

also in the image of his creator, just the shadow sideof him. And yet everyone in our family and in ourchurch understood instinctively who Satan was. Hewas the other side of "the son of God" we always sawin the white people around us. Never did we see"Jesus" among those who insisted we worship him.Only Judas, and every day."Pagan" means "of the land, country dweller, peasant,"all of which my family was. It also means a personwhose primary spiritual relationship is with Natureand the Earth. And this, I could see, day to day,was true not only of me but of my parents; but therewas no way to ritually express the magical intimacywe felt with Creation without being accused of, andridiculed for, indulging in heathenism, that otherword for paganism. And Christianity, we were informed,had fought long and hard to deliver us fromthat. In fact, millions of people were broken, physicallyand spiritually, literally destroyed, for nearlytwo millennia, as the orthodox Christian Church"saved" them from their traditional worship of theGreat Mystery they perceived in Nature.N THE SIXTIES MANY OF US SCARED OUR PARENTS1profoundly when we showed up dressed inour "African" or "Native American" or"Celtic" clothes. We shocked them by wearingour hair in its ancient naturalness. They saw usturning back to something they'd been taughtto despise, and that by now they activelyfeared. Many of our parents had been taught that theworld was only two or three thousand years old, andthat spiritually civilized life began with the birth ofJesus Christ. Their only hope of enjoying a better existence,after a lifetime of crushing toil and persistentabuse, was to be as much like the longhaired rabbifrom a small Jewish sect in a far-off desert, as possible:then, by the Grace of His father, who owned Heaven,they might be admitted there, after death. It would besegregated, of course. Who could imagine anythingdifferent? But perhaps Jesus Christ himself would bepresent, and would speak up on their behalf. After all,these were black people who were raised never to looka white person directly in the face.I think now, and it hurts me to think it, of how tormentedthe true believers in our church must havebeen, wondering if, in heaven, Jesus Christ, a whiteman, the only good one besides Santa Claus andAbraham Lincoln they'd ever heard of, would deignto sit near them.The water we collected had many uses. We drankit, we washed dishes, clothes, and ourselves with it.We watered our livestock and my mother's vegetableand flower gardens.On Saturday night everyone in my family bathedfrom head to toe, even though this meant half a dayspent carrying pails of water up a steep hill. The waterwas heated in the big black wash pot in the yard. OnSunday morning we rose, washed our faces, had ahearty breakfast, and went off to church. As the smallest,I was bathed by my mother, dressed by my mother,fed by my mother, and wedged into the front seat ofour secondhand blue-and-cream Packard between mymother and father. They had worked hard all week forthe landowner's benefit; this was their only time ofpleasure, of rest, other than an occasional Saturdaynight film at the local picture show. We spent most ofthe day in church, listening to the minister, who stoodon the carpeting my mother had laid and read fromthe Bible I had dusted. Sometimes there were wonderfulstories: Daniel in the Lion's Den. The Three WiseMen. David and Goliath. The Life of Christ.Everybody loved Jesus Christ. We recognized himas one of us, but a rebel and revolutionary, consistentlyspeaking up for the poor, the sick, and the discriminatedagainst, and going up against the bossmen: theorthodox Jewish religious leaders and rich men of hisday. We knew that people who were really like Jesuswere often lynched. I liked His gift for storytelling. Ialso loved that, after Moses and Joshua, he is thegreatest magician in the Bible. He was also, I realizedlater, a fabulous masseur, healing by the power oftouch and the laying on of hands. Much later still Ilearned he could dance! This quote from The Acts ofJohn, from the Gnostic Gospels, is worth remembering:"To the Universe belongs the dancer. He whodoes not dance does not know what happens. Now ifyou follow my dance, see yourself in me."But basically, according to the Scriptures: We hadsinned. I did not know then that the root of the word"sin" means "to be." Woman was the cause. All ofour life we must suffer just because we existed.Worthless, worthless us. Luckily enough, we woulddie, but even then only a very small number of uswould get into heaven. There was hell, a pit of eternallyburning fire, for the vast majority.Where was hell? I wanted to know. Under theground, I was informed. It was assumed most of thewhite people would be there, and therefore it wouldbe more or less like here. Only fiery hot, hotter thanthe sun in the cotton field at midday. Nobody wantedto go there.I had a problem with this doctrine at a very earlyage: I could not see how my parents had sinned. Eachmonth my mother had suffered from what I wouldlater recognize, because I unfortunately inherited it,as bad premenstrual syndrome. At those times hertemper was terrible; the only safe thing was to stayout of her way. My father, slower to anger, wasnonetheless a victim of sexist ideology learned fromhis father, the society and the church, which meant Ibattled with him throughout childhood, until I lefthome for good at 17. But I did not see that they wereevil, that they should be cursed because they wereblack, because my mother was a woman. They wereas innocent as trees, I felt. And, at heart, generousand sweet. I resented the minister and the book heread from that implied they could only be "saved" byconfessing their sin and accepting suffering anddegradation as their due, just because a very longtime ago a snake had given a white woman an appleand she had eaten it and generously given a bite toher craven hearted husband. This was insulting toSpring 1997 • O N THE ISSUES 21