The future of believing is for imaginaries. Christian faith traditions bound by contextless traditions and visions of yesteryear should be seen from the rearview mirror.

Because if we are going to make progress on Howard Thurman’s question posed in Jesus and the Disinherited: “Why is it that Christianity seems impotent to deal radically, and therefore effectively, with the issues of discrimination and injustice on the basis of race, religion and national origin?” then we’ve got to move quickly.

To be sure, there are plenty more questions where this one came from. Feel free to add them to the chat.

Because where are we going with any of this? If your answer is to heaven, then you’ve missed my point entirely and for this reason, I’m not circling back. May God bless you on your journey to the pearly gates.

Because if the practice of faith is showing up to a building to see people you agree with and don’t mind spending an hour or two with for a group experience—no matter how noble, then I don’t think it is faith you are practicing. If the practice of faith is a Sunday morning commitment to study, sing, read, and listen to an inspiring message, then I don’t think that has much to do with believing in God or the salvation of humanity—if you’re not going to embody it.

Instead, you’ve agreed to be in a member-only fellowship and to financially support a shared space—that may or may not be open to the community. You agree with what the leader has to say, like the other members and where the building is located.

Belonging is reduced then to this specific group found under a steeple named after a denominational tradition, a pastor, a street, and/or a split. This is to be compared with a cosmic sense of our shared humanity, a closeness compared to a shared mystical body, a head-to-toe connectedness?

All my life, the focus of Christianity has been on our deliverance from personal sins and being saved from them. But what of those who are being sinned against? Who is going to save them?

Putting our praying hands together doesn’t stop human trafficking, the molestation of children or the murder of women. Lifting our hands in worship doesn’t decrease the likelihood of an African American, whose body is racialized as black, from being shot after he puts his hands in the air to demonstrate he is unarmed and that the officer need not draw his weapon in anticipation of a loss of life.

Sonya Massey, who was having a mental health crisis when the police were called to her home, rebuked the officer in the name of Jesus. Sangamon County Sheriff’s Deputy Sean Grayson fatally shot her in her home. What do we say then?

Knowing the Bible from cover to cover doesn’t prevent Massey’s body from being covered with a white sheet. Spouting scriptures out of context to answer for another senseless tragedy isn’t saying much to her grieving family.

Pointing to some skyline clock that keeps track of “the end times” or to hell as inspiration for right living when we have survived natural disasters and mass shootings, a global pandemic, police brutality, ICE raids, political upheaval and countless sightings of the Antichrist in your least favorite politician isn’t convincing this elder millennial either. Because all these things have happened and wickedness remains, including where people gather in Jesus’ name. Blessed be the memory of the Emanuel Nine.

What are you and I expected to believe then? That is the work and witness of your faith confession.

What kind of world do you believe in? What kind of world were you made for?

In my case, I don’t believe we belong to each other as much as we should or say we do. It is usually case by case, dependent upon race, class and gender. It is much like the church service I mentioned earlier.

Ruha Benjamin reminds us in Imagination: A Manifesto that “we shouldn’t shine a light only on the deadly imaginations and social orders that are killing us but experiment and play with new prescriptions, visions, and forms of social organization.” When discussing how outmoded stories are maintained, she offers Thomas Berry’s four pillars: religions, governments, corporations, and universities. Given the state of the segregated North American church, I am not surprised religions make the list.

So, I proclaim the Raceless Gospel and demonstrate that faith in another world is possible, that we are more than us and them, that there is life “after whiteness,” and there is a kin-dom coming.

Because Octavia Butler, the mother of Afrofuturism, is right: “There’s no single answer that will solve all the future problems. … Instead, there are thousands of answers—at least. You can be one of them if you choose to be.”

So, the answer to Thurman’s question has multiple answers, one of which is me. 

Note: This column first appeared here.