Where Harmony Lives…

By: Mazaré




imagine this...

you push open the doors

and a warm, cinnamon-scented


with fresh-from-the-dryer heat

envelops you.  



i wanna go there.


i wanna go to a place where

what greets me is:  

“welcome, truly.

you are free

to hang your masks, walls, and cloaks

on our rack.


you’re black.



we won’t draw back.

we’ll draw you in.

we don’t recoil

when we see different skin.

we rejoice.


and not in some

moist, gooey

i’m just using you

to buoy

our numbers



you can’t be quantified.



guide me there.

show me a church  


people dress in

kimonos & kente,

dashikis & saris,

hanbok & sarong,

to worship God.


and the kimonos play with the kentes.

the dashikis and saris are like magnets.

the hanbok know and love the sarong



here in this community,

leadership reflects the people.

power is shared

among the mice and the eagles.

hierarchy is fair

and members view

the so-called poor

as their equals.



doesn’t mean pepper me with polite platitudes.

it means spit me the salty truth

so we can spread salve

on the wounds.


i want a church where they confess the most grotesque offenses

like how they used to barricade the doors

to keep blacks from attending

and used to teach interracial marriages were sin.


show me a congregation

whose pulpit has moving feet,

whose pews morph into race cars

that after the sermon

will speed you into the streets.


be ready to disciple me.

and when you give me something to read,

look beyond Keller, Calvin, and Graham.

teach me about Origen and Tertullian,

some of the african OGs.



Trillia Newbell,  K.A. Ellis,

and Brenda Salter McNeil.


do a gender reveal.

show me the black women

who also have the theologian seal.

much respect to R.C. Sproul,

but white men aren’t the only ones

who can write about the gospel


and I need to see

being a faithful black woman of God



bring me to a place

where people who are different colors

genuinely enjoy one another.

and where people also understand

that sometimes

i just need to recharge

my battery

with my black friends.


take me to a church where

after service

you’ll smell fried fish and greens,

and bibimbap, pho,

and even a little kimchi.


i want that harmony aroma.

with a heaping helping of cinnamon.

a warm blanket that welcomes me and says

this is harmony.

this is home.

where you been?