For such a time as this, when truth seems to have been traded for convenience and justice pawned off for political survival, we find ourselves watching history repeat itself only this time, it’s wearing a red tie and a presidential seal.
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It’s hard to enjoy your vacation when, even as you try to escape politics, the shadow of your country’s turmoil finds you on foreign maternal soil. When you see how the rest of the world perceives the United States not as the “shining city on a hill,” but as a place stumbling over its own arrogance, its racism, its widening political divide and its falling from grace you begin to understand how deep the wound has become.
There are some journeys that begin long before the plane leaves the ground. My recent travels across Africa from the shores of Senegal and The Gambia, through the rhythmic heartbeat of Ghana’s Accra, and finally to the modern pulse of Johannesburg, South Africa have reminded me that home is not just where we are from, but where we are connected.
While vacationing in Africa, I find myself surrounded by more opportunities than I can possibly see my way through this week. From the Door of No Return to the Spirit of Never Again, I find myself stripped down yet clothed in new garments — garments woven from history, hope, and a renewed sense of purpose. This journey has been more than travel; it has been transformation. Until next week, I’ll be gathering reflections, stories, and inspiration to share with you — all born from the motherland.
In recent months, a troubling and heartbreaking pattern has emerged: shootings and acts of violence are invading the very places meant to be sanctuaries of learning, growth, and hope our historically Black colleges and universities (HBCUs) and the surrounding communities that have long nourished them.
I had the opportunity to visit Israel shortly after the October 7 attacks to walk through the shattered streets, to see the homes turned to rubble, to stand in places where laughter had been replaced by silence. I spoke with mothers who had lost their sons, fathers who still waited for words about their daughters, and children whose eyes carried stories no child should have to tell. It was not just newsprint; it was human agony made visible, an entire people crying out beneath the weight of hate and history.
As I sit this morning contemplating the state of our country, I cannot help but reflect on the leadership emanating from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Under Donald Trump, his sycophants and the enablers who surround him, our nation faces situations and complications that echo ancient times. It is in these moments that I find myself leaning more heavily on the wisdom of the Book of Habakkuk, which speaks to the struggles of a people under corrupt rule and reminds us that history, indeed, can repeat itself. There is nothing new under the sun.
Freedom is more than the absence of physical bondage. It is the release of the mind from fear, the spirit from silence, and the soul from oppression. A people may walk without chains, yet still be shackled by voices that seek to suppress their truth, erase their history, deny their humanity, and break their will to fight for it. True freedom demands more. It demands the courage to speak and the space to be heard.
America is in a christless crisis. Not because the Christ of scripture has failed us, but because too many have abandoned Him in favor of the counterfeit christs of the state and of government.
For me, this is more than a matter of education — it’s a matter of spirit. Too many have taken knowledge without understanding and turned it into pride when God calls us to serve with humility. I write this because true leadership must be guided by the Holy Spirit, not by degrees or titles.