Today I was sitting in a church history seminary class zoning out when I heard the lecturer mention the growth of American Christianity, and in particular the development of African Christianity, or African-American Christianity. My ears perked up, and I swear I heard "because of the openness and inclusiveness of Methodism, they were successfully able to bring their African influence" to Christianity. "Episcopalians had tried to bring the catechism and force them into churches, etc...but the music tradition in Methodism allowed them to bring in their oral tradition and dance which they were used to.." You get my point. And then she played three selections to demonstrate the call-response, ring shout, spiritual ("lyrics, but in a gospel form"). Sitting up after 3 hours of lecture, I was trying to figure out the phrase that woke me out of my stupor (Did she say "African significance"? Write this down for later..you could be paranoid.) and looking around to see if any of the other Black folk in the room were listening. Me, with my big afro today, wanting stand up in the back of the class to yell "How in the hell can Africans bring 'significance' and why do you keep saying 'they?' while it did not seem like any of the other 'theys' in the room were making eye contact with each other because something didn't seem right. Then I was mad (not Claire Huxtable angry, but mad) at her because she soon went back to descriptive pronouns (Puritans, Separatists) after this part of the lecture was over. And I realized that it was going to have to be an email. One because I look like the angry black woman by default with the afro. Two because I need a favor from the professor and crucifying his TA in her first lecture might not help my case. Finally, because I am not confident that I would have had anybody yelling with me.

The goal now is to make THEM remember my name enough to say it. Then I will smile.

Hmmm, no more in front of the classroom. I had to trade positions and now I take a seat as I sit in seminary for the next 3 years. People keep asking me if I miss the kids, and I do, but I never knew solitude until September. I hadn't heard my name being called all day, and for a few days I thought I was hearing voices until I realized that there really was none. Silence did not mean that something was up, just that nobody was there. And I could think uninterrupted.

Yet now I can still talk to them through IM, and some are on Facebook if they can find me. It's not "Miss Jones" but "Check IM" and then they have to wait, and if I don't answer there is no offense. Still silent, but now much more intentional about conversation. The blessing of this is that what is said is written and has posterity. It's almost like writing letters back and forth when letter writing would not otherwise happen. We'll see how long I can handle the lack of noise.