From Mammy to Minister: The Evolution of a Black Woman's Struggle
To gain a deeper understanding of who I am, it's essential to delve into my family's history. In our city, we have a remarkable genealogist named Linda Morris, whose passion for ancestral exploration has inspired me to explore my family's roots.
My family's lineage runs deep in the soil of Yalobusha County, Mississippi, where they were former slaves, farmers, chefs, and cotton pickers. Census records indicate that my late grandmother on my Dad's side was named Carr when she was just two years old. Astonishingly, there were six family members with the last name Carr who owned slaves in Yalobusha County. This suggests the possibility, even the likelihood, that on my Dad's side, we are descendants of a slave owner who had a relationship with one of my ancestors, likely through force.
On my mother's side, my Uncle John has meticulously documented our family history. I was particularly intrigued to discover that my great-great-great-great-grandparents were Charles and Lucinda (Long) Chamberlain, both born into slavery in the early to mid-1800s. After slavery ended, Lucinda continued working in the kitchen of her former slave owners, the Long family.
Although my family history is marked by darkness, hardship, and unbearable challenges, I come from a lineage of resilient and courageous individuals. My family tree includes pastors, preachers, singers, ushers, entrepreneurs, community leaders, and deacons. I draw upon their courage and resilience to speak the truth to you today, hoping that it may set you free.
Fast-forwarding a bit, my grandmother on my dad's side raised ten children in the inner city of Chicago. She was a beloved pastor, preacher, and activist in the community. At her funeral, I witnessed an unprecedented turnout, a testament to the lives she had touched.
My grandmother was a woman of deep faith, who experienced supernatural encounters and witnessed miracles. She faced the tragic loss of both her husbands and the monumental challenge of raising ten children on her own. My father was one of the first in our family to attend and graduate from Northwestern University, where he met my mother. After graduating and securing a job, they moved our family from the inner city to the suburbs.
This shift marks the point where my story and, perhaps, some of your experiences intersect: the typical suburban lifestyle.
During my early years, my mom homeschooled me and my three siblings. She was a no-nonsense Black mother who encouraged us, even as children, to seek God's guidance for our lives. She insisted, "Ask the Lord what He wants you to do because we ain’t got time or money to waste." She believed in God's ability to speak to us, and she wanted us to listen and follow His guidance.
FAMILY HARVEST CHURCH
At the age of 13, I did an internship at my home church in Illinois called the School of Excellence for Young Leaders. It was this internship that gave me a taste of full-time ministry and made me fall in love with the local church.
Over time, my heart believed that maybe I would pastor one day, but there was no path for women, and there was no path for Black women to become pastors. At this church, you either had to be a founding pastor, founding member, or wait around for the pastor to get a word from God that you were supposed to be a pastor—i.e., be a younger white man who looked like you could possibly lead another location or church community.
But that was not me, and that was never going to be me!
However, that didn't stop me from serving my heart out.
During that time, a young white couple, Justin and Sarah Kane, took me under their wing. They were the young, up-and-coming pastors on staff, and I was their assistant after finally being offered a job at the church at the age of 18.
From their perspective, they would probably tell you that I was like a daughter to them. They bought me things, took care of me, gave me the down payment on my first car, bought me clothes, and in exchange, I watched their kids for free all the time. I was surrounded by White people—White children, White babies, White faces, White worlds—the closest people to me were WHITE.
I had no bigger dream than to be their personal assistant, which included caring for their kids. I loved them and appreciated all the wonderful things I felt they taught me about the Lord.
It wasn't until many years later that I learned I was a modern-day mammy. "Mammy" is a term given to a Black woman who is employed as a nurse or servant to a White family.
A mammy is a historical U.S. stereotype depicting black women who work in a white family and nurse the family's children. The fictionalized mammy character is often visualized as a larger-sized, dark-skinned woman with a motherly personality. The origin of the mammy figure stereotype is rooted in the history of slavery in the United States, as black slave women were often tasked with domestic and childcare work in white American slaveholding households.
Was this their intention? Probably not... but isn't it interesting that, without trying, I became their mammy? And without trying, I never once questioned it.
The space that I was in was forming something in me. It was coated with religious, lovable language like, "Oh, she has such a good attitude. She's such a servant. She has such humility."
And for whatever reason, in this space, I was good enough to HELP but not good enough or qualified enough to LEAD.
I loved my job, I loved the Kane family, I loved my pastors, but I was the only Black woman on staff. Our senior pastors were White, and in the early days, they attracted a multi-ethnic congregation. However, as time went on and the racial climate in America became more heightened, my church became more...vanilla.
Anytime we'd have a pastor of color on staff, they would stay, and then they would go. At many points, all of the pastors on staff were White, and all the people of color on staff were...the HELP. Assistants, program overseers, and kitchen staff.
Then came probably one of the hardest years of my life—APRIL 2016. (Don, don, don)
After fasting and praying, the Kanes, who had been at the church for close to, if not longer than, 15 years, felt like the Lord wanted them to step down.
There were a lot of questionable financial things going on, an affair happened on staff, many people were leaving the church, and the work environment became quite toxic, to say the least.
So once the Kanes decided they didn't want to work there anymore, neither did I. Our COO was the victim of the affair, and let’s just say, she didn’t lead people very well.
I sent an email to our senior pastor with a 6-month transition plan so I could properly train and delegate my many responsibilities. And that email turned into a 3-hour long conversation on the phone with the senior pastor trying to convince me to stay. I was respectful but still stood my ground; I needed to leave.
Three days later, the pastor called me into his back office, sat me down, and the only thing he said to me was, “I probably should have done this a long time ago, but I'm going to have to let you go.”
And just like that, the church my family had found when I was in first grade—the church I fell in love with after doing an internship at 13—after working full time since 18—I was now 26 years old and fired.
Deep inside of me, I still believed the Lord wanted me in ministry. I just didn't know how, I didn't know when, and I'd honestly kind of given up on the dream.
IMPACT CHURCH
This was probably the hardest season of my life. Two weeks later, I wound up moving to Arizona to live with my parents.
At that point, I had no plan to get back into ministry. I had my sights on getting a job at the Gap or some retail job to take a break from the crazy world I just left. But God had a different plan.
My parents at the time were attending Impact Church in Scottsdale and (still do) and my Mom had told me that they were looking for a front desk administrator.
My Mom, who doesn’t like everybody, absolutely loved the lady who would be my manager so thought I should consider it.
I'm was thinking, “Do you not remember what I just came out of?!” But, my Dad encouraged me by saying, “Before you say no, just go to the interview and see what you would be saying no to.” I did just that. And I tell you what, this woman, who was my manager, was a gift from God. I felt safe. I felt loved. I felt cared for and God used the two years I worked at Impact Church to restore my belief in ministry and to help me see that not every church is like the church I just came out of.
At Impact Church, it was also the first time that most of my closest friends were people of color. In Illinois, I was surrounded by White people. In Arizona, I was surrounded by many cultures and I loved that feeling.
I eventually moved from working at the front desk to working with the women's pastor helping her with women's ministry and finance. But that job wound up not being the best fit and still…there was no path for a single Black woman to become a pastor.
So after two years of being there, with their support, in 2018 I took the opportunity to get a regular job and became a Brand Strategist for a marketing agency in New York City and I did that for two years while working remotely.
You might be wondering…where is this going? How did you get back into ministry? When did you become a pastor? What does all of this have to do with you and Kendall founding BLK South? Well, just hold on…we’re going to get to all of that…
But before we do, I want to reflect on what those two church spaces formed in me.
It's hard to communicate the day-in and day-out life of working on staff and attending churches for 20-plus years, but I can tell you specific things about how those spaces shaped me.
HOW THOSE SPACES FORMED ME
In Illinois. In the suburbs. Being the only black woman on staff. I heard microaggressions. What are microaggressions?
It’s a term used for commonplace daily verbal, behavioral, or environmental slights, whether intentional or unintentional, that communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative attitudes toward stigmatized or culturally marginalized groups.
I heard things like, “Can I touch your hair? Turn on the lights, I can't see you! I can only see your teeth. More Black people are coming to the suburbs – oh no! The White race is dwindling…we’ve got to do something about it! Look at my tan, I’m almost as dark as you.” Most of this was said by my senior pastor.
I even heard Black men say in this same environment, “I'll never marry a Black woman.”
I heard the pastor call people fat or ugly; and shame White women for wanting to date or marry Black men. I watched the white women change their hairstyles, makeup, and bodies to suit the liking of the pastor. I have seen a lot more than I've wanted to see.
In Arizona. In the suburbs…at probably the most popular diverse mega-church in Scottsdale, with a staff that was, at the time, mostly Black and Brown, at this place, although it was a healing space for me, I watched the Senior Pastor fire a Black man because he was talking too much about racism.
Because, from his perspective, we needed to, “Keep the main thing the main thing which was Jesus Christ crucified and Resurrected.”
The pastor was indirectly expressing a belief that Jesus Christ didn't care enough about the experiences of Black people in America. I observed a leadership team fire a Black Pastor for addressing racism which signaled that the church's goal didn't involve addressing social disparities in the Black community. This experience conveyed to me that Jesus prioritized church attendance for high numbers, faithful giving for financial goals, and dedicated service for created programs. I realize people can grow and change but this was my experience at that time (2017-2018).
My soul began to search and wonder:
Where was the liberating love of Jesus for the Black people who leave church buildings and go into the world to then experience police brutality (George Floyd), no-knock warrants (Breanna Taylor), and car-chased shootings (Ahmaud Arbery)?
What I came to realize over the racial reckoning of 2020 is that…
Jesus was a brown, immigrant child.
Born into poverty.
Unjustly lynched on a tree.
Many people of color are Black and Brown, descendants of immigrants or immigrants themselves, born into poverty or suffering under immense poverty, and historically have been unjustly lynched on trees.
If I compare my savior to the lived experience of my people there are a lot more commonalities than sometimes the church talks about. Because it is easier to ignore it than to sit with the uncomfortable truth of it.
THINK ABOUT THIS
I know I've shared a lot, and there are still many more details that have been left out for the sake of brevity.
I also know that Blackness isn’t a monolith. My lived experience is not a representation of all the lived experiences of Black women in church spaces. But, one thing my story teaches us is that it is possible to have diversity present but still be anti-Black, anti-Native American, anti-Asian, or anti-anything that is not White. It is possible…because I have lived it.
So when White Evangelical spaces say they want to be a multi-ethnic church, do they really mean it? Or, are they saying they want different races in a room because the racial climate of today no longer allows them to be an acceptable, attractive church if they are not…diverse?
If you truly desire to be a part of a multi-ethnic church, I pray that at the core of who you are, you will want all ethnic people to show up fully as themselves; not deny that they are sons and daughters of slaves or immigrants, or pretend like their people don't have a different lived experience when they walk out of the walls of the church.
I pray that we would learn to create a safe environment that allows multi-ethnic people to be themselves without fear or pressure to assimilate into White culture in order to be seen, heard, accepted, and loved.
WHAT ARE YOUR BELIEFS FORMING?
Pause with me for a moment and take a deep breath.
Do you also believe in keeping the main thing the main thing? Does that main thing include the lived experiences of people of color? Do you participate in microaggressions poking fun at cultural things that are not like yours? Do you demand that others assimilate into your way of thinking, behaving, and believing? Do you subject people who are different than you to being less than and not equal to you consciously or subconsciously? Do you share your power or give it away to those most marginalized in your community?
Who's to say that we've changed unless we are willing to unlearn the things we’ve inherited from society?
If you pay attention to what God did for the children of Israel once he took them out of slavery in Egypt, he sent them into the wilderness to unlearn the ways of slavery. Because God knows that even slaves can perpetuate oppression unless they unlearn it.
Have you unlearned oppression in the way you raise your children, in the way you spend your money, in the way you read your Bible, in the way you practice your faith?
When you come out of an oppressive environment, whether you were the one oppressing or the one being oppressed, you must spend time unlearning oppression before you can enter into the “Promised Land.”
But we live in a culture that wants to go from oppression to promise without any “unlearning.” In my opinion, this is why reconstruction failed in America.
And what better teachers to teach the unlearning of oppression than the ones who have lived underneath its weight? For they know just how high, how wide, and how deep its evils truly are.
Equality demands that we center the decentered voices of our society so that we can unlearn the things that have separated us and learn how to exist together as a beloved community…rooted in equality.
SO WHERE DID MY UNLEARNING BEGIN?
In the spring of 2020, I had started to read books that opened my eyes. A friend asked me to read a book with her called “Unsettling Truths” by Mark Charles and Soong Chang Rah which was a blend of history, theology, and cultural commentary, as the authors reveal the far-reaching, damaging effects of the "Doctrine of Discovery” and it’s ties to our Christian faith today.
I have never wept while reading like the way I wept reading this book. When Ahmaud Arbery passed away, my heart sank as I watched these two white guys with a shotgun shoot Ahmaud like a dog.
Ahmaud was the same age as my youngest brother. Of course, this tragic killing broke my heart, but what almost made me lose my mind was the response of the white people I went to church with all those years ago (in both spaces).
The more I read, the more I posted the things I was learning.
These white people in both churches who saw me as a sister, friend, daughter, best friend, and community member went on vacation together, served together, read the Bible together, were in Bible study together, and prayed together. We were pastored by the same pastor and read the same Bible. These people said these things to me:
After reading their comments…I was like…
Rachel thinks that acknowledging history and the communal sins of our country is not Biblical.
Elmer thinks that justice isn’t a part of God’s plan.
Sarah is so bent out of shape and refuses to be identified with the concept of White Supremacy.
I asked myself, how is it possible that we could be going to the same church, pastored by the same people, reading the same bible, and this is the response you believe Jesus would want you to have towards me?!
And then I had this great epiphany…
We were discipled wrong. We were discipled to believe that Jesus doesn't care about the lived experience of people of color in this country. We were discipled to believe that Jesus doesn't care for the most marginalized first. We were discipled to believe that Jesus cares more about our promotion on our job, about us having joy in life, about us being better parents and people and paying our taxes and giving in a community, than we were about the death of a Black man. We were discipled into believing that White Supremacy was a God-trait.
And for those of you who have never actually heard the actual definition of white supremacy let me read it to you:
White Supremacy is the belief that white people constitute a superior race and should therefore dominate society, typically to the exclusion or detriment of other racial and ethnic groups.
So the Epiphany that I had is that I was discipled along with my White brothers and sisters in a “multi-ethnic church” to believe that the only race that really mattered was the White one. Because, in my lived experience, the only time we ever talked about pain in church was if it impacted White people.
How is it that my church has space for every part of me except my blackness? To go back into my story, once the Kanes said those things to me, I was like...
"Have I been wasting my whole life on people that don't see me? People who don't believe that immigrants should be here, although Jesus was an immigrant? People that don't believe that Black people should have equal rights when God made all of us equal? People who don't believe that I should be talking about White Supremacy or the value of Black lives... like, was I really taught the Gospel or a Whitewashed version? How could a White man fire a Black man because he was talking too much about racism and then go on to proclaim that he wants to have a multi-ethnic church... something ain't right?"
SOMETHIN’ AIN’T RIGHT.
So in the middle of all THAT, I met my husband. 😍
Are you ready for a cute little love story real quick?
I had a friend visit me from Philadelphia at the end of February beginning of March 2020. Took her to the Grand Canyon, took her to some of my favorite spots, and her last day here wanted to introduce her to some of my friends from church.
The only friend who could make it was Tor who was also the friend that invited me to read Unsettling Truths that I mentioned earlier.
We’re at Joyride Tacos in central Phoenix, it’s me, my friend from out of town, Tor, my sister, and my brother-in-law.
And at this dinner, Tor says, “Hey guys, so I've been vetting this guy for Erin.” And I was like, surely she said she was vetting a guy for herself. Surely that's why she said.
But then she said it again… “I’ve been vetting this guy for Erin.”
I was thinking, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, WHOA! Since when are you vetting any guy for ME?! And why is this the first time I'm hearing about it?! And why are you bringing it up in front of my family and friend who you just met?!”
She went on to say he’s a pastor at this church and I just really feel like he would be great for Erin, etc. And of course my sister said, “Well, set it up?! We’ve been WAITING for Erin to find somebody to marry.”
So that night she puts us in a group text message and says, “Hey guys, I really think highly of both of you and I think you'd be great for each other..okay byeeeee…”
And that same weekend Kendall took me out to Songbird Tea House in Downtown Phoenix and we exchanged life stories similar to the one I'm sharing with you except I didn't know as much as I do now so my language was a little different.
This is my very first date with Kendall Dooley, and after hearing my life story he says to me would you ever get into Ministry again? I have this really good friend who started a church called Kaleo and they're looking for a female minority Pastor to join their team I just really think you would be great for it.
While blushing, I respectfully declined because by that time in my life, I had given up the dream of being a pastor. I was low-key also feeling like he was interviewing me for a job, and I just wanted to be on a date.
Even though I was reluctant, he invited me that weekend to attend Kaleo with him, and I said yes because I figured it was an easy second date. And that service was the last in-person service before the pandemic.
In all of my years of ministry, I had never seen a church eat together like that as a part of their weekly practice of gathering together as the family of God. I had been in ministry a long time, and I've seen a lot of churches, but never once felt like that. Well, turns out, that was the last in-person service before the pandemic and after experiencing so many confusing, rejection-filled comments and posts from White people I previously went to church with, I was looking for something where I could show up as my full self.
I was looking for a church where I could be Black and be a believer. Where I wasn't asked to leave my Blackness at the door but I was asked to bring my Blackness with me. I was looking for a place where I could be seen, understood as a woman, and as a black woman, affirmed in my womanhood, and celebrated to be who I am…fully.
Kaleo moved to Zoom Church, like many others during the pandemic. There were like, 20-30 people on the call (mostly White people might I add) talking about Ahmaud Arbery. Reckoning with the death of Brianna Taylor. Lamenting over the murder of George Floyd.
Every other church I went to, previous to that, didn't have the courage to say anything…but this little Zoom Church was different.
And God began to stir my heart over the summer of 2020 for Ministry. I wanted to be a part of re-discipling people to see Jesus as the brown, poor immigrant child who was lynched on a tree. To see Jesus as one who has always cared for the most vulnerable and most marginalized.
I heard Professor Valerie Bridgeman once say…
“What you gone do when your theology rubs up against the reality of people's lives? What you gone do when your theology is so death-dealing that you don't care about people living? What you gone do when your theology allows you to Pat yourself on the back while people are dying left and right?
I don't want a theology that ignores the lived experiences of people of color. I want to theology that exercises the reality that Jesus is for the liberation of all people.
THE KALEO WAY
So in January of 2021 I was ordained as a Black woman and became a Co-Pastor at Kaleo along with a good friend (a White man) Chris Townley.
If you remember my story from earlier, you remember that I know what it's like to be the only little Black girl and a predominantly White space. And I know what it feels like to finally see someone that looks like you do something you've always wanted to do.
I don’t want to conclude this story, without giving you a picture of what safe spaces for Black folks could be. At Kaleo, we practice shared leadership and equality, and we learn from each other and our community holistically.
Our White brothers and sisters who are a part of Kaleo have chosen to live in a peaceful way, de-centered, and in solidarity with people on the margins. Although me and Chris’s journey at Kaleo is coming to a close, we know that the next set of women co-pastors will continue to lead a church community that creates space to practice the ways of Jesus together as the multiethnic family of God.
We will continue to preach a Gospel of liberation and mercy for all people. We will continue to preach that Jesus cares for those who are the most marginalized including the poor, the widow, the orphan, and those who suffer at the hands of White Supremacy in this country: George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Tyre Nichols, and millions of others.
The community of Kaleo has given me hope that we can do this together. That it is possible to have a church space that is safe for people of color. That we can say White Supremacy in a sermon and not have white people cringe, shame, or gaslight us. That we can talk about the lived experiences of all people in the world and not have to tiptoe around White feelings, White rage, and White fear.
It is possible for your church to be a multi-ethnic church…not just in appearance…but at its core.
My experience at Kaleo has given me a vision of community reimagined, and now that I know what’s possible, I seek that possibility in ‘reverse migration.’
This vision beckons me to reclaim the parts of my Black story that I feel like I’ve been missing. In juxtaposition to America’s failed attempt at reconstruction, BLK South is holistically what Kendall and I want to do with the rest of our lives – a work of solidarity, justice, identity, history, ancestry, reparations, and storytelling.
This sacred work of repairing our Black stories calls us back to the places where it all began... the BLK South.
Thanks for reading my story,
Erin Dooley (Lashley) 🖤
