S1 E6: Rev. Breana Van Velzen
TIME STAMPS
0:00 - Intro
1:14 - Rev. Breana's Life, Work, and Story
17:47 - Womanism, Atonement, and the Seduction of Violence
23:44 - Indigenous History in Durham
31:00 - Lessons from Durham
DESCRIPTION
In this episode of South to America, Kendall & Erin Dooley sit down with Rev. Breana van Velzen—a powerful voice in the intersection of faith, justice, and cultural memory—for an inspiring conversation on formation, decolonizing theology, and the sacred responsibility of community storytelling.
With deep roots in southeastern North Carolina and a rich journey that includes time at Duke Divinity, Neighborhood Ministries in Phoenix, and their current work with Durham Congregations in Action, Rev. Bre shares how their multiethnic identity, lived experiences of poverty, and communal upbringing shaped their call to ministry.
The conversation explores womanist theology, the violent undercurrents of dominant atonement narratives, and the liberating power of theology grounded in love, land, and liberation. Breana also sheds light on the Indigenous history embedded in Durham’s soil, how sacred sites like Stagville Plantation carry stories of both trauma and resilience, and what it means to live into a theology that refuses empire.
What does it mean to hold faith for one another when belief feels impossible? How do our ancestral histories—and the land itself—call us into radical responsibility? And how can cities like Durham serve as teachers for the rest of the nation on truth-telling, belonging, and mutual care?
This episode is a conversation on spiritual depth, historical consciousness, and the fierce, compassionate work of reimagining the world as it should be.
GUEST
The Rev. Breana van Velzen (none, they) is an ordained Baptist minister, spiritual director, and non-profit consultant who is currently the executive director of Durham Congregations in Action, hailing from the swamps of Eastern NC and the golden slopes of the Sierra Mountains. Breana holds a Master of Divinity (M.Div) from Duke Divinity School, a Master of Social Work (M.S.W) from the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill. Bre has authored an article in Christianity Next as well as a chapter in World Christianity and COVID-19 (vol.2) in addition to presenting a TEDX style talk at Duke University in 2019, utilizing slam poetry and spoken word in homiletics and immigrant identity. Bre has presented at multiple conferences around issues of restorative justice, circle practices, conflict transformation, and de-polarization. Bre believes the sacred can be found anywhere but especially in the ordinary, and our sacred task is mutuality with one another and all of creation—a belief founded in Bre’s culture. This informs Bre’s ministry, work, and activism on all levels. Bre’s roots are in grassroots community organizing—especially for racial and LGBTQ+ justice and in providing formal and informal education to/alongside their community. They enjoy editing writing while watching TV, baking for family and friends, and going on wild wanders around the Triangle’s local ancient volcano. You can find Bre across channels @journeywithbre.
Give To Rev. Breana: Zelle
Learn More About: Durham Congregations in Action
TRANSCRIPT
Dooley:
Let's get started. Breana, thank you so much for joining us on the South to America podcast.
Van Velzen:
Yeah, thank you for having me. I’m excited to share and to see y’all and your smiling faces today. Glad to be here.
Dooley:
Breana, I probably shouldn’t say this on the podcast—but it’s true—you’re one of my favorite folks we’ve connected with in Durham. I think it’s because of some of our shared history at Neighborhood Ministries, back when I worked in Phoenix. I’d love to hear about your connection to Neighborhood Ministries and your time there, and also for you to share more about your life story. Who is Breana?
Van Velzen:
Sure. I was a first-year student at Duke Divinity School around 25 years old, and I was learning about our field education experiences through the Center for Reconciliation. At the time, Duke had a program called Teaching Communities. It doesn’t exist anymore—my cohort was the last—but they sent us across the country to communities doing deep reconciliation work: tackling homelessness, transforming congregations, or organizing for justice.
I don’t mean “reconciliation” in the watered-down way people sometimes use it. I mean the hard work—naming harm and working to heal it, grassroots action rooted in the community, not paternalism. I had already been introduced to asset-based community development as an undergrad and when I was a teacher. My denomination loves John Perkins’ work, even if they’re not officially part of CCDA. We visited the Metanoia Community in North Charleston, and I saw asset-based development up close for years.
When choosing where to go for field ed, I told them I didn’t want to go anywhere super hot. Naturally, they offered Phoenix or Houston. I said, “Absolutely not, I’ll feel like a lobster being steamed.” But they came back with, “Okay, what about Teaching Communities?” I applied, hoping to land in Chicago... but I got sent to Phoenix—the hottest place in the country during summer.
I went to the field ed office like, “What do you mean 126 degrees?” But they were like, “You said no to Houston!” I figured, okay, it’s the desert, it’ll be fine. My mom grew up in a desert and I had cousins in Phoenix. I looked up Neighborhood Ministries, had a call with someone there, and they said, “We want you.” They’re very proud of their Duke students.
When I arrived, I think folks assumed I was a privileged Duke student with no experience of poverty—like I’d lived my whole life surrounded by whiteness. But I grew up around gangs, so I immediately connected with folks who had face tattoos. They probably thought I was going to die, but we became friends—and then they realized I spoke their language. From there, it was a really meaningful summer. They tested what ways I was hood and what ways I wasn’t.
Like many Duke students before me, I accidentally hit something with the van and caused a dent. It was my last two days, and I was backing into the cage, hit the fence post, and they were like, “You almost made it.”
Dooley:
Everyone has a van-driving story!
Van Velzen:
Neighborhood was deeply impactful. I learned so much about myself and how to be in community. I believe it’s a Spirit-led place—an embodiment of God’s kingdom birthed out of Kit’s grit, the community’s openness, and everyone working hard together.
Dooley:
Absolutely. So beautiful. Can you share more about your own story and what led you to the work you’re doing now?
Van Velzen:
I’m a North Carolina native—southeastern part, from the swamps and beach. It’s a unique place. I come from a mixed-race family. Both my parents and all my grandparents are mixed. I call myself Chewian: I’m Lumbee and Cherokee, white, and Dutch-Indonesian. I was raised by my mom who’s Dutch-Indonesian. English is my second language—Malay is my third, Spanish is my fourth.
I grew up in cities and rural areas, spent summers in the Sierras with my grandparents. In the South, if you’re not from one of the oldest families, or if you’re mixed or not Black, you end up on the margins. I grew up in poverty with a single mom in public housing. My mom was redlined and denied housing because she was brown, so we always lived in Black and Brown neighborhoods.
But our community took care of each other. I remember us having one can of food, and someone came to our door hungry. My mom gave them the can and said, “Sit down, we’re gonna play gin rummy. God’s got us.” And we never starved.
My mom comes from a communal culture, so we knew how to build community wherever we went. She also had health issues, so I took on responsibility early. When I was eight, she sat me down and said, “You have to go to college. I can’t pay for it, so stay on the straight and narrow and get a scholarship.” And that’s what I did.
I worked hard, became an English teacher, and was discerning seminary while still in college. I had a full-on faith crisis—my mom’s faith was inclusive, but the Christianity around me was fundamentalist and patriarchal. I didn’t want to serve a God that only used fear to get people into relationship. That felt abusive.
Dooley:
That’s real.
Van Velzen:
My college roommate was a pastor’s kid and said, “Christians aren’t all the same. Come with me to church sometimes.” I told her she had two months. I went a few times, and then one of the pastor’s wives gave me a hug and said, “When you can’t hold your faith, the church holds it for you.” That, plus an encounter with God while yelling on a dock during a youth trip, kept me Christian.
Van Velzen:
I eventually discerned a call to ministry and seminary. I visited a friend doing ministry overseas, and that experience made something click: this is what I’m meant to do. Later, on a silent retreat, I had what I call my Moses moment. God told me, “You’re meant to be a pastor.” I didn’t want it, but I surrendered. Duke Chapel hired me after graduation. I served as community minister for five and a half years.
Van Velzen:
During COVID, we even brought Ricardo from Neighborhood Ministries in as a guest speaker on organizing. Now, I work at Durham Congregations in Action, collaborating across seven religions and over 50 congregations—doing pilgrimages for racial justice and more.
Dooley:
That’s amazing. And it’s such a rich story. Thank you for sharing. I’ve been thinking about womanist theology today—how it emerged out of the lack of Black women being acknowledged in Black liberation theology. I feel like I hear that journey in your story too—seeking a good news that’s truly for all.
Van Velzen:
Thank you. I love womanism. I studied under Dr. Ebony Marshall Turman and got to meet scholars like Renita Williams and Dolores Williams. I even got to meet James Cone. Couldn’t say a word—I just listened and cried.
Dolores Williams’ work on the substitution of Black women’s bodies in atonement theory healed something in me. Dr. Willie Jennings was my theology professor, and we read Williams in class. He didn’t differentiate between "systematic" and "contextual" theology—he just taught theology. He talked about how Jesus’ birth, life, and ministry are just as important as his death. That reframed everything for me.
Dooley:
Yes!
Van Velzen:
He said it wasn’t God who demanded violence—it was the seduction of power that killed Jesus. We value the blood of violence but not the blood of birth, the blood of Mary’s womb. That contrast is so telling.
Dooley:
That’s so powerful.
Van Velzen:
Womanism, Asian feminist theology, Latina theologians—we all bring something. When we share our theologies and our stories, we expand our understanding of God and reject the Christianity tied to empire.
Dooley:
Yes. And how your theology forms your practice—how it impacts how you engage society. That’s so important.
Van Velzen:
It’s everything. What we believe shapes everything that flows from us. So do we choose violent beliefs or ones rooted in love and compassion?
Dooley:
Come on now. You are such a joy to have on the show. A couple more questions! One is about your connection to the indigenous history in Durham. Can you expand on that?
Van Velzen:
Yeah. I had the privilege of taking y’all to Stagville Plantation recently. Stagville lets Indigenous folks and descendants of the enslaved just show up and use the space. I really appreciate that.
I’m Lumbian Cherokee, and our peoples haven’t always gotten along due to federal recognition issues. But this land—Durham—has been stewarded by the Eno, Occaneechi, Shakori, and Lumbee peoples. This specific area wasn’t necessarily a permanent settlement—it was more of a shared space for trading and hunting.
The Great Trading Path came through here, connecting Indigenous nations. Stagville Plantation, which covered 50 square miles, was built along these paths. I-85 follows the old Occaneechi trading route. Even the railroads were built on these ancient paths—and post-Civil War, the same people who were once enslaved built those railroads. I’ve touched the beams my friend’s grandparents laid with their own hands.
Dooley:
Wow.
Van Velzen:
And people try to act like this history is ancient. It’s not. One last question we ask everyone: what do you think Durham has to teach the rest of the country?
A lot—and we still have a lot to learn. Durham has a strong sense of community. I don’t always call myself a local historian because I’m not originally from here, but I carry stories entrusted to me by folks who are. I try to pass them on with care.
Durham shows up for one another. We’ve had mayoral forums at breweries with DJs and food trucks. We voted to put millions into a public library that welcomes unhoused neighbors. During COVID, people did their best to care for each other. There’s a shared understanding: if you live here, you belong here—and you have responsibility here.
Dooley:
That’s so powerful. We always say we’re not born into a vacuum. We’re born into history—into land, into story. Thank you so much, Rev. Breana. You are a gift to this city.
Van Velzen:
Thank y’all. I’m excited for you both to be here and see where BLK South goes. Your storytelling is now part of this community too.
RESOURCES
Witness the work of Rev. Breana Van Velzen
MUSIC PLAYED
Podcast intro music:
