For the most part, I was raised by this woman whose life started in poverty. Her childhood home lacked running water and an indoor toilet, so when we came to California to live in government projects, it was luxury for her. She worked hard to maintain our tiny bungalow-styled home in a segregated neighborhood but safer than Jim Crow. When I was in high school, my counselor helped with the applications for admission and financial aid. Mommy was valiant.

She is a warrior. 

Mommy taught us to pray by her example. When she sings, it feels how the voices of early Africans in America must have sounded. We are transported, and it cannot be duplicated. It resounds with an anointing that informs me of my legacy. We don’t have many documents or photos from our family’s past, but Mommy brought centuries of struggle and hope into my life.

I have heard members of the Black academy refer to our music tradition through enslavement and segregation as “The Third Testament.” For many of us, the Hebrew Scriptures and New Testament are not enough. 

We know about Moses, but we identify with “Go down Moses, way down in Egypt land; tell ol’ Pharaoh to let my people go.”  

We know about Jesus, but we identify with “Steal away, steal away to Jesus; I ain’t got long to stay here.” 

We know about baptism, but we identify with “Wade in the water, wade in the water children… God’s gonna trouble the water.” They are songs encoded with liberation. 

This legacy possesses me while it manifests the immeasurable gulf between domination Christianity and liberation Christianity. When Dr. King observed that the most segregated hour in America is 11 a.m. Sunday, he addressed more than segregation or doctrine. He was speaking about two different kinds of existence. I am drenched in this anointing because Mommy poured it like oil all over us.