The Spirit of The Lord is Upon Me By Reverend Leah D. Daughtry
I am a fifth-generation pastor and third-generation Pentecostal woman who lives and works at the intersection of faith and politics. As a leader in God’s church, I’ve served as priest, pastor, and prophet for church and community. This work has led me to navigate, and sometimes blend, the worlds of faith and politics, serving as interpreter of each for the other.
Yes, I’m Pentecostal, which means I believe that the Acts 2 experience should be normative in the life of a believer. And I also believe that the filling and indwelling of the Holy Spirit is God-designed empowerment, through which our actions and words bear witness to the ultimate role of the Holy Spirit: disruptor of systems, social norms, and the status quo, whether in our personal lives, the lives of the community, or of the nation.
When I say that I stand at the intersection of faith and politics, most people think I mean the apparatus of electing people to office. And while it is true that I’ve served as Chief of Staff for the national Democratic Party, CEO for the 2008 and 2016 Democratic Conventions, and advised hundreds of candidates and operatives, politics for me is a much broader enterprise. It is about the human decision-making process through which the distribution of resources is determined, as in who gets what when, where, why, and how.
Naturally, I bring my whole self to this work, ever conscious that, as a Black woman, I am navigating a world that is in a love-hate relationship with me. One that daily demeans and diminishes me while simultaneously appropriating my style, my culture, and my technique. One that dismisses my contribution while seeking to capitalize on my resources.
Fortunately, I was raised in a Christian denomination that observed no difference in role or title between female and male clergy; women could and did serve in any office, including Presiding Minister. That all leadership opportunities were open to me was as natural an idea as breathing – the kind of behavior so automatic that it does not require thinking or planning. I could serve and lead in any way I felt called, and that seemed to me to be in keeping with the Gospel and the idea behind Pentecost – that God’s Spirit is poured out on all people, without regard to race, gender, or economic status.
Surrounded in church and activist community by these ideals, I grew up a free-thinking black girl, ready to tackle the world, offering my leadership and my giftings. This egalitarianism I learned, saw, and experienced in my church and community did not prepare me for the outside world where societal, political, and church systems practiced in a different way. What do you mean I couldn’t preach from the pulpit at that church? That I had to stand at a lectern and “teach?” What do you mean they’ve never elected a woman chair? In this day and age? What do you mean the school board is all male? Where are the women? It was baffling to me and to my understanding of the Gospel. Didn’t I have the Holy Ghost just like the men? Was God not allowed to call me, to equip me, to use me, to send me? And if God had constraints, then who exactly was this God to whom I’d committed my life?
These questions and contradictions exploded in me a press to see things change. The Holy Spirit working in my life empowered and emboldened me to raise questions, to disrupt patterns of thinking and ways of being, and to challenge the way things are in order to create the way things ought to be – a new personhood, a new culture, a new society that mirrors the love, peace, the grace, the mercy, and the justice of Creator God. The passage in Luke defines a call and a direction. The Holy Spirit empowered me to accept both. This is the understanding I took into my pastoral work and my political work: to speak truth to Empire, both governmental and ecclesiastical; to push and press for change in systems that seek to diminish, demean, and dismiss personhood; to serve as a plumb line of sorts, calling institutions of God and man to conform to the Word and way of God; to be an irritant, a disruptor, a constant reminder that the status quo is not good enough – that God expects more and better.
Several months ago, I was honored to be invited to attend the 50th Anniversary of Dr. King’s Mountaintop Speech in Memphis, TN. It was an auspicious and historic occasion, taking place at Mason Temple Church of God In Christ, in the same pulpit where Dr. King had delivered the original speech. As I sat in the sanctuary during the day of workshops, I watched the prelate of the denomination coming and going with his entourage. His all-male entourage. And I thought to myself, he’s walking with eight or ten people, people who are clearly advising him and directing him. They couldn’t find one woman, not one woman, whose opinion, perspective, or skill set they valued enough to include in their group? I don’t think they could imagine how debilitating a sight it was. With no words at all, they communicated exclusion and sent a signal that women were not welcome in their leadership ranks. And I cried: for God’s church where this inequality and imagery persisted; for this particular denomination with which people associate all Pentecostals; for the little girls in the audience who saw this spectacle, and for myself. I was upset that I was upset, and I cried because I was crying.
Later that evening, at the Mountaintop Service, our first signal of the program to come was the pulpit procession – all male, except for the Bishop’s wives. As the evening unfurled, a long line of speakers proceeded to the pulpit. A long line of male speakers. In the entire night, only one woman graced the lectern: Reverend Dr. Bernice King, who was not afforded a seat in the pulpit. (I should note that all the singers were women.) My simmering upsetment from earlier in the day turned into a full-on rage. A night full of men, with fiery speeches declaring prophetic utterances against the Empire, pressing for change in our nation, encouraging the people to rise up against oppression and discrimination. The irony and hypocrisy were overwhelming.
I certainly don’t want to imply that I believe every male speaker was sexist or misogynistic. But I wonder if they challenged the event organizers about this clear lack of equality in the presentations. I don’t want to suggest that Dr. King’s remarks were insufficient. To the contrary, they were timely, challenging, and beautifully delivered. But with women being the majority in this country – and the majority in our churches – surely the responsibility of representation should not have rested on her shoulders alone.
One lone woman, made to represent all women, both in person and in intellect. One woman’s voice, made to speak for us women’s voices, sharing wisdom, dropping knowledge, pushing, pulling, challenging. One woman, who was made to stand in for all women. She was eloquent and she was powerful. And yet, she was not enough.
One of the most powerful and important aspects of the Obama presidency lay in its symbolism. That the leader of the free world was a Black man lifted the vision of Black people everywhere, especially our children. The visual of a Black man giving the State of the Union, descending from Air Force One, meeting with world leaders, speaking with authority on any issue, gave us, and especially our children, an exploded sense of potential and possibility.
It is the same with women in ministry. As preachers of the Gospel, as prophets, pastors, and priests, we must recognize that our presence is necessary, that our voices are necessary, that our leadership is necessary. We bring a unique perspective and a different lens to the reading, the interpretation, and the work of the Gospel – whether in the pulpit or in the public square. And as with the Obama presidency, we must not dismiss the powerful symbols we provide when we stand in the pulpit, when we take the microphone, when we serve as prophets and priests in the church, the community, and the nation.
If we’ve learned anything over millennia, we’ve learned we will not be given anything; we must take it. The Holy Spirit empowers us and emboldens us to take the place God has given to us, the place God has called us to. Sometimes, it will be by polite request or gentle reminder. Sometimes it will be by insistence and force. But take our place we must. To do less is to deny the God who called us.
Rev. Leah D. Daughtry is an internationally-recognized speaker, preacher, organizer, leader, and political strategist. Standing at the intersection of faith and politics, Leah works with community activists and organizations, political organizations, and faith leaders and communities to assist them in building coalitions and partnerships that advance the common good. In 2018, she launched Power Rising, a convening of, by, and for Black women, designed to support Black women in leveraging their political, economic, and social power to ensure equity, opportunity, and representation for ourselves and our communities. She is Principal of On These Things, LLC., which assists a broad array of businesses and organizations with strategic planning, project management, and community engagement strategies. The daughter of a long line of community organizers and activists, Leah represents the fifth consecutive generation of pastors in the Daughtry family. She is an ordained Elder in The House of the Lord Churches.