Uncompromised Truth: Church on the Southside of Chicago with Cornel West

“When you are in the presence of truth it is impossible to compromise.” The words thundered out of Father Michael Pfleger during the first three minutes of a three hour mass at the St. Sabina Faith Community—a largely African-American Catholic church on the Southside of Chicago. They were included in an opening, theological reflection on the transformative power of unvarnished faith in the radical love of the Gospel, which Pfleger delivered with both soaring cadence and searing conviction. A statement of such depth and strength could be classified as either a promise or a warning, depending on the listener’s level of ethical malleability. However, it could also be used as a definitional precursor to experiencing St. Sabina. 

All churches teach a version of the Gospel—some more modified and mangled than others—and often the extent and nature of each church’s customization of Christ is more connected to sociology than theology. A parishioner is more likely to hear about “radical love,” “social justice,” and be encouraged to “beat back the devil” at a church in the crime-ridden, poverty-stricken Southside of Chicago than at a suburban megachurch. One is also more likely to be warned about the dangers of “negative thinking,” while celebrating wealth as evidence of divine kinship from a smiling Joel Osteen understudy in middle and upper class neighborhoods than among the poor and destitute. There is certainly more evidence of the devil, whether it be a metaphorical literary device or an evil otherworldly being, in the ghetto than in the suburb, just as there is a greater imperative for social justice. The self-comforting allusions of heavenly enshrined prosperity are much more convenient and believable in isolated rich communities than in ones dealing with an unemployment epidemic, disgraceful public education system, and evaporating social services.

Among all the conflicting loyalties and incarnations of Christendom, there are the occasional bright spots of authenticity. St. Sabina—for all of the controversy surrounding its pastor—is one of them. I made this discovery on February 14th when I visited the church to see guest speaker Dr. Cornel West. The Princeton professor and prophetic provocateur spoke about the need for Obama voters to hold the President accountable to the “least of these,” the necessity for churches and individuals to stay “centered on the cross,” and turned his entire sermon around the question “Is real love a threat to you?” If the answer is “yes,” you have a serious problem. You are “spiritually malnourished,” which will soon produce “moral constipation” that ends in “ethical emasculation.”

West’s message, much like him, did not equivocate, compromise, or back away from a challenge—the challenge to the White House, the challenge to Americans, and the challenge to himself. The homily was wide in scope and far in reach, but the thread that ran through it, along with Pfleger’s opening remarks and a young poet who dramatically gave a response to that Sunday’s reading, was the impact of violence, drug dependency, and poverty on the lives of people who are kept out of sight, undercover, and relegated to the nightside of America. In suburban megachurches, one rarely hears of such social misery, much less see the consequences of it slap people in the face. When Father Pfleger talked about people “killing our children” he did not mean “our” as an abstract means of loose identification, he pointed to people in the pews. 

 It was with the emergence of this tragic truism that Pfleger’s opening statement, “When you are in the presence of truth it is impossible to compromise,” took on grander meaning. It became clear that St. Sabina became the truth in which one can be present. The truth became locational—a physical embodiment of people within a religious institution. With those parishioners gathered to wrestle with the ugly realities of unexamined inequality and injustice, St. Sabina became both representational and presentational of truth: Truth about the black experience that is ignored in the racially-feel-good age of Obama, and truth about the American experience that is unacknowledged in any age. Part of that truth is self-directed, and thereby difficult to hear. Mistreatment of women in the black community, along with absentee fatherhood, was also discussed by Pfleger, the poet, and Dr. West. However, they all provided the personal responsibility critique with the essential sociopolitical protest that does not exonerate street gang activity and drug dealing, but explains why it is more prevalent on the Southside of Chicago, and places like it, than in their suburban counterparts. 

 Perhaps the most important aspect of the service to acknowledge and applaud is that despite the bleakness of the surrounding landscape and the economic, familial, and social wreckage that decorates that Southside, St. Sabina—its leaders and members—maintained a spiritually combative hope and emphatically expressed it throughout the three hour mass. All of the expected trappings of the black church were there: the ebullient choir, the energetic preaching, and the ecstatic audience. Experiencing the black church requires a beautiful symmetry between the visceral and cerebral. Within fifteen minutes, the congregation went from raising hands and hollering “hallelujah” to earnestly listening to an address from one of America’s most preeminent intellectuals. It is also a powerful reminder that Saturday night would not much in America if not for Sunday morning. So much of music, and even dance, that energizes party ritual comes from the gospel that fuels religious ritual.

Shot through both the emotional and intellectual stimulation is a sophisticated form of hope that places love and solidarity at its center, but never reverts to cheap optimism that loses sight of the obstacles and obstructions placed at the periphery of life in neglected America. The St. Sabina Faith Community believes and agonizes to earn the belief that a better life—for them, their children, and their country—is possible. But, it is not possible without the personal and political work required to get there. When hope is in short supply, combative spirituality and weathered redemption that cries for love and justice may not be the best answer, but the only answer. It would do a lot of people a lot of good, from the White House to the crack house, to stand in the presence of that uncompromised truth.