My Post L.A. Term Reflection on Transformation
Amber van den Raadt
My theology was perfect before the program, or so I thought.
But on the streets of skid row it went on an acid trip.
And in South Central, it bled to death from a drive by.
It was drenched by the tears of battered women with nowhere to turn.
It was stomped on by street kids in Ecuador.
It was mocked by demons in Haiti.
It was set on fire by stories of child molestation.
It was hidden from me by images of the skinny, sexy, beautiful woman every man dreams of.
It took on the stench of the people living in the dumps of South America.
It was slapped in the face by the injustice of our justice system.
It was strangled by white masculine ecclesiastical authority.
Now, I am picking up the pieces of my crushed theology.
And I do not know where to begin.
But, what I do know is that it will never fit together the same way again.
This time the glue holding it together will be rubber so that it can be melted and shaped.
It will not be destroyed.
