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Religion and the Black Daddy, Part I

Updated: Nov 10

Go Spell


Heavenly stuff makes no sense to me.  I mean if God is perfect and made us humans in His image, why are we so incredibly flawed and fucked up? If our teeth fall out from smoking too much meth, why don’t they grow back like sharks’ do? Ants can lift things that are 50 times their weight over their heads, have an incredibly efficient communication system that allows them to work together in unison towards one common goal.  Humans can barely climb our fat asses into our pick-up truck or even agree on if the queen of the world is Taylor Swift or Beyonce. God gave us this bulbous, powerful brain but only the capacity to make use of 10% of it, and I think we only use 10% of that 10%. That is nowhere near perfect, so I doubt we were created in His image. Maybe God is just a big ol’ army ant… 


But even with all those dreadful inconsistencies that surround religion, there is no questioning the fact that the only thing we Black Daddies believe in more than the magic of cocoa butter is the mercy and power of the Lard.  We are literally born with plenty of that old time religion all shut up in our bones.  All you gotta do is walk over and browse through them CDs you still have stashed in the hall closet. Go ahead and thumb through those discs and I bet you got one or two Kirk Franklin or Yolanda Adams titles in the mix.  And there goes the Whitney “Praise God!” Houston’s “Preacher’s Wife” soundtrack right next to Aretha’s “Amazing Grace” double album.  And look a-there at that Mahalia Jackson Christmas CD that helps you ring in the joyous season of Kwanzaa.  And I know a bunch of ya’ll spent your Sunday mornings knocking a tamborine against your hip in the choir at the Baptist Church.  Statistics back up my claim because as many demographics in the world are moving away from the Church, U.S. Blacks are steadfast in their commitment to all things related to Jeebus Cries.


It’s MLK Day here in the United States as I write this, and Fox 10 Extra is transmitting a program in his honor. The event is taking place in some big hollow church filled with Black people dressed to the nines.  A little Black girl spritely recited a poem from the pulpit and then a large Black woman took her place and, accompanied by a piano, proceeded to scream something holy into the mic for what seemed like 90 minutes while the predominately Black congregation delighted in her sermon, interjecting a spirited Halle Lou Ya!  Praize tha Lard! at the programmed times. As I watched the spectacle, I thought to myself, Will the contents of the very soul of Black people always need to be filtered through the Sanctified Church?


The answer is yes. Even for us Black queen


It’s true that gay Black men are less likely to be affiliated with an organized religion compared to the general population of Black folks because many of us choose not to ignore the hypocrisy present in much of the Church’s teachings. We Black Queens have trouble coalescing the fact that Black folks pray to God and attend religious services more than anyone else on the planet, but still see how little the Heavenly Father has done to improve our super low indexes of economic, educational, health and social well-being. We Black gay men can only shake our heads when we witness the lightly veiled extravagance and fabulousness of the male preacher and wonder to ourselves how nobody claims to see that while this nigga is railing against fags, he’s currently the biggest queen on the block. And no, T.D. Jakes ain’t the first Black power bottom pastor on the scene. He’s far from it.  Everybody done been known that the Revrun James Cleveland used to have some wild sex parties in his church basement with man booty being passed around like a collection plate. (Some believe that it was during these sex parties that Aretha Franklin messed around and got pregnant not once but twice before her 15th birthday). Who do you think Little Richard got his inspiration from? The Black preacher, that’s who. Even back in his Aaron Hall glasses days, I would turn on the TV and see Kirk Franklin and think, damn, his gay ass is drippin’ molasses. Look a-here, the Good Lard commands everyone to luv their fellow man and that’s exactly what these righteous brothaz done done. Maybe they took the song “Go Down Moses” a bit too literally.


I personally don’t step foot in any churches (unless it’s the kind that gives you a buttermilk biscuit and that little jalapeño pepper with your three-piece combo) but I sometimes get the feeling that I might be missing out on all the seriously good cruising going on in there. Our man T.D. Jakes’ scandal only reminded us that the Lard’s House has always been a pitstop for preachin’ and penis, a sanctuary for sermons and semen. I know this all too well because I live most of my life in a staunchly Catholic country where the priests don’t even bother hiding their boners under those black robes. For centuries now, they’ve been building churches in less developed neighborhoods in Latin America where mothers feel honored to hand their prepubescent boys over to a circle jerk of priests in the hopes that their time as altar boys will lead them to the priesthood since the top three professional wishes for these Colombian mothers are to see their sons become a doctor, a lawyer or a priest. It’s like a delightful little Sugar Boy Internship Program and the priests receive them with open, um, arms. And ya’ll already know that in the Catholic Church, they adhere closely to the R. Kelly doctrine where age ain’t nothin’ but a number and throwin’ down ain’t nothin’ but a thang. It’s almost as if the church is a priest’s Golden Corral where mothers deliver the all-you-can-eat tender vittles right to their doorstep where many are subsequently gobbled up like a stack of flapjacks.   


I can’t get with all that treacherous pedophilia bullshit the Cath-lick Church got going on, but I bet that the Black Church here in the U.S. is the perfect place for a Black Sugar Daddy to do some shopping.  When you think about it, isn’t God just a big ol’ Sugar Daddy in the sky anyway?  He be looking down on them young men as they kneel down next to the bed, looking up and begging Him to make all their wishes come true. They promise to shout Him out on the Grammy stage if He only used His powers to help their new single on iTunes go double platinum. We earth-bound Daddies may think we can’t compete with the Supreme Sugar Daddy, but we earthlings hold an advantage over Him because we can PayPal those young men’s dreams to reality. (Kneeling optional.)  We are right there when things start to look grim for a Sugar Boy, what with a new semester approaching and all those lab fees and textbooks that require legal tender to be purchased. The Sugar Boy can pray for God to bestow these things upon him until he’s blue in the face, but Jesus don’t use Venmo. That’s when we mortal Sugar Daddies swoop in and put them yutes on a Booty for Books Program to make sure we get the luvvin’ we deserve while also providing them with a good quality edjumacation.


Wholy Hole-y


So, when it comes to the Church, I say pull out that tuxedo (or whatever the dress code is in there), fire up your hoopty and ease on down to the House of the Lard. The odds are in your favor because any unaccompanied young man (18 or older, now!) is there searching for guidance in the wisdom and strumph of an older, more established mentor. The preacher is not going to be able to handle all them young thangs looking for a teacher, so you need to position yourselves in one of the front pews to catch the eventual surplus when the preacher’s cup runneth over, stepping in and scooping up some nice leftovers for yourself. What better way to celebrate the sacred union between the Father, the Son and the Holy Spurrt? After meeting a few sanctified young thangs among the pews, you might even find yourself humming several hits from gospel singer Jekalyn Carr, including “Something Big” to one tenderoni and “You’re Bigger” to another. And if you’re lucky enough to bring one of them to a climax, you might be forced to sing out loud some of her other hits, like “Greater is Coming” and “It’s Yours”! See how much fun the Black Church can be if you go with the right attitude? And even if you go and don’t get the chance to pull any juicy trade among the faithful, your face should still be up in the holy place this Sunday because I really believe that most of ya’ll need Jeebus in your life anyway. (Praise God!)


Stay tuned for Part II of “Religion and the Black Daddy”…



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