My Safe Haven

There’s a man in the Bible whose name was David. The same David who slayed the giant Goliath. But I don't remember David for that reason: I remember him for being the only man that God defines as “after his own heart”. And this man, with such a level of intimacy with God no man could aspire to (apart from Jesus himself), said that “The one thing I ask of the LORD— the thing I seek most— is to live in the house of the LORD all the days of my life” (Psalm 27:4). This has always been my deepest desire. 

I was born and raised in Italy where I lived for 19 years before moving away for university. The moment you inhale your first breath in this world as a Black woman, you are inhaling a whole lot of problems you have no control over which you will carry for the rest of your existence. I had to constantly justify my identity, explain how I could call myself Italian and be Black. I had to constantly prove to society that I was worth it, that my life was worth something. I had to prove that I was confident, clever and talented. My whole life was a constant performance and it was undoubtedly, very tiring. But as a Black woman in a white man’s world, I couldn't have it any other way. I loved growing up in Italy and I love my country, but it was definitely draining living like this every day.  

And so, I ran to my favourite place in the whole wide world: the church. My dad is a Reverend Pastor and I loved going to the “office” (his workplace obviously) with him. The best times were the weekdays afternoons when there was no one around. He will be in his office and I will be in the auditorium, in quietness, alone. But I was never alone because Emmanuel, God with us, was ALWAYS with me. Tears fall down my face as I remember those moments with Him. The best moments of my life. In those moments I could FULLY BREATHE: I didn't have to perform; I didn't have to prove anything to anyone. I could just be myself and not be judged. I could just be Anna and be completely at peace with that because the lover of my soul loved me for who I was. I wasn’t Anna the Black girl, Anna the athlete, Anna the singer or Anna the tough girl. I was just Anna and that was enough. My secret garden, the place where I'll have appointments with God was His house and there, we grew closer and closer each day.  

When I moved to the UK for university, I was excited to start this adventure and I wasn’t disappointed. Although tough, they were definitely some of the best years of my life. The church I found was amazing: the pastors were South Africans and they made me feel right at home. Then for work, I moved to a new city and that meant finding a new secret garden, a new place I could call home and I found it. I indeed found it.  

Initially, it was all amazing cos it was so modern, flashy and big. My home church was a small African church similar in size to the university church but this one was so different. There were flashing lights during the service, so many instruments on the stage and it was so much more glamour and cooler. I was enchanted and although I felt lost at the start, I had a good feeling about it, so I kept going. It was amazing and I have met some of my best friends there but it was also absolutely heart-breaking. A dream and a nightmare at the same time.  

The first major shock was when one of the pastors decided to illustrate his point on bad customer service during his preach using a fictional character he named Shaniqua. And to the amazement of all the Black girls in the hall, he proceeded to act out all the typical stereotypes of Black girls as depicted in the media. Mortified doesn't cut it to describe how we all felt that evening service. I couldn’t believe that this was happening in the house of God, MY Father’s house. And the worst thing is that everyone was laughing. Laughing at the caricature of Black girls was funny. I was appalled. From there onwards, it only got worse. In the house of God, I understood that Black women were not attractive, that men there would never date us because we were not their type and the beauty and desirability of white women was promoted on and off the pulpit. Black women would be called out for trying too hard on a Sunday, for laughing too loud or for always sticking together and not mixing up. And if we DARED speak our minds, we’d be labelled as aggressive or angry followed by the advice to lighten up. There was no escape. I would by no means say I was perfect but I was never given the total freedom to learn, make mistakes and be corrected in love to promote the growth I so much desired. There was no room for that. There was no room for me. 

I was so hurt and shook by these discoveries I didn't know what to do. Disillusionment had dawned on me: my safe haven, the place where me and God would meet, was gone. For the first time in my life, I had limited access in His house and was never allowed to join certain teams and was dismissed with “go and pray and see if this is where the Lord REALLY wants you”. I was told I was too difficult to handle and just like a problematic child, I could not be placed on a platform. Gospel music was deemed as not child friendly and my ambitions not fit for a woman of God as I am called to submit and sacrifice to support the man God placed in my life. Without realizing, I was experiencing, what has been defined as church hurt. I was bleeding internally every day and I didn't know how to make it stop. The same people who are supposed to be the representatives of God were the same people who cut me open in a way the world outside never did. I knew I had to leave and go somewhere else but I couldn't because despite all the hurt it caused me, it was still Gods house and therefore worthy of my love. But I'm only human. Eventually, the cord uniting me to the church snapped: I said my goodbyes and came back home.  

George Floyd’s death has created an uproar that has also swept over the church and has caused them to wake up, realise their mistakes and acknowledge the part it has played in perpetuating racism in the church. The foul experiences that me and my Black sisters have faced in the four walls of the house of God are uncountable and for the longest time I could not forgive this place for taking my safe haven away from me. The only place where I could be myself and find rest from the world had become even worse than the world itself. Forgiveness was not in my diary and I didn’t plan to meet with her anytime soon. But I am not perfect and if I say I deserve love then I have to learn to forgive because love and forgiveness come hand in hand. And I forgive them, because in the words of Jesus himself “Forgive them for they don't know what they’re doing”. 

Black Lives Matter is not a trend destined to die the moment something more interesting comes on. It’s human lives, our lives and we matter to God. And if we matter to Him, then we should matter to His people, the church. If you know you have hurt Black women in His house with unnecessary jokes or hurtful comments, I pray you repent and not only ask God for forgiveness but also go to the people YOU KNOW you have offended. Apologise to them and initiate the reconciliation you so passionately shout about and claim to desire. 

It’s been a tough journey I wish I didn’t have to take, but through it all, He still remains a God of love. Love is the reason I am here today and love is the reason I can still say despite everything that “the one thing I ask of the LORD— the thing I seek most— is to live in the house of the LORD all the days of my life”. HE will forever be my safe haven because NOTHING will ever separate me from His love.

Keep going,

Anna Noelani