Jonathan Kozol's 1995 book, Amazing Grace: The Lives of Children and the Conscience of a Nation describes the South Bronx, where many current Shiloh kids now grew up or are growing up. He describes the conditions there as painful stressors which no one should have to endure. He cites unequal educational systems throughout the country as a significant factor in the persistence of the urban ghetto, and he implicates white America for not using its societal power to change the way that system continues.
It's hard for me to choose the right words as I write about these places, the homes of these kids I talked to. I have spent very little time in East New York, Brownsville, the South Bronx, and other places like them. I've done some reading and interviewing, but still I feel ignorant of the full realities and their causes. I do know that many people I talked to witnessed or were victims of different kinds of violence. I think it's safe to say that violence has affected just about everyone who has been in those neighborhoods in some way, no matter what their color or place of origin. I know there are drugs and gangs and death there, and there are kids who just want to hurry home from school and lock their doors behind them to protect themselves from scary things. And there are kids who want to go to school and succeed and not be urban statistics. I know there was a lot of racism at the creation and subsequent isolation of these places, racism that is perhaps less overt now but has, I suppose, just been crystalized into our national fabric--you go one way, I'll go another, and never the opportunities shall meet you.
I'm not a psychologist, sociologist, nor a theologian--I read and then I listen to people tell their stories, hopefully with empathy and forethought. Most of the people I have talked to in this project are joyful and interesting, no matter which side of the "Shiloh staffer/Shiloh kid" spectrum they fall on (these days it is more of a spectrum, not a strict divide, although the organization is aware that it is not a balanced line). My questions are not probing on the topic, but still it's interesting in an interview to ask about who God is. Among other things, I hear that Jesus is black, God has no color, God is like everything all at once. Somehow I see those statements as good signs when I think about places like East New York, Brownsville, and the South Bronx. I am glad there are places where God can show up and not look exactly like me and my God who does things in Tennessee, and I'm glad a Shiloh kid's God and a Shiloh staffer's God can be different and still be the same God.
In a few days I am heading off on a whirlwind trip to Texas to do about fifteen interviews of former Shiloh workers and friends from a variety of eras in Shiloh's history. I know I'll ask questions about the story of what happened at Shiloh. But I'm also interested in some measure to at least think about, What does God look like in Texas? Does living in Texas now shape your memories of New York and New Jersey back then? And how does being from Tennessee and being in my skin shape the very questions I ask?
I have a lot of things I wonder about--these and more--that I can't completely answer as I go through this project. But as I hold the stories in my hands and think about them, considering the complexity is intentional. If those of you reading this have Shiloh memories, what are the complexities associated with your memories? Can more than one answer exist for the questions you have?
Both from The Gospel According to the Children at Shiloh, 1973.
