Book Review: I’m Black. I’m Christian. I’m Methodist

Tori C. Butler is Black. She’s Young. She is a Woman. And She’s Grieved. This is the title to her chapter in a book edited by Rudy Rasmus called I’m Black: I’m Christian. I am Methodist. Rev. Butler begins her reflection using the visual of a symbol of grief that sits on her desk – a stained-glass cross. While to others, it may appear to be a work of art, for Rev. Butler, it is a reminder that she graduated from a seminary where racial discrimination was evident to her as one of the only Black students in the classroom. It also represents the tension between her call to ministry and the “stained glass brick ceiling” that existed for her “because [she] dared to be young, gifted, Black and a woman” (16). 

Rev. Butler is a young clergywoman, and not all those who contributed to the book are, but in reading the book I’m Black: I’m Christian. I am Methodist, the next sentence I kept hearing was, “I stayed.” Reading the ten reflections, which range across different locations and experiences, I found that each told the story of how and why they could have left The United Methodist Church and yet they made the intentional decision to stay. 

I, too, am a United Methodist, but I am a young, white clergywoman serving in the central area of Pennsylvania. Though Rev. Butler’s story resonated with me, I have privilege that comes with being white in a denomination that is overwhelmingly white. 

Rev. Butler’s honest exploration of the experience of being Black and female in the United States of America, particularly in the church as an ordained leader, reflected the similarities and differences between her experience of serving the local church and mine. For example, Rev. Butler recalls seeing four Black clergywomen serving her home congregation through the years as senior pastors – yet all had to fight for congregational respect. I only had one female senior pastor in my home congregation, who served for over a decade, yet her experience seemed so different from what Rev. Butler writes about. 

Further, Rev. Butler recalls her experience as the first Black pastor in a church who was not ready for a cross-racial appointment. As a result, she experienced microaggressions, from how she was referred to as a pastoral leader to racist emails and beyond. Rev. Butler notes, “I served communion to people who would never welcome me at their table” (24). This experience, coupled with others in pastoral ministry, has led Rev. Butler to the ancient Jewish practice of lament, which has allowed her to find freedom in telling her story. 

I have yet to meet a young clergywoman who does not have a story to tell. However, not all stories are Rev. Butler’s, which is precisely why we need her honesty—to shake us loose from our privilege and wrestle with how to stand beside our clergy sisters in a way that acknowledges their grief and witnesses their freedom. And that is hard work. 

This is perhaps the reminder of I’m Black: I’m Christian. I’m Methodist. In an overwhelmingly white denomination, we need to do the hard work of asking why and what’s next. Sometimes, the stories of pain, betrayal, and prophetic witness are challenging to read. Yet, I need to be made uncomfortable and ask myself why and what is next. I need to be challenged out of my comfort zone, especially at this time. While released in 2020 at the height of COVID and Black Lives Matter protests, the words ring just as accurately today in 2025. So what is our why and what is next for us, in this time and place, to not just stand in solidarity but lament and bear witness together?