Bee A Menace

I think the Death Angel is drunk. Or perhaps his list has been mangled, and that sheet of paper is hard to read, and he’s working from memory. Because there’s no way the people getting out of here are supposed to go. I’m not good with death because I struggle to make sense of it. 

A classmate from seminary, Kristen E. Guest. 

Rev. James Lawson. 

Louis Gossett Jr. 

Faith Ringgold. 

Bernice Johnson Reagon, civil rights music historian and founding member of Sweet Honey in the Rock.

In their song “ Good News,”  we hear,

“It’s good news,when you reject things as they are. When you lay down the world as it is. And you take on the responsibility of shaping your own way. That’s good news.” She says “they don’t say  good times, they say good news. It’s hard times when you decide to pick up your own cross. You gon catch hell if you don’t do it the way they say to do it.” 

Memorialized in NPR, Dr. Johnson Reagon was quoted in this way.

“If you grow up in a black family, the best badge you can have is that you never got into trouble with the law…When you're in the civil rights movement, that's the first time you establish yourself in a relationship that's pretty close to the same relationship that used to get the Christians thrown in the lion's den. And so, for the first time, those old songs you understand in a way that nobody could ever teach you."

Dr. Bernice Johnson Reagon had a knack for arranging and composing. She was so deeply intertwined with what-makes-for-freedom that she could hear what the crowds needed to hear. But she was also good at expanding the freedom songs so that everyone committed to the principle could find themselves in it. Because yea, some of our songs use the word “Jesus,” but we also live in a society where not everyone is Christian. Thank God. I’m so glad not everyone is Christian. What a bland (and if we can imagine it, maybe even more violent) world that would be. 

She’d edit words like “Jesus” to freedom. So all of us can have something to sing and that song can be true in each of our voice boxes. 

In college, someone wrote something racist on my white board. It was the latest in a string of targeted attacks on Black students. We decided to host a protest on campus and everyone could make their sign. We sat in the cafeteria, on the quad, in classrooms.all over campus. Before I headed to the protest I needed to fortify myself. 

So on my iPod classic, I put Sweet Honey In The Rock’s  “Ella’s Song” on repeat. 

“I’m a woman who speaks in a voice and I must be heard. At times, I can be quite difficult, I bow to no man’s word.”

Confession: Everyone who has ever dated me can testify that I internalized that truth. I’m sorry, but I’m not sorry. 

In my room at the Farm, there is a door that leads to a balcony. I’m a city girl so I thought it was so very cute that I had a balcony. So I called myself opening the door and immediately I realized that was a bad idea. There was a wasp nest in the corner of the door frame. A wasp buzzed into the room, as if to say, “girl stay your hind parts inside!” And it buzzed right on out and I closed the door. And I locked it, for good measure. 

I don’t really care for wasps. I love bees though. Bees get a bad rap. They do not sting as often as wasps do. In fact, most times someone IS stung, they are often stung by wasps. We blame the bees for the things wasps did. I know what it’s like to be blamed for somebody else’s sting. 

When bees do sting, they have to make a judgment. They’re not a naturally aggressive species. But they will sting if they sense danger. Their main job is to protect the hive. When a sting is made, the stinger injects a precise cocktail of chemicals to irritate the perceived predator. The reason we itch when we get stung is because the venom is designed to irritate us on a cellular level. It’s not just the piercing of the skin— it’s the venom. 

Some species of bees die after stinging. They make a judgment about their choice to fight.  They decide “baby it’s you or it’s me. But it ain’t gon be both.” They go out fighting. They are not unusually violent or savage when left alone. It is their love for the hive which serves as the fuel for their decision making. The survival of the hive depends on each bee’s willingness to fend off any threat. 

I hope you will each live for many more years. I hope you will live full lives and beautiful lives. The kinds of lives where you can sit on the porch and smile with God and giggle about all the stuff you did. 

But before the Death Angel makes his way to your doorstep, let out a sting. 

Be a menace. Be an irritant. 

When you show up, may everyone let out a collective sigh because they know you gon’ ask some questions. Be so annoying that when you raise your hand in the Zoom, the group knows you’re about to ask “why are we spending our money this way when our commitments are towards something else?” May centrist weirdos and unprincipled losers feel their heart drop any time your face is on a flyer, and may every charlatan feel the “jig is up” any time you write. May your words be precise and clear. 

We are only promised so many years on this earth. But before we let go, please. Be a menace. Be precise with your Venom. Protect the hive.

If you’re doing it right, you won’t be the only one. Buzz Buzz.