Y’all know how it is…sometimes you just get so wound up you have to go to preach at a graveyard after midnight! Perfectly normal behavior. My soul was seriously so agitated and electrified by the witness of Justin Jones & Justin Pearson last night, I got dressed and preached a Good Friday sermon to a captive audience at Brick Chapel Cemetery. If y’all don’t amen me, the owls and wild dogs already did.

I’m not trying to do something gimmicky or clever. Where I come from when you hear good preaching, you stand up and let the preacher know they are blessing you. Yesterday we all got to bear witness. I don’t claim to be a great preacher, but I know it when I hear it.

Bonus: on the road to Emmaus, the not yet revealed resurrected One explained how his death fit into “what the prophets had spoken.” I know we have a crisis of authority, where many of you don’t know who to believe/what voices to trust. My philosophy here is simple: I listen to the what the prophets have spoken. I’m not listening to the pundits. I’m not listening to the commentators. I’m listening to the prophets.

Hear me out: America has one primary prophetic tradition that has consistently provided a counter witness capable of transforming culture. I’m not saying it’s the only one. It’s the primary one-one that continues to speak a word that can wake the dead. It starts with “black” and ends with “church.” I’m not interested in philosophy lectures from Jordan Peterson when the strategist who shaped MLK Rev. Jim Lawson is still alive. I’m not interested in following that rabbit hole of videos out of morbid curiosity so long as there’s a Cornel West talk or @otismossiii sermon I haven’t heard. I wish 60 Minutes spent more time on Fannie Lou Hamer than Marjorie Taylor Greene.

I know the sound of God when I hear it, and I listen when I hear that sound. I’ve heard your guy, and they didn’t speak a word that made dry bones dance. The difference between these prophets and the others is that when they all show up on Mt. Carmel and they cry out—fire falls.