The Blindspot: A Liberation Theology for Music and Faith

By Cam Noir

The whitewashing of music in choirs is something I have witnessed since I was a child. How we tend to sing and partake in music by white men and not people of color. But when we do sing music by people of color there is this surprise ambiance. Like "surprise, we are singing this beautiful song created by a person of color who...", it is more normalized and redundant that choirs whether in church, community, or prestigious, are to sing certain songs because they are close to a specific moment within the churches existence, but considering that moments in churches insurrection and spreading is rooted in marginalized suffering, the point I am considering and exploring is the idea of how systemic biases and historical patterns in music and choir traditions can reflect larger issues of exclusion and inequity, particularly around race. The tendency to center white composers and compositions in choir repertoires, while marginalizing or tokenizing music by people of color, raises important questions about representation, respect, and the acknowledgment of cultural contributions.

This isn't a piece about the whole "what about us or me", this is an important liturgical argument that extends beyond a "what now" moment in this study of tradition and justice. Furthermore, this study extends to the role of women in the church, society, and Christian musical tradition. Is there a fear of addressing pressing questions and issues of race, gender, sex, and society? Marginalization is the existence of racial bias within the various moving parts of society. Marginalization is a historical phenomenon that has continued to plunge people of color into a background character.

In the realm of choral and liturgical music, this marginalization manifests in the overwhelming preference for Eurocentric traditions, often at the expense of music composed by people of color and women. This exclusion perpetuates a narrow view of what is "sacred," what is "worthy," and whose voices are considered integral to the faith narrative. If your faith narrative is contrived from the existence of a Eurocetric God, then we have distorted the very essence of the Gospel, which proclaims the universality of God's love and the inherent dignity of all people.

Furthermore, I find it interesting how segregation sortof finds its way into everyday life. It is something so automatic, so deeply ingrained in societal systems and norms, that it has become almost second nature—not just in the spaces we occupy but in the ways black and brown bodies navigate those spaces. In the realm of music, this automatic segregation becomes evident in how black and brown artists and composers are treated. Their contributions are often confined to "special" contexts—Black History Month, Hispanic Heritage Month, or other tokenized celebrations—rather than being integrated into the mainstream fabric of cultural and liturgical traditions. Similarly, in choir and church settings, black and brown bodies may find themselves relegated to the margins, either in repertoire choices or in leadership roles, reflecting a broader societal pattern.

As a black individual this is something that has peaked my ears. I love hymns and liturgical songs, but it lacks the existence of consistent diversity. You shouldn't narrow the diversity of the church to PRIDE month, Black History Month, Hispanic Heritage month, AAPI. This becomes tokenism, fleeting optimism and inclusion that becomes only a glimpse. The church, is global, multiethnic, multilingual, and multigenerational. What would it look like if the church embraced diversity consistently, not as an event but as a practice? What would happen to the church when we place Jesus and God in the framework of a person of color, because Jesus and God are? Also, could this argument easily be turned into a, well if people of color want a diety that looks like them, then why can't we, (eurocentric) people, have one that looks like us? But, if that becomes a possible argument then we can see it from the point of where Jesus is from. Since God is an uncreated creator, the one who just is, God wouldn't really have a racial or ethnic background, but Jesus we know is from Bethlehem a city in Palestine. That makes Jesus Palestinian and Jewish. Which, to be religious and not for a free Palestine, is twisted.

Furthermore, to be a Donald Trump supporter and believe in Jesus, is twisted. If Jesus were a part of society today,  Jesus would be racially profiled. To believe in Jesus is to believe in marginalized existence and liberation, something Donald Trump does not.

When we acknowledge Jesus’s background, it reshapes how we approach faith and justice. It challenges us to ask: What does it mean to follow a savior who was part of a marginalized group? Who lived under occupation? Who was, by today’s standards, a person of color? Some might counter this argument by saying, "If people of color want a deity that looks like them, why can’t we, as Eurocentric people, have one that looks like us?" But this misses the point. If we are to base our understanding of Jesus on historical evidence, we must confront the reality of their birthplace and who Jesus was. Jesus’s ethnicity was not Eurocentric; it was Middle Eastern. To ignore this is to perpetuate a theology that centers whiteness at the expense of truth. Furthermore, in the end, to believe that Jesus was anything but a person of color deserves some deep introspection.

Moreover, this historical and cultural context has profound implications for how we live out our faith. If Jesus were alive today, Jesus would likely be racially profiled. To believe in Jesus is to believe in the experience of marginalized existence and the call for liberation. It is to align oneself with the oppressed, the overlooked, the scapegoated. This alignment is incompatible with systems of oppression and supremacy. It is twisted to claim allegiance to Jesus while denying the rights of a free Palestine, of a free queer community, of a free Congo, etc., or to support leaders and policies that perpetuate oppression. To do so is to betray the very essence of the Gospel.

The church must reckon with these truths. To believe in Jesus is to embrace the messy, radical, liberating reality of life and teachings. It is to fight for justice, not only in word but in action. It is to create spaces where all people—regardless of race, ethnicity, gender, or sexuality—can see themselves reflected in the divine story. Only then can the church live into its calling to be a beacon of hope and liberation for ALL.

There is ALWAYS more to uncover with church history and its run-ins with marginalized suffering. My aim is to reconcile a broken system with marginalized culture and build upon that system to incorporate various theological avenues that complement each other rather than be understood to be "the wrong one". This involves undertaking liberation theology as a focal point to achieving this reconciliation, and as I have mentioned in previous blogs, there are intricacies to this that involve the livelihoods of all marginalized existence.

Consider this term- "Queer Dimensional" a word combination Cam came up with to mean envisioning a realm where the spectrum of possibility expands infinitely, inviting all to explore the vibrant human experience without constraints.

Peace.