Anne Snyder: From Comment Magazine, welcome to The Understory, where the future quietly takes root. I’m Anne Snyder.
On our second morning, we turn to one of the deepest questions beneath the whole festival: what does it mean to be human? I asked Dr. Anika Prather to lead us into it. Anika is a scholar, classical educator, author, and founder whose work has helped recover the Black classical tradition — not as a niche heritage, but as part of the great human conversation about freedom, dignity, suffering, beauty, and the soul. She has taught at Howard University, written on African American students and the great books, co-authored The Black Intellectual Tradition with Comment contributing editor Angel Adams Parham, and built educational spaces where the classics become a means of healing, belonging, and shared humanity.
In this offering, Anika comes to us as teacher, preacher, and historian. She begins with Elijah’s mantle, then turns to the unfinished work President Abraham Lincoln left behind — the still-interrupted work of repentance, repair, education, protection, and restored citizenship after slavery. And then she asks what mantle now falls to us. This is not a talk about history as something safely behind us. It is a summons to continue the work of healing and unity through our schools, our churches, our neighbourhoods, and the way we learn to see one another as fully human.
Recorded in the main nave at the Understory Festival on Friday morning, May 29th, here is Dr. Anika Prather.
Dr. Anika Prather: I have been on this journey since I was a little girl of trying to figure out: God, how do I show your love for everyone in this world? Even as I sometimes don’t feel loved. Sometimes we can go on that journey all the while suppressing our own struggles.
As a little girl, my parents made the decision to enrol my brother and me in predominantly European American Christian schools. And my brother and I went through a great deal of racism. I remember it affecting me tremendously. And it affected me so much that — I had really long hair — and in third grade, I said: cut it off. Now, everyone was a little confused. Like, why would you want to cut all your beautiful hair off? And I said, I want an Afro. I want to go to school with an Afro. And I want all of those people to love me as I am. But not to be militant — because I’m going to still love everybody. But you’re going to love me for who I am.
Fast forward to a few years ago: a classmate of mine from back then found me on Facebook. And she says to me, you know what my greatest memory of you is? I was like, what, girl? She said, you used to have these slumber parties. And all the other brown girls, when they had slumber parties, they only invited the other brown girls. But your slumber parties — you said everybody in this classroom is invited. I forgot that memory. She said, and that taught me something as a little girl.
And when she said that to me, I said, okay, God, I guess I’ve been on this journey for a minute. It’s something he’s planted in my heart. And sometimes I’ve gotten it wrong. Sometimes the frustration of my existence makes me get it wrong. And I had one of those nights where I was laying in my bed and I was talking to God, and I was saying, Lord, I get frustrated when I think about the tensions of the day, and even some things I go through in my own life. But why is it that I don’t agree with everything I’m hearing? And I heard a still small voice say to me, as I lay there: because love keeps no record of wrongs.
I said, okay, God, I hear you. So how am I supposed to do this? And as I’ve been going on this journey of trying to ask God how I’m supposed to do this, a metaphor has been forming in my mind as I find inspiration in the word of God. But before I tell you what it is and what Bible story it connects to, I’m going to share a couple of examples of others who look like me, who also had this revelation that everyone might be getting it wrong — and the cost they had to pay for standing up and saying, no, this is the way we are to love everyone as God loves us unconditionally.
Martin Luther King — he tells a story that as a little boy, watching his father being told he couldn’t go in certain stores or ride in certain parts of the bus, how frustrated he used to get, how unfair it was. But instead of turning to anger and bitterness, he chose beloved community where everyone was welcome. He chose nonviolence. He chose loving unconditionally. And he made this choice even as his own community rejected that choice towards the end of his life. As a people, we got so frustrated that this nonviolence just isn’t working. And I’ll tell you something my father always says to me. He says, if it wasn’t working, then who has a holiday? And who has a holiday that literally everyone celebrates? I said, Daddy, you better preach. And he is a preacher.
And that was my first example. Martin Luther King stood firm to his dying day on nonviolence and unconditional love and beloved community. If you haven’t already — I just want to take a short commercial, and I get no money from this — you’ve got to read My Life, My Love, My Legacy. It is Coretta Scott King’s autobiography, written after she passed, from an interview she gave. It’s amazing because she talks about his commitment to nonviolence, his commitment to beloved community, and the depression he felt and the rejection he felt because so many people disagreed with him.
Another example is Malcolm X. I just finished my book, Human Tapestries, in which each chapter tells the story of an African or African American who read the classical tradition and how it changed their life. And when I worked on the chapter about Malcolm X — because he surprisingly loved classics, was inspired by Greek mythology, taught himself Latin when he was in prison — the story goes on: he began to transition. He transitioned later than Martin Luther King. Martin Luther King was changing and evolving as a little boy, all the way up to his passing. But Malcolm X spent most of his adult life angry. In fact, before he became Malcolm X — when he was Malcolm Little and went to jail for crime, before he was converted to Islam — they called him Satan. He was that angry. His nickname in jail, given by the other prisoners, was Satan.
And so as you read his autobiography, most people stop at the first part. We see him there with the machine gun — by any means necessary — and we think, yes, that’s the way we’re supposed to do it. But I don’t think most people have read the second half of the book. And he actually says in the second half, yes, I’ve written that whole story about the names I used to call people who were racist against me, and the anger I held, and I thought it was my job to defend my people by any means necessary. And he gave examples of times where he was unkind to people, even those who were like, how can I help? And he would look at them coldly and say, nothing.
But at the end of the book, he says, I want to be known for the second part of my autobiography. Number one, he apologized to the person who came to him asking how they could help, and he said nothing. He said, I wish I could find you and say I’m sorry. He apologized for calling people devils. He apologized for labeling every white person racist. And he talked about his trip to Mecca and how he felt one — because he saw blue-eyed Muslims, chocolate Muslims, all types of Muslims from all over the world, and they all looked different but shared one faith. He wants to be known for the end of the book. He spent the last years of his life trying to change the violent persona that had been created about him. And Malcolm X, by taking that stance, denouncing the Nation of Islam and claiming that — yes, I still follow Allah, but I believe in loving my human brothers and sisters, and pursuing another way to bring about healing to our nation — and sadly, his life was taken by someone who looked like him. And one of the reasons given, amongst other reasons and other conspiracies that we’ve heard around this, was clear: he wasn’t militant enough.
So as a Black woman who is not trying to deny that racism exists and acknowledges that healing still needs to happen — America has always been on this journey to heal. I know there’s another way. And when I talk to God, I feel like he’s shown me how, through these examples I’ve shared with you and more. But there’s one man who has really touched me, and I want to share his story with you. And I want to encourage you, as I’m talking, to ask yourself: how can I take up the mantle?
When Elijah, the great prophet who did amazing miracles in the Bible, was just about to leave — Elisha, who was kind of like his understudy, because he was saying, I want to do what you’re doing — Elijah said: if you get my mantle, and if you see me leave, you can carry on my work in the same power that I have.
And then I think about my ancestors who used to sing Swing Low, Sweet Chariot. It’s based on the story of Elijah. When my ancestors dreamed that one day God would carry them home — but what is home? When we think of what the Bible says, as we think about the early church, home is not where everybody looks the same. Home is where we are one based on what’s in here — our love for one another. And when Elijah went up in that beautiful fiery chariot, his mantle fell to the ground. And what did Elisha do? He picked it up and used it to do the work of God.
We have modern-day Elijahs. And we are called to be Elisha. We have a mantle to pick up.
I want to encourage you to take up Abraham Lincoln’s mantle. There are so many people who, when I talk about Abraham Lincoln, say: oh, well, he said if he could fix America without freeing the slaves, he would. And I always just look at them like, poor child — you need to read, please.
If you read all of his different speeches, you can follow how he was evolving. I think he’s a very tragic story, a very sad story. When I wrote his story for my book, I was in tears, because his life was taken as he was evolving. He didn’t get a chance to finish the work — but we can. And so when people say that to me, I just listen and I say, yeah, he said that early in his political career. But at his last speech, days before he died, he talked about God’s judgment on America for what had been done to Black people. He talked about his plan to do this work, to heal our nation, to truly make us the United States — which involved all people being treated equally. And he was evolving. He still had some blind spots, because he’s kind of like this diamond in the rough — he was just getting started. But he came to understand that what America had been doing was wrong, and he spoke of that.
And he said — basically, I’m giving my own dramatic interpretation — he said: I might not know everything I’m doing, but I’m doing something. And the Freedmen’s Bureau is an example of that. It was a little messy. But he started this organization called the Freedmen’s Bureau, and the purpose was to give health care, legal support, financial support, land, education — everything the newly freed people needed to become citizens in America. He started that.
Now, let me say this. The Freedmen’s Bureau — watch this, it’s really sad. The Freedmen’s Bureau started on March 3rd, 1865. He believed that the emancipated people should be treated like human beings. He had developed a really close friendship with Frederick Douglass — Frederick Douglass was consulting with him during the Civil War. They were close, argued sometimes, but also close. At his second inauguration, he invited Frederick Douglass. At the end of his speech, he called out for Frederick Douglass, because people would not let Frederick Douglass in. And he yells for him: Frederick Douglass! Frederick, did you like my speech? You know how much your opinion matters to me. This is our president, talking to a freed Black man who had to free himself. And he’s saying, I want you to come here and I want to honour you and introduce you to my friends, because we are equally human.
He was just getting started. He gives his second inaugural address on March 4th — the Freedmen’s Bureau is March 3rd, the inaugural address is March 4th. And then he gives a final speech soon after, I think right after the Civil War was officially ending, and he talks about more of the change he wants to come to America. And John Wilkes Booth is in the audience. And John Wilkes Booth sees and hears that speech and says, that’s the last speech he will give.
This is all happening within a month. Freedmen’s Bureau, second inaugural address, last speech. The Civil War ends on April 9th. On April 14th, John Wilkes Booth takes his life. In one month, Abraham Lincoln set legislation in place — everything in place — for us to heal. And then his life was taken. But he’s left behind a mantle.
Andrew Johnson decided not to take up that mantle. He tried to take America back to where it used to be. He brought in Jim Crow. He removed the soldiers that had been sent to protect people in the South who were trying to become free. He set us on the course that we are actually still on today. But we can take up that mantle. We can continue the work.
If we know history, if we know the stories, if we know what the intention is, if we truly believe — different socioeconomic status, different faith, different everything — but we are the United States of America. We are E Pluribus Unum, and Abraham Lincoln understood that. But some of us act like we don’t understand that. I’m speaking for my community and everybody’s community. I just feel like everyone is getting it wrong.
The biggest epiphany came for me when I had to do a research project at Johns Hopkins. I had to research how Latino stories are told in high school public schools in America, and I just researched curricula literally north, south, east, west, Midwest, everywhere. It was the most stressful project. But one thing I came away with: we don’t — wait a minute. I’m busy talking about they don’t talk about Black history enough, the Latinos are communicating we don’t think our story is told enough — everyone is fighting to centre their own story. But Abraham Lincoln believed, when you think about the work he was trying to do, that we need to centre humanity — that everyone is equal, everyone’s voice is heard, everyone is made in the image of God. That’s one thing he says in some of his speeches: we’re all one, we’re all children of God, we’re all human brothers and sisters. As Maya Angelou says, we are all part of the human family. All of us.
And so — how can you take up the mantle? What can you do? For me, I can’t speak for you; there are too many of y’all. For me, I have a passion for classics and classical education being used as a way to build literacy in African American communities. But in my research, there is a thread where the classical tradition is often at the root of those works that were meant to bring people together. And so I have a mission of showing how the classical tradition — because all of our ancestors have been inspired by it — can be that. Moses had a rod, a tool he used to lead the children of Israel to freedom. My rod is the classical tradition, because historically it has been used to bring people together, to bring us together. What is yours? How are you going to pick up the mantle?
It doesn’t have to be a big movement with billions and millions of dollars. Maybe it’s just — I have a friend who just opens up her porch in her neighbourhood for anyone who’s welcome. What is it? How are you going to take up the mantle? What is going to be your rod?
Is it on your job? Do you notice that there’s someone on your job who is kind of isolated because they’re a little different than everybody else — are you going to say, come here, can we have lunch together? What about your church? Is there a family there that doesn’t quite fit the culture of your church, but they keep coming because that word keeps going forth? Are you going to invite them to dinner in your house? Are you going to do what my mommy and daddy let me do, and invite everybody’s daughter into your house for a slumber party? And I remember my friends in school saying, why are you inviting her? Because Jesus loves her. Hello?
Are you going to do it through education as a teacher? Is there a student in your class you can tell is not fitting in, is being mistreated because of their religion or their ethnicity, or their orientation? How are you going to pick up the mantle? And you can do this without denying what you believe. Because if we think about Jesus — and that’s really what it’s about — how he loved everyone: when they wanted to stone the adulterous woman, what did he say? Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. And he didn’t micromanage whether she stopped committing adultery. He suggested she might want to stop. But he left her alone, and he showed her grace, he showed her love.
When you think about all the disciples who followed him — a tax collector? How did Matthew become a disciple? How did Mary Magdalene, who was filled with demons, become a disciple of Jesus? How did those funky fishermen become disciples?
When I think about the birth of Jesus — see, everything about Jesus’ life was showing: I will draw all men to me. And if God’s light is in us, that’s the spirit we need to have. At his birth, the first people he called were the shepherds. They were the outcasts. But then he also called some people way from the east — a diverse group of people surrounded that baby and that toddler when he grew up. And it’s always, I will draw all men to me. And if that light is in us, we should be saying, through how we relate to people: I will draw all people to this light of God that’s in me, that chose to die for the whole world. If we are not showing that, then what are we doing?
Think about your mantle. Think about the tools you have in your hand right where you are. You don’t have to have billions of dollars and be a famous person to make a difference. You could do it in your neighbourhood, your church, your child’s classroom — wherever you are.
Let’s continue. Let’s end the work of Andrew Johnson, who left the mantle on the ground when Abraham Lincoln was slain. Let’s pick up the mantle and come together. Let us break bread together on our knees. Let us break bread together. Fall on my knees. It takes humility. Jesus died a humbling death to love all of us. Part of picking up that mantle is understanding that we have to continue the work of being like the Good Samaritan — loving those who may not seem worthy, loving everyone as God loves us.
So let’s pick up that mantle and continue the work of Abraham Lincoln, and all of those who understood who we are. Thank you.
