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The Bible and Ethics is an emotional class for me to teach, and it is often an emotional class for my students to take. In most other classes that I teach, I try to put brackets around our conversations, like bumpers for novice bowlers. I encourage students to stay in the text of the Bible or in the world of its composition: “Okay, but where to you find that idea in the passage you just read?” I’ll ask repeatedly. Or: “That sounds like a pretty modern idea. Can you find evidence in the text that our ancient authors would have understood that concept?”But in my class The Bible and Ethics the conversation zigs and zags between ancient worlds and more modern ones. We’ll spend an entire class session on how seventeenth-century American Puritans applied the biblical story of Amalek[1] to their own experiences. Or how the 1995 Disney film Pocahontas might shed light on the Bible’s account of Rahab.[2] The Bible and Ethics class is about what biblical laws and stories meant in their ancient contexts. But it’s also about what these passages do: both the actions they have inspired in others as well as the – sometimes predictable, sometimes surprising – attitudes they generate within us. In that respect, this class often gets personal, even emotional. We shudder together at Cotton Mather’s 1689 sermon[3]that urges his listeners to beat Native Americans “small as the Dust,” just like the Israelites annihilated the Amalekites. Students prickle at Lori Rowlett’s suggestion that Rahab can be read as a colonizer’s dream girl,[4] all too eager to capitulate to invaders. “I talked to my mom about this story” – one student told me after class – “and we both agreed that Rahab is brave. Besides, what other choice did she have?” She flushed a little. I did too, weighing whether to simply affirm this student’s complaint or to rearticulate the Rahab-as-colonial-fantasy argument. In the end, I tried to do both.In Part 1 of this series,[5] I explained the invitation I issue in this class for students to read biblical texts through the eyes of marginal characters. I define marginal characters as individuals that experience violence or are otherwise silenced; or those who are represented as “other” by virtue of their perceived ethnic difference, for example. During the course of the semester, we read examples[6] of scholars – ancient and modern; religiously devout and not – who have done this kind of work. I then give students the opportunity to try their hand at this kind of biblical rewriting. The idea, again, is to expand our consideration of who is human and who deserves our attention. I tell my students that, at its heart, this is an exercise all about paying attention: both to the surprising details the text itself may yield about this overlooked character and also to what you experience in the act of rewriting this account. Paying attention both to the Bible and to your own of experience retelling its story, I tell them, will offer you crucial information.Here are the directions I give students for this assignment: Select a story we have discussed in our class. Within that story, choose a character that sits on the margins of this story, by dint of the violence inflicted upon them or because of their perceived outsider status.Each rewriting should be between 400-500 words and should consciously inhabit the perspective or direct its narrative gaze on a marginalized character. (This doesn’t mean you have to adopt that character’s first-person perspective although you may choose to do that).Each rewriting should be a contextually-conscious and detailed reworking of the biblical text it is based on. That means that it needs to be footnoted, clearly deploying our secondary reading (reading 3-4 references). It should also directly reference the biblical story (4-5 references). Both sets of footnotes should explain how the specific details of the assigned reading have informed your creative reimagining. At the end of the document you must include a brief (300 word) reflection that responds to the following questions: (1) Why did you choose this character? (2) What emotions or features of this character’s experience were you attempting to convey? (3) What made this assignment challenging? (4) What was your major take-away from this assignment? If it changed the way you interpret the passage you selected, explain that. If it did not, explain that too.This assignment tends to bring up big and varied feelings in students. Students often express frustration with the absence of biblical content to go on and the demands this assignment makes on their creativity. Some struggle to present their chosen characters as intelligible. Others have told me that imagining the lives and losses of these figures have made them feel a spectrum of defensiveness, anger, liberation, and sadness. This assignment often reveals something to the student about how they have learned to read the Bible. It showcases the power of both the biblical story and their received lens for interpreting it. At its best, this assignment also gives them sense of how it might feel to read otherwise.   Notes & Bibliography[1] https://www.sefaria.org/Exodus.17.10?lang=en&aliyot=0[2] https://www.sefaria.org/Joshua.2?lang=en[3] https://www.degruyter.com/document/doi/10.9783/9780812204896.53/html[4] https://www.bloomsbury.com/us/culture-entertainment-and-the-bible-9780567228789/[5][6] https://jibs.hcommons.org/2022/11/02/4-2-brownsmith-call-me-by-your-name/

As the National Guard is deployed in Los Angeles, tear gas flows, rubber bullets punish bystanders, and cars burn, I cannot help but think about how undocumented immigration and mass deportations have become racially charged. I hear some people ask, “Who are these people?” Part of the issue is that the words used to describe Latin@s, such as “Hispanic” or even “Latino,” are not racial markers. They are used to describe a vast conglomeration of people who are diverse in and of themselves. The term is as broad as “American” or “European.”For example, I am Honduran-American. My ethnic heritage is Honduran, but even then, two of my four grandparents were from El Salvador. These are two countries that went to war in the “Football [Soccer] War” of 1969. Honduras has enjoyed relative peace, but El Salvador was embroiled in a prolonged Civil War from 1980 until 1992. Even now, there are sharp differences: El Salvador has elected Nayib Bukele, an authoritarian right-wing politician, while Honduras elected Xiomara Castro, a left-wing socialist. I know I may be teasing out fine details, but these countries are different. Yet they are all lumped together under one category that erases nuance: Hispanic.The differences extend further. Honduras and Mexico are distinct in many ways, and Honduras and Argentina even more so. Within Honduras itself, regions differ significantly, and the country is also home to non-Hispanic peoples such as the Garinagu, descendants of escaped African slaves and Carib peoples from Saint Vincent. El Salvador is similar but not the same. Traveling across Central and South America, I have often felt as though I had arrived at “the ends of the earth” (Acts 1:8).Hispanic is a term that primarily refers to someone who speaks Spanish. In Europe, it specifically refers to people from Spain. In Spain, there is the concept of hispanoamérica, which points back to the colonial period. Certainly, we share much common history. Spain influenced our languages, religions, and customs. Yet there are places where this dominance barely penetrated. Even in religion, syncretism with African and Amerindian traditions remains strong. Moreover, many other languages are spoken in Latin America. The term Hispanic does not capture this diversity, nor does it account for the racial intermixing—or mestizaje—that has defined Latin America.This racial intermixing is key to understanding Latin America. Through it, Latin Americans have built their societies and cultures. For example, the DNA test I took displays my own racial ambiguity. Being Hispanic is not a race. As my results show, my genetic makeup is one of miscegenation. In terms of traditional U.S. laws, I am an aberration. Consider Loving v. Virginia, when Richard and Mildred Loving could not legally marry across racial lines. For much of U.S. history, interracial marriage was prohibited. By those outdated laws, many Latin Americans—racially ambiguous by nature—would already have been considered “illegal.”I cannot underscore the importance of this enough. I am simultaneously African, Amerindian, European, Jewish, and Palestinian. When people ask what race I am, I tell them there is only one race—the human race. The differences between human beings are minimal. Some have more pigmentation than others, but we all share similar needs.Culture and ethnicity, which are learned and ingrained, account for much of what differentiates us. This is where living together becomes difficult. For example, in Latin America there are constant jokes about cultural differences. Puerto Rican culture is direct and upfront, and people will tell you plainly what they think. To other cultures, this can seem aggressive. By contrast, Guatemalan culture often avoids eye contact. To outsiders, this can be misread as dishonesty or passivity.Even the way we speak Spanish can offend across cultures. In Honduras, we use a form of Spanish called voseo. Our word for “you” is vos. In Spain, Mexico, and Puerto Rico, however, people use tuteo, where “you” is tú. To someone unfamiliar with vos, it can sound aggressive or belittling. But vos is in fact an ancient and reverential form of Spanish, once used to address people of high status. In Honduras, it has become the informal and intimate way to address someone, carrying a sense of closeness that tú or usted do not.This is the reality of Latin America. Perhaps Latin@s anticipate a future in the United States where miscegenationbecomes the norm. In many ways, this holds promise. We can become a family. We can live and work together to forge a shared future. We are stronger united than divided. Our obsession with Black and White categories could be made more nuanced. At the same time, tensions persist. Yet there is beauty in our African and Amerindian roots. The potential for racial harmony is present. But we must recognize it, claim it, and live into that promise. As one song says, “there is no future in [racial] purity.” Notes & BibliographyJarabe de Palo. “En lo puro no hay futuro.” YouTube, uploaded by Jarabe de Palo, 23 Sept. 2009, www.youtube.com/watch?v=1GoNN7Mxu_U. Accessed 20 June 2025.

Our four-day cohort gathering convened in a mid-town Atlanta hotel. The final session was filled with cheerful goodbyes and promises of continued conversation. After lunch, the participants left for the airport. Wabash Center staff members Rachel Mills, Paul Utterback and I were going home the next day. About 2pm the three of us sat together in one of first floor lounges of the hotel. We were debriefing and making plans for the next event. Without warning the electricity went out. The hotel’s backup generators did not turn on. The sudden darkness of the building, even with afternoon sunlight streaming into the large lobby windows, brought an uneasy feeling. Hotel staff rushed to rescue people trapped in the elevators. Arriving guests were unable to check into rooms. Guests who had been in rooms walked down the stairs and found seats in the lobby and lounges. We, along with the many other guests, were instructed by hotel staff to wait in the hotel bar. We were offered free cocktails and promised that the electricity would soon be restored. By 6pm, still without power, we went to a nearby restaurant for dinner. The restaurant and all the shops in the area had electricity. After lingering for an exceptionally long time in the delicious Indian restaurant, we returned to the hotel feeling confident that given the amount of time that had past that the hotel’s electricity surely would be restored.We entered the hotel lobby through the circular doors, and it felt as if we had gone through a portal into a disaster zone. Without the sunlight streaming through the large glass windows, the hotel lobby was mostly dark. The power loss meant little ventilation. The air was stale and uncomfortable. Flickers of light from cell phones and laptops were sprinkled around the large room. People were sitting on the furniture surrounded by their luggage. People were propped up on the floor along the walls. Everyone looked forlorn. A dank self-pity was heavy in the air. I heard a mother trying to comfort a crying infant. No hotel staff was at the registration desk. Muffled conversations on cell phones and whispered talking in small groups increased the eerie circumstance. A few people sat alone, staring off into space, looking drowsy and angry. The usually active pool table and ping pong table were unoccupied. One man had fallen asleep on the couch and his muffled snoring sounded like choking. We made our way through the crowd and back to the bar area where we had spent several hours in the afternoon. The mood at the bar was equally gloomy.  The bar tender noticed us and waved us over to where he was standing. As if he was passing along a secret, the bartender informed us that power had been restored on floors 6,7, and 8. He asked us where our rooms were. Our rooms were on the 6th floor. The bartender said, “Follow me.”  We obeyed. The bartender guided us through the crowd to a side door of the hotel and out into a small alley. He told us to get in line. We joined a line of people who were going to walk up an outside fire escape to the floors with power. As we started marching up the unlit stairwell, I was nervous. I was unsure if my arthritic knees could climb the six flights. I walked behind Rachel who was behind Paul. There were many people climbing in front of Paul and but only a few people behind me. Hotel staff had placed plastic glow sticks on the stairs and at the landings.  The dimly light staircase was creepy. The moment felt unsafe, even dangerous.As we ascended, the climbing pace was slow, but steady. The woman in front of Paul dragged her luggage. Her suitcase hit every step making a sound that was loud and unsettling. After two flights of stairs, the woman’s breathing became labored. The sound of her bag hitting every step and her heavy breathing amplified the precarity of our situation.  Still climbing, I heard Paul say to the woman ahead of him, “Ma’am, can I carry your luggage?” Through her wheeze and shallow breathing, the woman responded to Paul, “No.” After another slow-paced flight of stairs, and over the thump, thump, thump sound of the dragging luggage, Paul asked again, “Ma’am, I don’t mind. Can I help you with your luggage?” She did not answer immediately, but when she answered she said, “No.” I wanted to scream out and tell the woman, “Let him help you with your luggage, damn it!” But I did not. I was afraid that an emphatic interjection from me would make an already bad situation worse. By the time we got to the fifth floor, with her breathing quite loud, Paul asked the woman ahead of him again. He was almost pleading, “I can carry your luggage. I don’t mind.” The woman, a third time, said, “No.” When Paul, Rachel and I got to the 6th floor landing, a hotel staff person with a glow stick in his hand was holding open the hallway door. We walked past the man and into the lit corridor. As I crossed the threshold, I said a prayer, “Thank you.” The doorman mistook my prayer as gratitude to him and he replied, “You’re welcome.” I was grateful to all who had given us safe passage up the dark staircase. We walked to our rooms, spent a restless night in the hotel, then checked out early the next morning.I suspect the woman walking ahead of Paul got to her room.I do not know. I hope she did not need medical attention later that night. Now, months after this harrowing event, I am haunted. I am haunted by the sound of the woman’s labored breathing, as well as by the sound of her luggage hitting every step of the six flights of stairs. My haunting has lingering questions. Question OneWhy was the woman unable or unwilling to accept help in her moment of distress and anxiety? We are accustomed to experiences of needing help with no help being offered; or needing help but no help being available; or needing help but help is not possible or too expensive or reserved for someone else. But this situation was none of that. Paul offered and was quite able to carry the woman’s luggage. He noticed her dilemma and offered to help. Why was his offer of assistance refused? We can speculate on the reasons Paul’s gesture of help might have been declined. Perhaps the woman was too afraid to trust Paul and believed if he carried her luggage then she would owe him a debt or she would owe him a favor in return? Maybe she despised chivalry and refused the genteel gestures of all men? Or, perhaps she was used to doing everything for herself. Maybe she genuinely did not think that—through her wheezing and dragging of luggage—she needed help. Question TwoWhy, for the good of the others climbing the stairwell, did the woman refuse the offer of help? Surely, she could hear the loud, exasperating sound made by dragging her luggage and how this was nerve wracking for others. Surely, she felt the ways that that sound exacerbated an already bad situation. Why, in considering the needs of the group, did she not know that relieving her burden would lower the collective anxiety? Did she know and not care? In the woman’s defense, maybe it is easier to accept help when we are not traveling alone. Maybe accepting help requires that we are not riddled with fear or struggling to breathe. Or, maybe it is easier to accept help from people we know and trust. Maybe she had previously been betrayed by strangers offering assistance in the dark. Is it better to only rely upon yourself? Accepting help can demonstrate that you, like all of us, have limitations, weaknesses, inadequacies, and needs. Receiving help shows that there are others who have more capacity, more ability, are better fit or are more prepared. The vulnerability of showing our needs might be too much for our egos or for our self-understandings. Perhaps we like thinking of ourselves as self-contained, self-reliant, and in no way dependent. What do our refusals of help cost the community? What is at stake for the community when individuals refuse assistance? Living with the illusion of independence in the teaching life can result in long, uphill, journeys of dragging too much stuff and straining to breathe. What would it take for our teaching journeys not to be onerous, especially when help is offered? What if agreeing to accept help becomes part of the culture of our faculties? So that we might learn from this peculiar situation in ways that might strengthen our teaching and teaching life, ask yourself:When have I been the woman dragging my bag up hundreds of stairs, while gasping for breath, and refusing assistance when offered? When has my judgement about my teaching and teaching life been so poor as to refuse help?When could my burden have been relieved had I said yes to an offer of assistance?When was I unable to see that help for me would have benefited the community?When is it necessary to refuse help and when is it foolish? ReflectionIdentify a burden in your teaching or teaching life. Ask for help.Identify ways you carry too much baggage. Ask for help.Identify colleagues who are struggling in their teaching or teaching life. Offer help.