Jacques Review

I was born on June 12, 1980 in Hôpital Universitaire Justinien, in Cap-Haïtien, Ayiti, to Seventh-day Adventists. In a sort of genealogical conversation with my father, Erodothe Jacques, as far as he can tell, he became the third in a familial line of Adventists that became elders. I don’t know how far back it goes. My grandfather, Labbe Octavil Jacques, and my great-grandfather, Benjamin Octavil Jacques, all served as elders in the Seventh-day Adventist Church in Ayiti. It seems like a natural trajectory that I, or at least one of my siblings (if not all of us) would one day accept the call to that type of spiritual leadership.

The lot has landed on me. Naturally, when such a charge is given, ceremony held, vows of acceptance, and commitment are made, it then becomes time to face the music of what it all means on the ground. How will I respond to the charge and what will be the reception? What does being an elder in a predominantly Kreyòl Ayisyen-speaking church in North America in the twenty-first century looks like? Is it simply a right of passage deemed necessary by birthright? I don’t attempt to answer all of that here. However, I will highlight the implication of existing as such during this period in a sort of big-picture sense that I’m referring to as one existing between two substantial pressure points.

While I was born in Haiti and am very familiar with the Haitianized version of ecclesial decorum and practices as is expressed in my local congregation (an environment that exists due to its’ obligatory status as a landing area for those migrating from the island), I’m also a child of America. That is, I grew up here in such a way that my mannerisms, cadences, and way of thinking strongly display my affiliation with this country. My parents had my brother and I fly as unaccompanied minors from Haiti to the U.S. in 1986. I’m the oldest brother of four children. After me is Nick, followed by Ernst, and finally Deborah. I’ve been here a long time.

This doesn’t always translate into assimilation to a great degree. But it did in my case and that of my brother (if I can speak for him). I specify the uniqueness of my case because it is not necessarily true that all those that come from Ayiti under 10 years old gravitate towards American culture to the extent that we did. There are many that held to the distinguishing factors of the native land to such an extent that it is observable as if a mark was edged in their foreheads. This is not to diminish them. Rather, it is a feature of themselves that they should be proud of just as equally as those who have assimilated to a greater degree are content with their state of being.

But I speak of my particular orientation in regard to this solemn charge. There is a tension there that is unique to those of similar orientation. To be clear, there is spiritual tension in that one who is called to accept such a charge is pressed on all sides by the heaviness of the responsibility and the status as an exceptional target by all things of monstrous origin. However, the workload and wrestling in prayer aren’t what I’m highlighting here. My use of the word exceptional here is only in reference to leadership being targeted much more aggressively not because they are inherently good but because of their designations as leaders. It’s more about the position being occupied as opposed to who is doing the occupying.

I speak of the tension of being on the axis splitting two different thoughts on what church is and how it should function.

On the one hand, there is the large looming confrontation on the American continent as back and forth is had in regards to ordination due to the fact that it is not generally recognized worldwide that women can be ordained as pastors within the Seventh-day Adventist church. The nays tend to usually be from outside of the global north (the West; America & Europe). As the conversation trumped on, presentations arose concerning forgoing the idea of ordination altogether. Pastors volunteered to hand in their ordination cards in exchange for being categorized as commissioned. If women can’t be ordained, they didn’t want any parts of it. They also wanted to be commissioned.

Add to the fact that there are tons of young folk, whether on social media or in person, who are passionately anti-institution and religion to the extent that no real talk is ever had without the invocation of what the collective has done wrong and how being part of such a leadership group automatically means that one is willing to carry out all of the practices of those that came before. In other words, anyone accepting such a position is not viewed as one that can function differently. To be in leadership of a believed-to-be corrupt institution is to be a puppet, a fool. In Kreyol, they are basically saying that you are, “yon moun sòt.”

That’s one part of what contributes to the tension. It also includes those that have picked up critical theoretical works on blackness and now deem that it is impossible to see Jesus of Palestine because the only one that exists is the Jesus of Europe; meaning the Jesus of whiteness. It is said that those of African descent who worship this Jesus only do so because they are mentally trapped in the cage of the colonizer.

On the other hand, on the competing side of the axis, stands the already entrenched group that has seen what leadership has displayed and how it functioned for years. For them, the traditional structures of worship, theological perspectives, and institutional constructs are all somewhat eternally meant to be demonstrations of how to do it; how things should be. In their understanding, church should remain as is. Changes and modifications are generally considered to be attempts to remake the church like unto secular society. They push hard for things to remain the same. It may be best to say that they believe that changes should be naturally derive from what already is as opposed to radically different shifts. That is if I would concede some grounds.

Those on this side of the axis contributing to the pressure that ought to be generated by this tension are looking for a young elder that is likened to someone conditioned with stylings reminiscent of elders in Ayiti. I’m not speaking of adhering to generally understood problematic (or straight out wrong) ways of being, I’m talking about a high-church culture wherein an elder avoids certain conversations or considerations due to their supposed corruptive natures.

For some newly minted elders of similar congregations, this tension doesn’t exist. It isn’t that the population differs. All of these North-American Haitian SDA Churches are themselves under the pressure of tension caused by affiliated persons on opposing sides of the what and how of church that I have described above. (However unclear that it may be.) Rather, the lack of tension these elders might feel is because of how they differ from me. My background allows me to have a deep awareness of those wrestling with the very idea of ecclesial institutions that are at odds with what they have learned to be as ways of living out a just existence. It also helps me understand the difficult task being faced by those who cling on to the nostalgic vision of the church they grew up in.

Of course, I can be charged with overgeneralization. That’s fine. I accept it. The point still stands. At some other time, I will elaborate further on these divisions in hopes of being more precise.

I have to speak to both groups. I have to push for progress and relatability. That is in a nutshell, the sum of where I have found myself. I owe it to God, my family, my congregation, and those in the community observing to articulate something that is faithful to the gospel so that legacy isn’t based on familial lines but rather on a life well lived.