Letter from the Manse

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October’s Lament, October’s Light: A Reflection for Black History Month
Based on Lamentations 1:1–6 and Luke 17:5–10

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October is costumed in silent melancholy, mourning the loss of humanity, heralding the pestilence of war and conflict. The trees, once vibrant with summer’s fullness, now shed their leaves like memories falling to the ground—golden, brittle, yet beautiful in their surrender. Prometheus-like, my mind steals to my arrival in the UK. Shivering in the porch of a village church, I allowed the cold rain of Lancaster to etch its identity into my savannah-raised hot body, embracing me long before the Home Office did! 

 

Yet in October, the wind carries a chill that whispers of endings, and the sky often hangs low, heavy with clouds that seem to heave with the grief of loss and despair. Nature herself, chastened and crestfallen, mirrors with uncanny accuracy the brokenness of a world fractured by injustice, sorrow, and the eerie shadows of conflict. In this fading light, the poetry of Lamentations 1:1–6 echoes with haunting familiarity: “How lonely sits the city that once was full of people! She that was great among the nations has become like a widow…”

 

Jeremiah’s cry is not just ancient poetry—it is the living voice of every people who have known exile, displacement, dislocation, disorientation, the ache of dignity denied and the flush of shame unbounded. It is the awareness that one’s belonging will be questioned, that one's rightful place under the flag is threatened. For many in the African diaspora, this lament cuts deeply, rousing the historical wounds of slavery, colonisation, segregation, apartheid, and systemic racism. It names the pain of identity stripped, of being laid low. True also for those whose diaspora has never been beyond the shores of the British Isles. True also for those who came on Windrush. Resoundingly true for those arriving in small boats.

 

Yes, this is October, Black History Month! The history of Blacks is the history of Africa. The history of Africa is the history of the entire human race! When we recognise Black History, we celebrate the history of all people. Sadly, for some, the History of Africa is only a few centuries and dominated by subjects of slavery, imperialism and colonialism and written mostly by Western historians, missionaries and explorers (Zeinab Badawi 2024). Yet, in Luke 17:5-10, we are reminded that faith—even faith as small as a mustard seed—has power. The disciples ask Jesus to increase their faith, perhaps unable to live up to the demands of forgiveness and perseverance. Jesus responds not with grandeur, but with a quiet assurance: even the smallest faith can uproot what seems immovable.

 

This is the paradox of Black history: it is a story of lament and of faith. Of cities laid waste and of communities rebuilt. Of voices silenced and voices raised in song, protest, and prayer. It is the story of people who, though burdened by centuries of oppression, have moved mountains—through courage, creativity, and a faith that refused to die. Black History Month, then, is not just a time of remembrance. It is a season of reckoning and reclaiming. It is a call to honour the resilience of those who came before, and to live their legacy with humility and hope. It is a reminder that even in October’s waning light, there is beauty. There is strength in the roots. There is promise in the seed. This is our song. Black is the colour of all races! Standing Firm in Power and Pride as this year’s theme proclaims.

 

And so, we lament—but not without hope. We remember—but not without purpose. We journey forward—not in our own strength alone, but in the faith of those who believed, even when the world gave them every reason not to.

 

With love from the Epworth Manse in Norton Vincent Jambawo:

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