Response Debra Mubashshir Majeed (bio) Some might argue that Monica Coleman's "Must I be womanist?" represents the ideological concerns of a young, thoughtful scholar who expected the shoulders of her mentors to be strong and broad enough to both carry her to her destiny and shield her destiny for her until she met it. In other words, Coleman appears to cast herself—and other "third-wave" womanists, like me—as both benefactor and victim, both a daughter and a granddaughter of a movement whose subversive agency has been both inspired and handcuffed by trailblazers who spoke the truth, but not audibly enough, not persuasively enough, not often enough, and not completely enough to clarify the meaning of "womanism" for succeeding generations. Speaking of the work of those "passionate people of faith" who encouragingly "mentored and "mothered" her, Coleman declares, "I've been dissatisfied by the heteronormativity of womanist religious scholarship." From the outset, she acknowledges the intellectual minefi eld she has entered as well as the utmost respect with which her questioning begins. Still, she chastises her mentors for not removing the guesswork, for leaving her with questions about her intellectual and activist identity that she does not want. For me, the question isn't whether her theorizing is accurate. Instead I [End Page 113] wonder, does she alone harbor perceptions about the utility of the womanist legacy for non-Christian women attempting to name themselves from within the boundaries of womanist thought, or has the Christology of the Western womanist agenda rendered other religious traditions so invisible that non-Christian women may live more authentically outside of—and perhaps far away from—the womanist camp? In 1994, I faced a similar intellectual dilemma; I wanted someone else to reduce my options for me, too. Thankfully, Jacquelyn Grant refused to do so. In that year, she traveled to Pasadena, California, from Atlanta, Georgia, to present a public lecture on her groundbreaking work White Women's Christ and Black Women's Jesus.1 I was a second-career master of divinity student at Fuller-Evangelical Theological Seminary, contemplating my field of study for a doctoral degree. With the aid of event coordinator and good friend Aleese Moore, I was able to spend a few private moments with Grant prior to her departure. She agreed to meet me in a nearby hotel lobby. I was intimidated by Grant (and, for that matter, by Katie Cannon, Emilie Townes, and Renita Weems too). So I arrived early—or so I had intended. However, I found that Grant was already seated, in a rich, oversized bamboo chair that resembled more a throne than seating for the dispensation of career advice. I knew our time was short, so I was direct. I shared the short version of my life's journey and interests and then asked, "So what can I study?" Without a blink, and in her usual authoritative voice, Grant replied, "What do you want to study?" After losing a couple of rounds of this form of conversational volleying, I declared, "You mean there's no list from which I am to pick?" I walked away feeling naive, dejected, and enormously wasteful of Grant's time. The idea that one could (or should at least attempt to) connect her seminary training to her passion had never occurred to me. I expected Grant to help me choose the shape of my doctoral work, based upon her wisdom concerning the academy and her knowledge of what was acceptable for an African American clergywoman to study. Instead, she refused to overlook my intellectual interests or to support any attempt of mine to remain within the ideological boundaries others tried to draw around African American female scholars. On that wonderfully sunny California afternoon, Grant challenged me to recognize that I had options even she could not circumscribe. She knew full well that I might endure nights of intellectual and spiritual jihad on the path to realizing that I should craft a dissertation project bearing some resemblance to my personal aspirations rather than limit my advanced studies solely to someone else's predetermined categories. (In this context I use the Arabic term jihad to connote internal struggle for personal...
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