Boddie is an assistant professor of church and community ministries at Baylor University's George W. Truett Theological Seminary.
The Black Church is an institution that was forged in crises. Through slavery, Reconstruction, Jim Crow segregation and the civil rights era, the network of places of worship serving traditionally Black congregations has seen its fair share of traumatic events.
In 2016, the Rev. Robert Franklin, former president of Morehouse College, acknowledged as much in a speech on urban ministries: “Disruption is the question, but the radical love ethic of Jesus is the response.”
And that was before 2020 delivered the Covid-19 pandemic, the related economic crisis and the global movement for Black Lives – forcing Black churches to find new ways to worship and serve their communities.
As a scholar who looks at how the Black Church engages with the community, I believe looking at how the institution has endured past crises can provide a blueprint for how communities can deal with today’s trying times.
In particular, the story of how three Black churches in Philadelphia endured events similar to those afflicting society today can give both solace and hope.
A pillar of Philadelphia
Black churches have long been an important pillar in Philadelphia’s African American community. As far back as 1896, civil rights leader and sociologist W.E.B. Du Bois was recording the impact that they had in the city. Du Bois’ research found that Philadelpia’s 55 Black congregations had amassed a total annual income of at least US$94,968 and property valued at approximately $908,729 – almost $29 million in today’s dollars. About 100 years later, the University of Pennsylvania’s Congregation Census study found that approximately 2.4% of the Black congregations in the city had established commercial ventures including thrift stores, grocery stores and restaurants.
This tradition of Philadelphia’s Black churches providing a role beyond the faith needs of congregants meant they were well placed to help out in times of crisis, be it health, social or economic.
On the front lines of a health crisis
Philadelphia’s Mother Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church is the mother church of the oldest Black denomination in the United States. It was established in 1794 by the Rev. Richard Allen, a former slave, four years after he purchased his freedom for $2,000.
Allen, an entrepreneur, also co-founded the Free African Society, a mutual aid organization, with clergyman Absalom Jones in 1787. The Free African Society, in which the seeds of the church were sown, emphasized self-determination for free Black people by providing economic, cultural, social and spiritual guidance, as well as medical care.
During the yellow fever outbreak of 1793, Allen and Jones responded to the request of Benjamin Rush, a well-known physician and lesser-known founding father, to help the sick.
As the plague took more lives, about 20,000 people fled the city. People abandoned sick family members, and hospitals were unprepared to meet the need. Within four months, about 5,000 people died, approximately 10% of the population.
Allen asked Black residents in Philadelphia to set aside their resentments against white people to work as nurses, cart drivers, coffin makers and gravediggers for a decent wage. Meanwhile, churches remained open to maintain morale.
Historians have noted that Allen, Jones and other free Black people helped to restore the sense of human dignity to the city while urging white citizens to expand their notion of brotherly love to include black people.
Surviving the 1930s economic crisis
In common with many people across Philadelphia and across the U.S., congregants of Tindley Temple United Methodist Church suffered as a result of the economic depression of the 1930s.
The church, led by the Rev. Charles Albert Tindley from 1902 to 1933, served a Black community in South Philadelphia at a time when many were locked out of occupations through a “ last hired, first fired” policy that discriminated against them.
Tindley, the son of an enslaved person who advanced from brick carrier and church janitor to pastor of one of the first Black-built churches on Broad Street, used his entrepreneurial skills to help the congregation.
Under Tindley’s leadership, the church used its relationships and resources to both train and place African Americans in new positions. Tindley advised church members to use their skills to start businesses such as restaurants and barber shops and to save their money to purchase homes. To implement these strategies, the church established a building and loans association and offered evening classes to offer job training to church members and new migrants from the South.
Tindley also associated with other entrepreneurs, like merchant and political leader John Wanamaker, and leveraged such connections to create employment opportunities for parishioners.
Advancing civil rights and self-reliance
Through the social upheavals of the civil rights era, Philadelphia’s Zion Baptist Church served as a rock for North Philadelphia’s Black community.
The Rev. Leon Sullivan, who served as the church’s pastor from 1950 to 1988, provided moral guidance and promoted an institutional and collective approach to economic success. It came at a time when Black people faced discriminatory hiring practices, police brutality and were shut out of the new suburban housing boom and opportunities to build wealth.
Sullivan founded the Opportunity Industrialization Center to provide employment training to address urban poverty and racial inequality.
He is best known for urging American corporations to divest from South Africa during apartheid, and his “ Global Sullivan Principles ” set guidelines for multinational corporations to do so. In 1962, Sullivan led his congregation to establish a “community investment cooperation model” known as the “ 10-36 Plan.”
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By 1968, the 10-36 Plan had over 3,300 members and $400,000 worth of assets secured to build Progress Plaza, which is one of the nation’s first shopping centers owned, operated and primarily funded by Black Americans.
Sullivan also led efforts to start the Selective Patronage Program – boycotting companies that failed to hire Black and other minority employees.
Lessons of the past
Harvard scholar Henry Louis Gates Jr. – who narrated a PBS documentary series on the Black church – has noted how the institution became a laboratory for the creation of a new culture for the benefit of Black Americans.
For this reason, it has always served as a pillar that has helped families and communities disproportionately affected by health, economic and racial crises – both in the early days of the Black church through to today’s uncertain times.
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Click here to read the original article.
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A golden tray sits on the Resolute Desk as President Donald Trump speaks during an announcement on American nuclear innovation in the Oval Office at the White House on July 24, 2026, in Washington, D.C. Trump is signing multiple executive orders targeting the nuclear energy sector and easing rules for new reactors and nuclear fuel supply chains.
Trump’s hubris rivals the fallen heroes of ancient Greek mythology
In January, the New York Times asked President Donald Trump if there were any limits on his global powers.
“Yeah,” the president responded, “there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.”
That was eight months ago, but fortunately Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster adaptation of “The Odyssey” has made ancient Greek literature newly relevant. Before that window closes, I’d like to talk about hubris.
Today, the term mostly means excessive pride or arrogance. That’s part of what the Greeks meant by it too, but the meaning was a bit richer and more specific. Hubris was an insolent or outrageous act that offended the gods, often because the transgressor was claiming abilities or authorities that solely belonged to supreme beings.
Nolan renamed and slightly modified the concept of xenia for the film, calling it “Zeus’ law.” In the director’s telling, mortals should follow the rules laid out by the gods, specifically the requirement to treat strangers with respect lest they be gods in disguise.
In a sense, hubris is the opposite, or at least the rejection, of xenia. The hubris of the suitors, and at times Odysseus himself, invites punishment by the gods and their mortal instruments.
Which brings me back to Donald Trump. His claim that there are no constraints on his personal power to dictate events on the global stage was one of the greatest expressions of hubris ever uttered by a political leader.
Trump’s claim was obviously false when he made it.
He vowed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war in 24 hours. He’s proved powerless to make that happen. If he had divine powers to work his will, why would he have balked at implementing his tariffs so often that Wall Street adopted the “TACO trade” term for his deals? “TACO” stands for “Trump always chickens out.”
And why would Trump have made so many embarrassing concessions to China — from rescinding tariffs on Chinese goods to allowing them to buy crucial and incredibly valuable computer chips?
But Trump saw his success at capturing Venezuelan strongman Nicolas Maduro as proof of his ability to launch missiles to the same effect as Zeus’ lightning bolts. Trump believed he was the most powerful man who ever lived.
This is no exaggeration. In March, when the Iran invasion seemed successful, Trump gave a document penned by“Presidential Historian David King” to New York Times reporters Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan purporting to prove that Trump was “the most powerful person to have EVER walked this planet.” King was, in fact, a businessman and occasional caddy for legendary golfer Gary Player.
King compared Trump favorably to many of history’s most powerful, and often heinous, figures: Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, William the Conqueror, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao Tse Tung, Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Lenin. Many of these men thought they were the most powerful person in the world, too. And many were defeated precisely because they believed it.
At least Napoleon and Hitler had a string of truly impressive victories before they learned the folly of hubris. The limits on Trump’s power have been exposed by far less august forces than the combined might of the allies in World War II or the fearsome Russian winter.
Iran is a comparatively middling power. But the regime’s ability to absorb punishment while imposing its will on the Strait of Hormuz has proved to be a greater constraint on Trump’s power than his morality or mind. We should note that, at least rhetorically, his morality has not proved much of a constraint. He has repeatedly promised to destroy Iranian “civilization” if the regime refuses to capitulate.
But they haven’t — and won’t anytime soon — because the regime’s tolerance for pain far outstrips Trump’s. The combined fear of skyrocketing oil prices, outrage of Gulf state potentates, diminishing weapon supplies and domestic unpopularity is doing the work that international law, congressional oversight and the collective opinion of foreign policy experts can’t or won’t do.
If I considered Trump more heroic than reason and facts could allow, I would say his Sisyphean predicament has the whiff of Greek tragedy to it. Trump is vexed by the fact that the Iranians won’t honor deals or ratify his countless premature claims of victory — giving new meaning to his vow that his presidency would make people tired of winning. It’s almost like they’re out-Trumping Trump.
Things might have gone better if he’d heeded that great Greek tragedian Sophocles: “For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue.”
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Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.