To start the tour, the Rev. Dr. Nathan Taylor pointed out the archaeology site of the historic First Baptist Church of Williamsburg, one of the oldest Black churches founded by African Americans in the nation. … Organized in 1776, free and enslaved African Americans led by the Rev. Gowan Pamphlet would gather on plantations in secret or in hush harbors to sing and pray before gathering in meeting houses and eventually a brick sanctuary in 1856.

As I laid eyes on the site and walked through the meeting house across the street, I kept thinking about how much courage it took for these ancestors to practice their faith and rituals in the face of unimaginable oppression. I thought about the Indigenous faith traditions the enslaved carried with them that sustained them before they were transported to the shores of Virginia and after they were sold into slavery. I thought about the Christianity of the enslavers that would justify human bondage and the inhumanity embedded within the institution as well as the Christian tradition of free and enslaved Black people that would reinforce the truth of their humanity: that physical and spiritual liberation was possible.”

Many historical individuals that we learned about (and heard from, in the form of interpreters like the Rev. Gowan Pamphlet and George Wythe) allowed us to gain a deeper understanding of the history of the Baptist church and how their impact contributed to what we know it as today. … The tours gave us great insight on the history of Colonial Williamsburg as well as what individuals had to go through during this time period. … It was a new perspective and something I will not forget.”

With this same idea, I began to wonder how people in other marginalized spaces are missing in this narrative or in this advocacy of religious liberty. Being a Latina myself, I started to reflect on where the voice of the Latino experience fits in.

I think there are a few reasons why maybe the Latino voice is less heard in this narrative. I think one of the reasons is that the Latino voice is often preoccupied by survival. … There are complexities to the priorities and the realities for the people who are placed on the margins. And, yes they are placed on the margins because of the systems in our society. People who are placed on the margins of society are looking for general wellness and to have their basic needs met to flourish, and unfortunately, they are on survival mode. Could this be where the issue of Christian nationalism and American exceptionalism intersects with the oppression of minority groups and that is why we don’t hear their voice in this narrative?”

As we navigate the complexities of our interconnected world, the call to action for safeguarding religious freedom becomes even more urgent. By championing this cause, we send a resounding message that we refuse to accept a world where prejudice and discrimination define our interactions.”

However, as a queer son of the Black church, it was also crystallized that the practice of the theory of religious liberty did not extend to enslaved communities. Even as the founding fathers articulated their convictions with fervor and conviction, their inability to see enslaved people as fully human served as a blockade to the full realization of this ideal. … Recognizing the limits of their religious freedom, including the very real possibility of flogging, death, and mutilation, enslaved communities found refuge in what scholars have coined ‘the invisible institution.'”

The realization that our history often omits significant figures like George Wythe and the Rev. Gowan Pamphlet due to their incongruence with the Christian nationalism narratives was eye-opening. It became evident that our nation’s true values of religious freedom for all had been overshadowed by a skewed perception perpetuated by those with vested interests. As a society, we need to acknowledge and rectify this oversight, ensuring that the stories of all contributors to our nation’s founding are shared, celebrated, and remembered.

This experience will be an incredible addition to my religious freedom toolkit and will help me move forward in my journey towards becoming an accepting and inclusive partner of all faiths and be a voice on their behalf.”

The foundation of the original building was etched into the grass, an unassuming brick outline marking the presence of a vibrant community. Dr. Sabrina Dent explained to us that human remains had been found on the site as well—presumably the cemetery of the congregation, dating back centuries. This was holy ground, she told us. She urged us to look throughout the week for whose stories were not being told. This, I think, named exactly the discomfort I felt returning to Colonial Williamsburg as an adult: the deep-seated awareness that the story the place was telling was not even close to the whole story. 

I believe this issue is also at the heart of the religious freedom debate today and perhaps even for the entire history of our country. The story is so much more complex and multifaceted than we are ever taught.”

I have an utter responsibility to care for my neighbors above myself, even when it seems as though the victor has already won. I have a burdensome duty to fight for those that are being silenced, disenfranchised, and marginalized. I am a global missionary, having had the opportunity to spread the good news on two continents — being an advocate for all is what I was born to do. Being a BJC Fellow has afforded me to be a greater equipped ambassador for religious freedom for those here and around the globe.”

Whether I label myself as Humanist, a Red-Letter Christian (see the work of Shane Claiborne), or just plain Agnostic (or maybe a mixture of all three?), I am welcome in the fight for religious liberty. Even more surprisingly — ALL are welcome — from any faith or no faith at all. We can all fight for and with each other instead of fighting against each other.”