A Different World: Called to Be Set Apart

I was privileged to grow up on the dynamic campus of a Historically Black College and University (HBCU), beginning my journey at the tender age of five. My mother and grandmother, both remarkable and dignified women, brought me along to work with them each day. While some may have experienced this environment only through episodes of "A Different World," I lived it firsthand, surrounded by a vibrant culture of higher education, pride, political activism, and youthful energy.

I vividly remember the exhilarating atmosphere of homecoming weekends, the rhythmic beats of step shows resonating throughout campus, the passionate voices of activists filling the open air, and the remarkable talent displayed at various showcases. My summers were enriched by programs designed to cultivate young minds, and I was fortunate to grow alongside scholars, professors, and students who embraced me as one of their own.

My presence was not just tolerated, but celebrated. I was no longer Charmaine, but "Little Joy," a name that echoed my mother's legacy. The AKAs paraded me around campus, the Alphas ensured my safety, and the work-study assistants showered me with their time and affection. This was the essence of life at an HBCU, a community that felt like family.

One young woman, who once cared for me as a work-study student, later returned to the Virgin Islands and named her daughter after me, a gesture that left me deeply humbled. Eventually, I had the opportunity to meet that very child as a student on the same campus. This surreal, full-circle moment highlighted how the legacy of love transcends generations.

As a teenager, I often found refuge in the AKA sorority room. It became my sanctuary: a place to nap, have my hair styled, watch TV, and engage in the cherished ritual of girl talk. They asked me more than once if I had considered joining the AKAs, but I hadn't. They encouraged me to remain open-minded. I also noticed they were discreetly encouraging my mother to join, but she, ever discerning, graciously declined. Instead, she assisted them with academic assignments, financial reports, and grant proposals, serving as a quiet contributor, generous yet unaffected by their allure.

Then one day, she read their oath.

Her demeanor shifted. With a serious expression, she said, "This isn't in accordance with God's will." She explained that swearing allegiance to anything or anyone without allowing room for the sovereignty of God was a significant matter. As Scripture states, "You shall have no other gods before Me" (Exodus 20:3). This was a moment of spiritual discernment—a guiding light in a world of conflicting choices.

Years later, while attending college, the invitation arrived once more. This time, it was deeply personal. Cherished friends encouraged me to pledge, and my mother, ever supportive, offered, "If you need assistance with the dues, I'll help." A group even came to my apartment to advocate for their cause. I replied softly, "I'll pray about it and make my decision after summer."

That summer in Miami, I did pray; however, heaven remained silent. I waited and listened, but no answer materialized. Eventually, I surrendered to the joys of the season, basking in the sun, cherishing moments with family, and embracing leisure. Just before heading back to school, I dozed off on my mother's bed and experienced a dream that would ultimately shape my future.

In the dream, I found myself attending an AKA ceremony. A woman, shrouded in black and reminiscent of the Grim Reaper, held a candle. Others surrounded her, each with their own candle. Before them stood an altar, upon which lay a small, bound lamb. The cloaked woman turned to me and declared, "For you to join, the lamb must be sacrificed." I awoke with a jolt. The interpretation was immediate and unmistakable. The lamb represents Jesus, and to pledge myself to the sorority would mean sacrificing my devotion to Christ, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world (John 1:29). At that moment, I realized I could not proceed.

Upon my return, I shared my decision with my friends, some of whom were already AKA members and others eager to pledge. Their disappointment was palpable, but they respected my choice. "If you join," they said, "we'll be sisters." "I'd prefer to be sisters in Christ," I replied with a smile. "That's the bond that truly lasts."

My decision not to join the sorority became a catalyst for my personal growth and spiritual maturity, a journey I would not trade for anything.

As stated in Matthew 6:24, "No one can serve two masters." I had already made my decision.

This is not a critique of sororities or of those who choose to join them; every believer must navigate their faith with both fear and trembling, as noted in Philippians 2:12. For me, however, the call was clear. I recognized that I was not meant to conform to the world or to engage in oaths that might conflict with my covenant with Christ.

As Oswald Chambers wisely observed, "The remarkable thing about fearing God is that when you fear God, you fear nothing else; whereas if you do not fear God, you fear everything else." This fear of God is not an anxious dread, but rather a deep reverence and respect for His sovereignty and holiness. It is a liberating fear that frees us from the anxieties of worldly concerns. This profound reverence guided my decision-making process.

I was not called to secrets or sisterhoods rooted in ritual; I was called to Christ.

Obedience may come at the cost of access, popularity, or prestige. Still, as Scripture reminds us, "obedience is better than sacrifice" (1 Samuel 15:22). Dietrich Bonhoeffer insightfully stated, "When Christ calls a man, He bids him come and die." This encompasses dying to self, relinquishing the need for others' applause, and resisting the allure of anything that demands your soul in exchange for belonging.

While some navigate such organizations without compromising their convictions, I recognized that I am not among them. God has set me apart for a different purpose. When chosen for a specific calling, conforming to the world's standards is not an option.

I may never be privy to secret handshakes or exclusive gatherings, but I am known by the One who calls me by name, who has sealed me with His Spirit, and who has inscribed my name in the Lamb's Book of Life (Revelation 21:27). That is a membership truly worth cherishing.