Who Told You That You Were Naked?

There’s been a restlessness stirring in my spirit lately—a holy discomfort, a craving I can only name as a longing for identity. Not just for information, but for rootedness.

As Black people in America, we’ve long known we are melanated. But many of us still don’t fully grasp the depths of what that means—historically, culturally, or spiritually. We carry fragments of our stories, curated bits of our history, but not enough to build the kind of foundation that grounds our cultural identity or secures our individual purpose.

That’s why something like Hillmantok struck such a chord. It unearthed something sacred—our yearning to know who we are, what we’ve contributed, and how we’ve shaped the bedrock of this nation.

And that same yearning reaches beyond culture. It is spiritual.

I would argue that many of us who claim the Christian faith also don’t truly know the spiritual roots from which we grow. We’ve inherited belief systems, liturgies, and moral codes—but have we interrogated where they came from? Have we encountered God beyond the words of pulpits shaped by empire or doctrines filtered through patriarchy?

Despite the disconnection, I believe an identity shift is taking place. A spiritual unearthing. We are reaching back—asking new questions with old wisdom.

As the social ground beneath us quakes with the weight of oppression and spiritual fatigue, we are remembering what sustained our ancestors: faith, community, resistance, joy. And we are slowly finding our way home.

So I want to ground this reflection in Genesis 3:1–13, because at the root of this identity crisis is not just trauma or forgetting—it’s a lie. A question. A voice that suggested we were anything less than divine. And that same voice is still whispering today.

But so is God's voice.

The one that asks:

Let’s go there.

Genesis 3 is often reduced to a moral tale about disobedience. We’ve heard the usual takes: Eve being blamed for humanity’s fall, Adam’s silence, and the serpent’s cunning deception.

But what if we shift the lens?

What if this is the first recorded instance of identity being disrupted by a lie?

Adam and Eve were created in the image of God—Imago Dei.

They lived in divine wholeness. No shame. No insecurity. No competing voices.

Their nakedness was not a flaw—it was freedom.

Then the serpent slithered in with a question:

In that moment, a seed of doubt was sown.

And when doubt takes root, identity gets distorted.

If what God said wasn’t true, then their whole existence was suddenly up for renegotiation.

They internalized that question.

They ate.

And then? Shame.

God’s response is piercing:

Who told you that your raw, God-given self was something to cover up? Who told you to be ashamed of who you are? Who told you that you were not enough?

That question isn't just for Eden.

It’s for us. Right now.

Because we, too, have been told to hide:

We’ve been discipled more by systems than by the Spirit:

And every time we internalize those false narratives, we reenact Eden—trading divine truth for distorted perception.

Who told you that your Blackness was a burden? Who told you that being a woman, a queer person, an artist, a dreamer—was too much? Who told you to shrink? To soften? To survive instead of thrive?

Because God never did.

God’s voice declares:

Sis, shame was never part of the design.

Hiding was never the assignment.

And even after the fruit, after the fig leaves, after the silence—God still came looking for them.

That’s grace.

That’s the identity calling you back home.

So I ask again:

Let’s name the false voices, so we can reclaim the divine ones. And let’s step back into the garden—not to hide, but to be seen, known, and loved.

Circling back to Genesis 1:27, we arrive at a foundational truth in Christian theology—Imago Dei, Latin for “image of God.” This doctrine declares that human beings are created uniquely in God's likeness, reflecting God's attributes and divine intention.

This brilliance sets us apart from the rest of creation.

We are adorned with God’s creative power, relational depth, moral clarity, and spiritual purpose. The blueprint of our being is divine—not accidental.

To be made in the image of God is to carry within us:

And yet, so many of us spend our lives trying to become reflections of God when we already are.

The issue is not our unworthiness—it’s the way we’ve been conditioned to forget our divine design.

James Cone, father of Black Liberation Theology, said:

In other words: When you begin to see yourself as God sees you, the systems of this world can no longer define you.

When you reclaim your divine image, you become ungovernable by oppression.

Liberation theology teaches us that Imago Dei is political.

Because if marginalized people ever fully embraced who they are, then every system that seeks to dehumanize, marginalize, or erase them would be revealed not only as unjust—but anti-God.

So I ask you plainly: Do you know who you are?

As a life coach and spiritual companion for women, I’ve witnessed firsthand the cost of lost identity—and the power of reclaiming it. Naming your truth, acknowledging your story, and standing in your divine makeup is not just healing—it is resistance. It is revolutionary.

The serpent is still whispering. The systems are still speaking. The question remains:

The question is no longer whether you bear God's image—you do.

The question is whether you will walk in that truth.

To do so, you must first determine who God says you are:

Even now, you can start seeking with fresh eyes:

A search engine. A journal. A prayer. A scripture. A question. A mirror.

Because here is the truth:

And why?

God determines your worth. Full stop.

We are Black and Brown peoples.

We are chosen.

We are surviving and thriving.

We are equipped, each one of us, with sacred gifts and a divine assignment for this very hour.

As we rest strategically... As we reclaim our time, our truth, and our communities... Let us also reclaim our divine reflection.

Let’s unlearn what shame taught us. Let’s relearn what God planted in us from the beginning. Let’s look in the mirror and see a temple. A sanctuary. A reflection of God in motion.

Let this be your message of empowerment:

You are Imago Dei.And the world shifts when you believe it.