Due to the new European data protection law, we need your consent before you use our website:
personalized advertising on our sites, apps and newsletters and across the Internet based on your
interests. By clicking “I agree” below, you consent to the use by us and our third-party partners of
and Third Party Partners to learn
more about the use of data and your rights. You also agree to our
Terms of Service.
In the late 1960s, the Rev. James H. Cone later recalled, “I was within inches of leaving the Christian faith.” He had spent a decade immersed in theology — poring over the teachings of the African Methodist Episcopal Church, studying for a doctorate and closely following the sermons and speeches of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., whose nonviolent civil rights tactics were informed by his ministry.
Then he heard Malcolm X.
The Black Power leader proclaimed that “Christianity is the white man’s religion,” one that encouraged African Americans to wait patiently for a “milk and honey” heaven, and called for blacks to fight for their rights “by any means necessary.” His assassination in 1965, followed by the killing of King three years later, plunged Dr. Cone into what he described as a full-fledged spiritual crisis.
To gather his thoughts, he traveled to Little Rock and all but locked himself inside the church office of his older brother, a fellow minister. Six weeks later, he emerged with a new perspective, dubbed black liberation theology, that sought to reconcile the fiery cultural criticism of Malcolm X with the Christian message of King.
Through books such as “Black Theology & Black Power” (1969), “A Black Theology of Liberation” (1970) and “God of the Oppressed” (1975), he “changed the way we do theology,” said the Rev. Kelly Brown Douglas
, a professor at Union Theological Seminary in Manhattan, where Dr. Cone was long on the faculty.
Dr. Cone, she said, centered the Gospels on racial justice and later on the struggles for gender and class equality. “He could not understand how anyone could do Christian theology in America without talking about the black struggle for freedom, and how anyone could do Christian theology in general without talking about the oppressed.”
“When crucifixion is at the center of the faith,” said Douglas, who is also dean of Union’s Episcopal Divinity School, “you have to talk about the crucified classes of people.”
Dr. Cone, who upended America’s theological establishment when he argued that God had a “radical identification” with African Americans and poor peoples across the globe, died April 28 at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center in Manhattan, Douglas said. He was 79.
In his writings, Dr. Cone suggested that God was black — an argument that was famously advanced by his 19th-century predecessor Henry McNeal Turner, who spurned the traditional image of Jesus as a blond, white-skinned prophet.
Dr. Cone “wasn’t arguing that God was physically black, or that only black people were righteous,” said Anthony B. Pinn
, a religion professor at Rice University. “He was arguing that Christians — white, black, purple, red — have to be committed to racial justice. That whites in their churches have to be committed to racial justice, or they need to call themselves something different.”
While Dr. Cone’s theology was founded on a King-like embrace of love and acceptance, he was fiercely critical of white churches and theologians, telling the New York Times in 1969 that “white theology is basically racist and non-Christian.” He once called himself “the angriest theologian in America,” and explained that he was driven to rage by the failure of leading white theologians to forcefully condemn institutional racism, and especially lynching.
In part, his anger was driven by the fact that his father, a laborer who once sued to desegregate the local school district in Arkansas, was nearly the victim of racial violence. He recalled that his father once picked up a shotgun when he was told that a lynch mob would run him out of his house. “Let them come,” he said, “because some of them will die with me.”
James Hal Cone was born in Fordyce, a small town in central Arkansas, on Aug. 5, 1938. He was raised in nearby Bearden and said he was called to the ministry at 16.
He graduated in 1958 from Philander Smith College, a historically black college in Little Rock, and three years later received a bachelor of divinity degree from Garrett Theological Seminary (now Garrett-Evangelical Theological Seminary in Evanston, Ill.).
Dr. Cone received a master’s in divinity in 1963 and a doctorate in 1965, both from Northwestern University, and was teaching at Adrian College in Michigan when his political views began to shift toward the Black Power movement.
According to Dwight N. Hopkins, a theology professor at the University of Chicago, Dr. Cone was the first to publish books of liberation theology — works “that said the heart of Jesus Christ . . . is liberation of the economically poor.” He was soon followed by Catholic theologians such as Gustavo Gutiérrez, who called for the emancipation of the poor in Latin America.
His wife, the former Sandra Gibson, died in 1983. Survivors include two children from an earlier marriage, Charles Cone of New York City and Michael Cone of Kansas City, Kan.; two children from Gibson, Robynn Cone of New York City and Krystal Cone of Washington; a brother; and two grandchildren.
In 2018, his book “The Cross and the Lynching Tree” (2011) — which described the crucifixion of Jesus as “a first-century lynching” — received the Grawemeyer Award in Religion from Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary and the University of Louisville. His final book, the memoir “Said I Wasn’t Gonna Tell Nobody,” is scheduled for publication later this year.
Dr. Cone continued to speak out against racial inequality in recent years, appearing at rallies and broadening his writings to cover the experience of women, whom he said he had overlooked in his early work. He remained hopeful, he said, that “together we can create a society and world not defined by white supremacy.”
“Hope,” he told the Jesuit magazine America in 2006, “is found where two or three small groups of people . . . become willing to bear witness to the Gospel’s transcending racial bonding and move toward human bonding. We need some signs of that transcending. Where will they come from if not from the church? And how will these signs be expressed, except by preachers and priests and rabbis?”
Harrison Smith is a reporter on The Washington Post's obituaries desk. Since joining the obituaries section in 2015, he has profiled big-game hunters, fallen dictators and Olympic champions. He sometimes covers the living as well, and previously co-founded the South Side Weekly, a community newspaper in Chicago.
We're glad you're enjoying The Washington Post.
Get access to this story, and every story, on the web and in our apps with our Basic Digital subscription.