Out of Egypt, But Still Complaining
I am late posting my blog this week because I have been reflecting deeply on this One Big Beautiful Bill.
I have been paying close attention to what is being said by politicians, podcasters, and network and media panels. I listen with intention, knowing this bill will significantly impact the Black community. The cuts, the restructuring of programs, and the tightening of loan access for student loans feel alarming. It is unsettling to watch a safety net being pulled back, especially for those who have long depended on it.
The One Big Beautiful Bill is a sweeping piece of legislation aimed at reforming entitlement programs by requiring able-bodied adults to work, train, or volunteer in order to continue receiving benefits such as food stamps and subsidized housing. Formally, it outlines mandates like working 80 hours per month to receive SNAP, and 20 hours per week for adults in Section 8 housing. These new conditions introduce accountability, but they are being framed by many as a form of oppression.
While I reflect on these shifts generationally, I also listen to the voices shaping the current narrative—voices like those on the Native Land Podcast with Angela Rye, Tiffany Cross, and Andrew Gillum. They spent a few episodes discussing this One Big Beautiful Bill and, like many others, focused entirely on the negatives. They talked about the cuts. They talked about how it would hurt the Black community. They talked about hospitals closing, nursing homes shutting down, and cuts to Medicaid and education. They painted a bleak picture and linked it all to the rise in white voter turnout for Trump in 2024, framing it as a direct attack on Black lives.
But they failed to acknowledge the other side of the bill. They wanted the audience to feel one thing: anger. They did not offer balance or perspective. They did not mention the need for personal accountability or consider the long-term opportunity that could come from mandates asking people to work, train, or volunteer.
What made me cringe was their attempt to sound spiritual, religious, and righteous. Angela Rye tried to use the Bible, calling Trump “Nebuchadnezzar,” though she mispronounced the name entirely. It was clear she had not read the Bible herself. She was simply repeating something she probably picked up in passing—maybe from a sermon or an online clip.
Worse is the underlying insult: that Black people like me are not smart enough to see the bigger picture. As if we have not read the fine print. As if we do not weigh issues from multiple angles. As if they alone hold the key to intelligence.
But they have been wrong repeatedly. They were wrong about Kamala Harris. They are wrong about Biden. They were wrong about the injunctions, pushing the narrative that Trump is violating the 14th Amendment—even as the Supreme Court sided with his argument that federal judges should not be issuing nationwide injunctions. And they continue to ignore his challenge to birthright citizenship, framing it as settled law when the legal debate is far from over.
It is as if they believe Black people are so behind, so broken, and so lost that we are incapable of recognizing the truth for ourselves.
“And the Lord went before them by day in a pillar of a cloud, to lead them the way; and by night in a pillar of fire, to give them light; to go by day and night: He took not away the pillar of the cloud by day, nor the pillar of fire by night, from before the people.”
People are reacting as if Pharaoh’s army is still chasing them. The truth is, some folks in my community just do not want to leave Egypt. They continue to receive benefits without any accountability and have grown complacent with the status quo. Many politicians are comfortable maintaining social systems that keep the poor in place, not because they want to uplift them, but because dependency secures votes and preserves power. There is no real vision for freedom—only management of poverty.
My generation was different from my mother’s generation in many ways. We did not like living below the poverty line. We turned our noses up at food stamps, Medicaid, and free housing. That is not to say we did not fall into unseen traps—many of us had children out of wedlock, battled addiction, faced incarceration, or suffered under systemic decisions outside our control. Even when we were knocked down, many of us got back up. We found our footing, climbed onto the ever-turning wheel of capitalism, and held on tight because we understood that our legacy depended on it.
Now, it seems that a new generation has become stuck. They are not just touched by the system; they are tangled in it. They have grown up in the very net that once caught us temporarily and turned it into a resting place. These are able-bodied adults, fully capable of contributing, yet content with doing just enough to remain within the thirty percent of Americans living in poverty. What is more disturbing is that their lifestyles often do not reflect poverty at all. You will see ladies in the projects with their man who works every day. You will see mothers buying overpriced hair bundles, getting fake eyelashes professionally installed, feeding their children healthy meals paid for with food stamps, and covering their subsidized rent while driving fancy trucks and cars to the rental office. This is not survival. This is complacency dressed up as struggle. This is a lifestyle funded by the government.
I know a young lady who lived in public housing with her boyfriend. Between them, they were raising five or six children. They had two cars, paid $130 a month in rent, and lived comfortably in a unit with big-screen TVs and fully furnished rooms. Her hair was always done—bundles of human hair weaved in, lashes flawless—and her car was always shining. She worked her 20 hours, he worked 40, and they stayed in the projects building their legacy. That image is not one of hardship—it is one of strategy. But it raises the question: is the system helping, or enabling?
Here is what is ironic: even the people defending the system, those arguing that this bill is cruel, know full well that abuse happens. They know many in our own community exploit the very resources meant to help. I am not talking about who receives the most in benefits; I already know that Black people are not the primary recipients. We never are—we are just the face. Yet I also know that the programs being cut will impact our community the most, simply because of how deeply these systems have taken root in our neighborhoods.
Still, people act as if we will be completely destroyed by these changes. The outcry is loud. But the loudest cries are coming from those who treat the government, not God, as the source of our provision.
The God who brought the Israelites out of Egypt promised to provide. He gave them manna but did not allow them to hoard it. He healed their bodies and gave them water. He instructed them to move with the cloud by day and follow the flame at night. Faith is never meant to be passive.
This same God judged a nation that kept His people oppressed by slaying their firstborn sons. Yet today, we tremble at the thought of a bill that simply requires us to work. We are not being slaughtered. We are being stretched. It is the stretching that scares us.
Today, people grumble and protest as if Moses abandoned them in the wilderness. Instead of bowing to the golden calves of government dependency, victimhood, or political tribalism, we should walk forward in trust and obedience. God did not deliver us from Egypt so we could sit in the wilderness and complain.
I have a deep concern when I hear Black pastors publicly condemn this bill. Their trust appears to lie in government funding, not in God. Dependence on government has become so normalized that they no longer recognize the righteousness of God when it confronts them. Instead of preaching the need for spiritual resilience and trust in divine provision, they stir anger and fear in their congregations.
Times are difficult. This is the moment to encourage people to lean harder into God. That message is absent.
The reaction from some in the pulpit reflects a lack of faith. Some of these pastors are not shepherds; they are public speakers who quote Scripture without applying it. They preach prosperity when the money flows to them. They demand tithes from the poor while failing to raise moral or communal standards. They take offerings while neglecting to speak truth.
There is a lack of presence in their communities. Churches are not addressing crime, teenage pregnancy, abortion, or fatherlessness. Programs that mentor youth, create jobs, or support mothers are nearly nonexistent in some of these churches. I know there are churches that have daycares, after-school programs, or prison-to-work initiatives. However, it is clear they provide just enough—just enough to keep the state funding flowing in, while viewing the individuals who come through their doors as nothing more than pawns to move through the system. They hand out Amazon trash and free food from food banks, but fail to offer real transformation. These problems are not confronted because the preachers are greedy, and their messages are both watered down and weak.
The people are not taught to depend on God. They are told to depend on the church structure or the system that keeps them oppressed. The pastors take from the poor, the elderly, and struggling mothers while telling them to tithe and pray. Meanwhile, the leaders benefit from that very dependency. Taking the widow’s mite for food.
“This poor widow hath cast more in, than all they which have cast into the treasury... for she did cast in all that she had, even all her living.”
— Mark 12:43–44
Just like the sons of Korah in the book of Numbers, those who opposed Moses and God’s divine instruction, many of these pastors murmur and complain. God responded by opening the earth and swallowing them alive. That is how serious rebellion and spiritual disobedience were at that time.
Today, instead of trembling before God, these so-called men of God make YouTube videos preaching that the government—not faith—is the solution to our condition.
Despite the hardship, the truth remains. The bottom thirty percent of earners can benefit from these new requirements if the mandates to work, train, or volunteer are supported with access and dignity.
Workforce development programs show that incomes can increase by three to seven thousand dollars within one to two years. Career and technical training—especially in trades and healthcare—can raise earnings by more than twenty percent. With proper childcare, reliable transportation, and digital access, these mandates become a pathway, not a punishment. There it is: freedom from subsidized project housing. Freedom from the ghetto.
We all recognize the danger that comes when access is blocked or when the training provided is disconnected from real opportunities. In those cases, the requirement could become a burden without benefit. But avoiding risk has never transformed a community. We must stop promoting these caricatured images of Black people as lazy profiteers of the system. That image is false and dehumanizing, often weaponized to justify neglect or control.
Black communities, which rely more heavily on social programs, will feel these shifts most. This is where faith must take hold. If we trust God, we are not without hope.
When the world cuts benefits, God still provides. When Pharaoh removes the straw, God gives the strategy. If we are required to work, we must work with dignity. If we are called to train, we must train with purpose.
Africa was never the Black American promise—it was our place of bondage. Like Egypt was for the Israelites, it was the place that led to our enslavement, not where we were called. God brought us out to lead us forward, not to keep us still.
I am not writing this to tear down my community. I am writing this because I believe in what we can become. We will not rise by clinging to Egypt. We will rise when we return to God, take responsibility, and move forward together.
“And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many that were rich cast in much. And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing. And he called unto him his disciples, and saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, That this poor widow hath cast more in, than all they which have cast into the treasury: For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living.”
