Hillbillies. Healing. Hope.

Jesus was no Appalachian, but he is no stranger to the hillbilly. In John 1:46, Nathaniel asks Philip “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Similar questions have been asked about my home and my people for generations. For some more “enlightened” folks, Appalachia and its hillbillies aren’t of much value — that is, of course, if you ignore their degradation of our land, exploitation of our workers, and mockery of our ways of life. From the beginning,“hillbilly” was always intended to be a derogatory label to remind mountain people and mountain communities of our lesser-than status in the American caste system and our seemingly fixed place near the bottom of the profit-making machine.

With hopes of offering a faithful response to such hogwash (other, perhaps more appropriate, descriptors are hardly couth for a homepage), this space is about reclaiming power for my community, my people, and my place — all of which have far too long been looked down upon, neglected, and mocked. It is a space to remind the broader public that we need no elegy. On the contrary, these mountains have been shaped and enlivened by sacred histories of diversity, resiliency, and ingenuity.

Of no surprise to those of us who call Appalachia home, we currently face yet another barrage of hostile forces seeking to sacrifice our families, homes, and hollers on the altar of “progress.” Even when our people and our place aren’t for sale, well-dressed visitors always seem to find ways to line their pockets with twelve pieces of silver — or whatever the “market” says we are worth these days. Although the reality seems grim, this space is not for the apathetic and nihilistic. It is for those who believe in the power of faith, hope, and love to remake the world after God’s own heart. It is for those who know deep in their bones that the struggle for liberation is as Appalachian as moonshine, banjos, and getting our corn from the jar. And it is for those who know that if we — meaning our people, our culture, and our mountains — are to survive, we must learn about what and who is killing us as well as from Whom and how we might be free.

I’m glad you’re here, and I hope you’ll stay awhile. To my fellow hillbillies, my prayer is that the words offered here might bring you some measure of faith in your own belovedness, that sacred worth bestowed upon us and our home by God. And to those who peer, whether with curiosity or with contempt, at my home, I extend to you the same invitation Philip offered Nathaniel: “Come and see.”