My “home”
state of South Carolina has been in the news lately. I use quotation marks around
home for a good reason. Although I am South Carolina born, on a July morning in
the hot and humid city of Columbia, only eight weeks later my mother, brother,
and I made our way north to our new home in New Jersey. My South Carolina born
and raised father had already begun work in his new job with a corporation
based in Manhattan. He never brought his family back. Aside from our daughter’s
college stay, our relocation to South Carolina barely five years ago in order
for me to become pastor of Seneca Presbyterian Church represents the only
sojourn of my immediate family in the Palmetto state since that departure. Yet
the fascination of late with my home state of South Carolina
fascinates me.
Growing up far away from the
deep south, yet with southern roots, South Carolina was the ancestral home for
my father’s family, our Myrtle Beach vacation destination every August, the
source of some of the world’s best music, and producer of the world’s finest
peaches, which by the way are just now coming into season. God is good!
Yet up until about two weeks ago,
the world saw South Carolina as the birthplace of the confederacy and home to
those who celebrate white supremacy. That impression was painfully and
sorrowfully captured in the person of Dylann Roof as he took the lives of the nine
children of God who welcomed him into their church sanctuary as they were
gathered around the Word. He thought his act of evil would ignite a racial war,
divide a nation, and empower racial bigotry. Instead, it brought the races
together and likely will bring down what has become the symbol of hate that
seemed to motivate his actions. Dylann thought the world worked one way; God’s
people showed him another way.
How did everything change so rapidly?
It’s a fascinating question with no simple answer.
First, we must acknowledge that
what seems rapid is actually a culmination, the sudden burst of light that is
the fruit of long faithful work and diligent faithful witness. I do not think
that the legislature of the state of South Carolina would have been moved to
secure the 2/3 majority needed to remove the flag were it not for the person of
Clementa Pinckney. They knew him. He had been their colleague in the house and
senate for 18 years. They knew his calm but persistent voice along with his compassionate
and embracing heart. And they know how profoundly he will be missed. So they
know it’s time for the flag to come down – in honor of their friend and in
opposition to the hate and violence that took his life.
Second, I think change has come
so rapidly because Dylann Roof crossed the line. Of course, he crossed the line
of violence in the taking of innocent lives. Yet others have died before. Dylann
crossed the church line; he violated a sacred southern space. He abused
God-breathed hospitality. It was a hospitality that even almost stayed the
killer’s hand. “They were so nice to me.”
The witness of those lives and the
testimony of their families continue to change hearts. Many have been astounded
at the words of forgiveness spoken when grief was only a few days young. Many question
how that could happen and know they could never overcome the anger that understandably
dwells within a human heart at such a tremendous loss. They wonder if such
rapid grace is a vestige of the racial divide that always placed our Black
brothers and sisters in a position of deference.
For me, it is a vestige of our
racial divide, but one less insidious. It is a reminder to me of the power of
faith known and lived by our Black brothers and sisters. When you live in a
world that treats you as second-class and unworthy then come into God’s house
where the message of grace is preached with power, you absorb that grace in
amazing ways. Not to enable deference to power but in order to be a witness to
power – a witness to the heart of Christian faith.
Forgiveness doesn’t negate
justice; it enables it. It breaks the cycle of violence. It sees the guilty one
with God’s eyes. They are the same eyes that see us as just as guilty and just
as much in need of grace. Yes - we still pay the human price for our sins. Yes
- we are still accountable for our actions. Atonement is still the pathway
toward reconciliation, but forgiveness becomes the first step; not the last.
I discovered recently that one
of my ministerial friends knew Rev. Pinckney. They shared a CPE (Clinical
Pastoral Education) experience together. She says he was in life everything
everyone is saying about him in death. A man who walked the talk. I know that
must be true. His people are living proof. They are the ultimate testimony to
the effectiveness of pastoral leadership; a witness every pastor would covet.
It remains to be seen what lasting legacy will
come from this terrible loss of life. Will the flag actually come down? But
more important still, will we begin the hard journey of acknowledging our past
and claiming our future across the divisions that still own us?
Our president said it
eloquently: “God helped us to see where we were blind.” Let us not be blind to
the heritage of history. Slavery was evil. That truth is self-evident today.
Yet my ancestors who owned slaves were not evil people. They were good people
who were blind to the evil that existed all around them. In like manner, let us not be blind to the
truth of our reality. Racism is evil and it exists all around us, even if we
who are not its targets can just as easily be blind to its power.
Let’s move beyond taking down a
flag. Let’s work together to bring life out of death – abundant life for all
God’s children.
