by Bishop Bill Gohl
Cynthia Hurd, 54: A 31-year state employee who managed the Dart Library for 21 years before heading the St. Andrews Regional Library, which is now named in her memory.
The Rev. Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, 45: A mother of three, she was also a speech therapist and high school girls track and field coach. She was a ministerial daughter of Emanuel, and was a licensed local clergyperson serving the congregation.
Tywanza Sanders, 26: a then recent graduate from Allen University; Ty, he had worked in sales at Macy’s and Belk department stores, but had higher aspirations.
Ethel Lance, 70: from 1968 to 2002, she worked as a custodian at Charleston's Gaillard Municipal Auditorium; her daughter remembered her as "funny and a pleasure to be around. And she was a wonderful mother and grandmother."
Susie Jackson, 87: Lance's cousin, she was a longtime church member and was described to me as "the queen of the Mother Emanuel dining room."
Depayne Middleton-Doctor, 49: The mother of four sang in Emanuel's choir. She had previously directed a community development program in Charleston County and was, at the time of her murder, a proud admissions coordinator at the Charleston campus of her alma mater, Southern Wesleyan University.
The Rev. Daniel Simmons, 74: Simmons survived the initial attack but then died in a hospital operating room. He had previously been a pastor at another church in the Charleston area, but was known to say, "there was no retiring from the call."
Myra Thompson, 59: She was the a wife and stay at home mother, she was not a member of Emanuel, but a friend who came for Bible Study from Holy Trinity Reformed Episcopal Church in Charleston.
We are caught "in between." Of being the body of Christ in the church, with our resolutions and resolve to name racism as sin in between the experience that many live with every day with physical and social walls between people and power. Our church professes a commitment to multiculturalism and equality, and in between, our pews betray an alternate reality.
And yet, we slog on. God is on the side of justice. Justice isn't some political agenda, it is a gospel imperative. And the resistance, while real, is a sign of the spiritual battle being waged between justice and status quo, the path of least resistance and the higher ground to which this church is being called. The church magnifies this struggle in communities where we cling to the familiar – habits and people – and of course, cling with all tenacity to their power, both personal and institutional. Nine months ago, after having nearly a decade of working on this in the parish and as a dependable ally in the larger life of Baltimore City, I entered the bishop's office completely unprepared for the systemic push-back that I had been warned of, but dismissed casually. I've come to understand that none of us are immune to the crushing sense of fatigue, self-doubt and hopelessness that comes as we work to bring about that which everyone professes to want, without the pain of getting there.
Two years after Dylann Roof returned violence for hospitality at Mother Emanuel Church in Charleston – and having worshipped there myself twice this last year – I am left to wonder if we have made any progress, any tangible move forward as a church in our "prayer, fasting and response." It's the same melancholy feeling of helplessness that overtakes me when the racial tensions of our country, just simmering under the surface, boil over as does again and again in the bewildering lack of accountability we have for the lives of our neighbors. My colleague, the Rev. Dr. Eric Campbell, is convening strategic conversations with ecumenical and community organizing partners in the metropolitan Baltimore area today, not simply because it is the right thing to do; but because I am convinced that when – not if – when another Freddie Gray moment happens, our church is no more prepared that it was the last time to respond.
Fifty years after Dr. King named Sunday at 11 a.m. as the most segregated hour in this nation, that reality continues. The church has failed to live into our high calling to be the Body of Christ alive in the world, ushering in even a glimpse of our longing prayer that it should be "on earth as it is in heaven." We cannot keep saying we want to be a more diverse and inclusive church if we cannot be challenged in the culture that finds us among the whitest churches in the United States. It's not about tokenism, it's about racial justice; it's not about hoping things will change by themselves, it's about being strategic to become the change we desire. Ethnic diversity is not a "city thing" – in our synod I've discovered vibrant pockets of diversity that reflect the promise of thy kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven in surprising places like Frederick, Odessa, New Castle and Rosedale, too. In this synod, we worship in Tamil, Bhutan, Estonian, German, Spanish, American Sign Language, Liberian dialect and English; signs of hope for sure, but we are still welcoming neighbors whose heart language, and thus the language of worship, is still more broad, deep and wide – there is room to grow.
We are living in times when the church is increasingly on the margins of society, where we keep good company with others in the margins, too. Rather than recognize that, perhaps, this is where God has led us, we are more apt to complain than to act. Nevertheless, advocacy and public witness are our call as the baptized, ordained, consecrated and set apart. Our baptismal covenant speaks of it in this way: "...to live among God's faithful people; hear the word of God and share in the Lord's Supper; proclaim the good news of God in Christ through word and deed; serve all people following the example of Jesus; and strive for justice and peace in all the earth." For my part, I see leveraging my privilege as bishop and making a platform to amplify the voices of those who are oppressed, marginalized and forgotten is critical to living into that baptismal covenant we hold so dear.
As the church, we must find a way to show the world and model for each other that in the church our unity is in Christ, and that genuine community in Christ has a place and room for everyone. That doesn't mean that we shouldn't be accountable for what we say and do – but we need to do that differently than is happening in the political arena gone mad. There is still privilege to occupying this office in this world and culture we inhabit; and I will continue to leverage that privilege to call us to be engaged and to model a different kind of discourse that is based more on learning from one another rather than putting one another down or dismissing people's real experience.
Whereas I have listened sympathetically to those who have contacted me about their displeasure in their pastors having "preached politics" from the pulpit or in Bible study, I am reminded that Jesus was eminently political and fended off the same concerns about the poor, women and children, the alien and refugee – and had some pretty strong words for those who were of the political establishment. Whereas we do not "preach politics" per se, the increasingly partisan and divisive times we are living in call for the church to be clear about our commitments and to make a wide welcome in a big tent for all of us to discern our own minds in community. It's a tall order that calls for bold and courageous leadership, as well as bold and courageous listening – and, not to mention, bold and courageous loving. We must be prepared for this struggle for justice. We must find our breastplates of righteousness, our shields of understanding what the hard-fought relationship-tending nature of this work is all about. Unless we use all of our talents and tools collectively, the work of justice will remain out of the reach of this church. This is our moment for the church to give visible witness of the kingdom of God.
There is a clear call to discipleship here – for you, me and us together. We have been baptized for this moment. Now, will we go?
Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. – Isaiah 43:18-19