During my final year at Stanford, our newly appointed police chief died suddenly and without warning. Chief Marvin Moore was the first African American to hold the position. I found the officers devastated when I went to visit the department and offered whatever help I could. It had been their good fortune that they never lost a serving officer in or out of the line of duty for as long as anyone could remember.
After expressions of forgiveness from the families of “The Beautiful Nine,” a few articles have been written that counter the dominant media narratives focusing on the beauty of the unconditional forgiveness offered Dylann Roof contrasted with the hatred and terror wrought on the community. As I mentioned earlier, I laud the family members for opening themselves to such extraordinary grace, particularly during a moment when the temptation to lash out with hatred and vengeance must have been barely resistible.
Now that the perpetrator of the Emanuel Church massacre has been apprehended and charged, the media is ablaze with heart rending images of family members struggling through their grief to offer forgiveness to Dylann Storm Roof. Many colleagues in ministry, most of whom are faithful allies in mainline churches like my own, the Episcopal Church, where people of color are few and far between, are waxing poetic about the power of forgiveness. I do not doubt the sincerity of my friends and colleagues. But I have to admit, even as a man who works so hard to lead with thoughtful compassion and introspection–much to the consternation of my more pointed and eloquent black colleagues–the readiness to laud forgiveness too early and too often horrifies me.
I learned of the dreadful massacre at the historic Mother Emanuel AME Church in South Carolina while lying on a sleeping bag on the floor of my empty apartment. This is the very church of Denmark Vesey (1767-1822), a former slave who bought his freedom. He attempted to organize what might have become one of the largest slave revolts of the U.S. antebellum era. Those who recruited black soldiers to serve in the Union Army during the Civil War invoked the name of Denmark Vesey.
My father laid bricks long before he became a Baptist minister. He used to tell the story of how, at the beginning of a building project, the mayor, the city council, business leaders, and the foreman would show up with golden shovels for the ground breaking ceremony. A brass band would show up as well. At the appointed time after the speeches were made, the community leaders would force their shovels into the rocky ground and the band would strike up a merry tune.
In the film Matt Shepard is a Friend of Mine one person, who we were told is not ready to speak publicly about Matt’s death, stood out. He is the admiring little brother, Logan, whose voice appears behind the home movie camera as he taunts his idol, Matt. I applaud his courage to claim his own space and open his heart in his own time, or not at all. Though we didn’t meet that night, I felt a special connection to him as well since I also lost an older brother in my teens whom I adored.
Tonight Cliff and I stole a few moments of recreation. We wondered whether seeing the documentary Matt Shepard Is a Friend of Mine was the best way to spend them. After dealing with religion, race, and violence in the last two sermons and a book study, I had said to him earlier, “That’s it. No more violence. It is just too painful. I am worn out and I need a break.”
We saw it anyway. As fate would have it, writer and director Michele Josue, her co-producer Liam McNiff, and another of Matt’s friends were there for the showing. Afterwards we had a chance to linger over conversation in the cool Berkeley evening air. I am glad we went.
An Open Response to Michael Hardin’s tag on Facebook
My friend, Michael Hardin, runs an organization called Preaching Peace, a nonprofit dedicated to “Educating the Church in Jesus’ Vision of Peace.”
Michael has traveled extensively around North America, Australia/New Zealand, and Europe, presenting seminars on nonviolent atonement and his hermeneutic of nonviolence that is heavily influenced by the theology of Karl Barth and the mimetic anthropology of René Girard. Lately Michael’s FB wall has hosted several threads challenging people to rethink view on homosexuality and Christianity. Michael tagged me to bring some extra perspectives into the conversation, which you will find below…
Hi, Michael. I’ve been a pretty busy today and am just now in a place where I can respond to your Facebook tag.
My life is measured in votive candles.
Imelda graciously handed me the box of little candles for the vigil, her eyes full of compassion. The flickering beneath those little blue holders scattered the darkness that night. I could not have known then that in my penultimate year in Memorial Church, I would dip into that box yet again in hopes of scattering the darkness and dust of what was left of the World Trade Center towers.