by Herb Frazier
President Obama focused on grace itself, and that is what most people consider when they hear or sing the famous hymn. But the idea of redemption and finding salvation—which permeates the later life of John Newton and the words to the hymn—is the part of Anthony Thompson’s statement at the bond hearing that deepens our understanding of forgiveness in terms of Christianity. Daniel Simmons’s daughter, Rose, says she speaks on behalf of her family when she says that she believes in the possibility of salvation for her father’s killer, and she is against seeking the death penalty for Dylann Roof. She thinks that he has the “ ‘opportunity for repentance . . . so that he can change other people’s lives. And what a great ending to this story that would be—for him to know beyond a shadow of a doubt the impact of what he did, and to know and see God himself.’ ”41
President Obama’s emphasis on grace and the words from the beloved hymn—“amazing grace . . . that saved a wretch like me,” words written by a man hundreds of years ago whose early ideology probably didn’t differ from Dylann Roof’s racist beliefs—reinforces the hopes of Anthony Thompson and Rose Simmons. The president reminded us of the Christian definition of grace: “the free and benevolent favor of God as manifested in the salvation of sinners and the bestowal of blessings. Grace. . . . If we can find that grace, anything is possible. If we can tap that grace, everything can change. Amazing grace. Amazing grace . . .
“Clementa Pinckney found that grace.
“Cynthia Hurd found that grace.
“Susie Jackson found that grace.
“Ethel Lance found that grace.
“DePayne Middleton-Doctor found that grace.
“Tywanza Sanders found that grace.
“Daniel L. Simmons Sr. found that grace.
“Sharonda Coleman-Singleton found that grace.
“Myra Thompson found that grace.
“Through the example of their lives, they’ve now passed it on to us. May we find ourselves worthy of that precious and extraordinary gift as long as our lives endure. May grace now lead them home. May God continue to shed His grace on the United States of America.”42
Amen.
THIRTEEN
THE UNFINISHED STORY
In his eulogy for Clementa Pinckney, President Obama addressed the challenges that lay ahead for Charleston, South Carolina, and the rest of the nation. He reminded us of our conflicted past in terms of race relations and the moral choices we must make to honor Pinckney’s memory and life’s work. He said, “That is how we express God’s grace,” and added, “it would be a betrayal of everything Pinckney stood for” if we do not follow through. The president warned that the country should not slip into a comfortable silence again. “That’s what we so often do to avoid uncomfortable truths about the prejudice that still infects our society,” he said. “To settle for symbolic gestures without following up with the hard work of more lasting change—that’s how we lose our way again.”1
President Obama described the deplorable conditions that characterize large sections of the “Corridor of Shame”—that part of the state that Pinckney represented in the South Carolina Senate. Poverty undermines a myriad of problems in Jasper County, from failing, dilapidated schools and limited employment opportunities to high rates of incarceration and infant mortality. Senator Pinckney fought hard to improve conditions for the people who lived there. President Obama also spoke about voting rights, gun violence, and poor police practices—all of these issues disproportionately affecting African Americans. Racism, which permeates our history, clearly continues to flow through America’s infrastructure, infiltrating every aspect of daily life. Dylann Roof was a by-product of a racist ideology that seeped out of institutional practices into the mainstream culture and cyberspace with deadly results. The president’s eulogy reminded us that Roof’s actions meant to create a race war, but it led to the opposite. The unity in the Lowcountry, coupled with the forgiving words spoken at the bond hearing, coalesced into something more powerful and meaningful than anyone could have imagined. The president called it “the power of God’s grace.”2 And for those who witnessed it and experienced it, it was an example of “that transcendence of the spirit that no one can take away, no matter what they do.”3
With this grace comes enormous responsibility, especially when the eyes of the world are watching. President Obama described the “light of love that shone”4 when Emanuel members opened the side door of their church to let Dylann Roof enter their space for Bible study on June 17, 2015. What a beautiful image and metaphor for these good people who welcomed a stranger into their midst without question, and now people are left holding on to that light. They still feel it every day in Charleston when strangers come to Emanuel Church to offer gifts and condolences and pay tribute to the fallen. They feel it when they gather and march for better wages and an end to the gentrification on the Charleston peninsula that has driven almost a quarter of the African American population to live elsewhere. They feel it when they pray in private or in their houses of worship. And they most certainly felt it when the good people of Thornton Township, Illinois, traveled to Charleston to announce their decision to nominate Mother Emanuel for the 2016 Nobel Peace Prize.
On Wednesday, September 16, 2015, a delegation of township officials, pastors, and citizens traveled to Charleston to meet with city officials and the leadership at Mother Emanuel to formally announce the nomination. It was part of their “Faith, Dignity, and Respect Initiative.” Their goal is to learn about healing from the Charleston community and the church. They also hoped to create a safety plan for the seventeen municipalities in their township in case they ever experience a similar crisis. Frank Zuccarelli, president of the board of Thornton Township, said the nomination was inspired by the events in Charleston in the aftermath of the church shooting. It was something that deserved international acclaim and recognition. He said the community support and the strength of Mother Emanuel’s church members embodies the idea behind the Nobel Peace Prize.5 Their hope was to gather at least one million signatures on a petition in order to make the nomination possible.6 It was also a way for the group to get permission from the church to move forward with the nomination. The gesture was publicly supported by Rev. Dr. Norvel Goff, Emanuel’s interim pastor and presiding elder of the AME Edisto District. “We embrace the idea of moving forward with the Nobel Peace Prize, because it’s not one that is sought by just a few,” Goff said. “It’s an acknowledgment that only God could have moved in such a miraculous way to allow us to stand on solid ground.”7
The light that President Obama described is most certainly embodied by the citizens of Thornton Township. But light itself is intangible and unquantifiable. And how is it maintained and transformed into something tangible and lasting? A Nobel Peace Prize would most certainly help spread that light, but countless numbers of African Americans are looking for more immediate changes in their lives. Although the church shootings brought the horrors of racism to the surface in ways no one could have imagined, it’s not as if people were unaware of the racist ideology that flourished in the underbelly of America. People like Clementa Pinckney, in Charleston and elsewhere, are working hard to correct the systemic wrongs that disproportionately affect the lives of African Americans. Many of them are members of the clergy. And it was the clergy, along with city and state leaders, who held Charleston together during its hour of greatest need.
When President Obama eulogized Rev. Pinckney, he reminded us that Pinckney “was the progeny of a long line of the faithful—a family of preachers who spread God’s word, a family of protesters who sowed change to expand voting rights and desegregate the South.” The president went on to quote Pinckney about his approach to his ministry, which is intrinsic to the AME Church: “Our calling . . . is not just within the walls of the congregation, but . . . the life of the community in which our congregation resides.”8
Pinckney’s friend and colleague, Sen. Marlon Kimpson, explains that “Clementa Pinckney’s legislative duties were
really second to his pastoral obligations. He did a lot of his work through the church, which included helping his constituents. This was first and foremost.”9
Putting faith into action is the mission of the Charleston Area Justice Ministry (CAJM), a multiracial interfaith organization composed of many different congregations committed to social justice in the community. Through its focus on empowering marginalized people and alleviating poverty and injustice in targeted ways, CAJM holds public officials accountable for helping to solve the socioeconomic issues that disproportionately affect minority populations. The central figures in terms of leadership are Dr. Jeremy Rutledge of Circular Congregational Church, which has a largely white congregation and was first established in the 1600s; Rabbi Stephanie Alexander at Charleston’s Kahal Kadosh Beth Elohim Synagogue, which is the fourth oldest Jewish congregation in the country; and Nelson B. Rivers III, pastor of Charity Missionary Baptist Church, a predominantly African American church in North Charleston. Rivers is also a leader in Al Sharpton’s National Action Network. These three extraordinary people became friends through their work in the Justice Ministry, and they, with members of their congregations, traveled together during the third week of June on the “Freedom Road Tour,” a civil rights road trip through the South sponsored by Charity Missionary Baptist Church.
Starting in Atlanta, the group visited Ebenezer Baptist Church, where Martin Luther King Jr. delivered his first sermon in 1947, and afterward visited the iconic Edmund Pettus Bridge, site of the 1960s voting rights movement in Selma, Alabama. The group moved on to Jackson, Mississippi, home to civil rights activist Medgar Evers, who was shot to death in his driveway by white supremacist Byron de la Beckwith in 1963; they then proceeded to Philadelphia, Mississippi, where civil rights activists James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Michael Schwerner were murdered by the Ku Klux Klan in 1964.
They spent Wednesday, June 17, in Memphis, touring the National Civil Rights Museum. After supper the group’s two buses headed out. Rivers was in one of the buses with the teenagers. On the second bus, Rutledge and Alexander were sitting near each other toward the front of the dimly lit coach. It was late, after ten o’clock, as they talked about visiting the Lorraine Motel, where Martin Luther King was assassinated. “All of that history seemed so recent; it’s so close, you can feel it,” Rutledge later explained. “And there was a lot of talk already on the bus about the blurring of the lines between that story and our story and the old black-and-white photos and the in-color experience of all being together and trying to be part of this story.”10
Then the news of the shootings in Charleston pierced their reality through the cell phone of one of the travelers seated at the rear of the bus carrying Rivers and the teenagers. A stunning and chilling announcement was made, followed by prayers. After someone saw a Facebook post, Rivers called his wife, who was on the other bus. She had been on the phone to her sister, who had called Polly Sheppard, who said, “They’re gone.” At first Mrs. Rivers didn’t understand the meaning of Sheppard’s words, and then the terrible truth sank in.
Cell phones began to light up with calls and texts, especially Nelson Rivers’s phone. His wife grew up in Emanuel Church, and the couple was married there. Their daughter was also married there on June 17, 2000. Like many on the bus that night, Rivers had a lot of friends at that church, and calls began coming directly from Mother Emanuel members. Soon they heard that Pinckney was one of the victims. They stopped at a rest area, and the three friends booked airplane tickets from their phones and iPads for a quick return to Charleston. The buses arrived at Jackson, Mississippi, a few hours after midnight, and hours later the ministers flew home.11
Less than a day after visiting the Lorraine Motel, they were leading others in prayer vigils on the streets of Charleston. Rutledge described the emotion that “it really did feel like this is just one story, and there was no difference between what happened in Memphis decades ago and what was happening in Charleston. Do people always not know that they’re the story, that they’re in it? Do they understand the present quality of history?”12 Rutledge certainly does, and so do his friends Rabbi Alexander and Rev. Rivers. Through their existing relationships with the CAJM, it wasn’t difficult for them to jointly arrange a prayer vigil at the College of Charleston’s TD Arena two days after the shooting. In fact, everyone on the stage that night knew one another. Rivers and Charleston mayor Joseph Riley had been friends for thirty years. They were able to quickly organize an event that brought the community together for prayer and solace.
The future of Charleston depends on the strength of these critical relationships among the clergy because leadership is always required at critical moments. Rutledge, Rivers, and Alexander have emerged as strong leaders and have been seen at almost every event of importance that has occurred in the months following the church shooting. Their ability to lead is a much-needed blessing for this wounded community called the Holy City. Rutledge, Rivers, and Alexander have spoken at many events ranging from a press conference at Mother Emanuel for Gun Sense South Carolina, to joining the initiative of the Conference of Black Churches to foster racial reconciliation, an initiative that includes white churches.
The list of events and activities is seemingly endless, but there’s a list, and that is what truly matters. And with all this activity comes the hope that Charleston could become a model of racial reconciliation. With each positive event, starting with the early vigils on Calhoun Street and the walk across the Ravenel Bridge, one or another asks how to keep the unity and love flowing across the divide of race and money. The more pressing question for many African Americans and citizens of goodwill is how to turn the removal of the Confederate flag from the statehouse grounds into action. The flag was a symbol of racist policies that remained in place after its removal.
Senator Kimpson’s plan is to begin with the folks in the South Carolina House and Senate who voted in favor of the body-camera bill as well as the removal of the Confederate flag, because he believes this group of legislators were sensitive to the murders of the Emanuel Nine and the murder of Walter Scott. Many of them come from very conservative districts, and some of them received vicious hate mail from their constituents when they cast their votes. “They put aside in their hearts any preconceived notions to move this state forward. That coalition is the blueprint for a vote on expanding Medicaid, a vote for fully funded early childhood education, and Pinckney’s passion was about children and education,” Senator Kimpson says. He also believes economic empowerment needs to be the cornerstone of future action, and his goal is to keep pushing for “procurement opportunities” for African Americans in Charleston and the rest of the state.13
In early August 2015, the AME national leadership and NAACP national president Cornell William Brooks organized an 860-mile march from Selma, Alabama, to Washington, DC, called the Journey for Justice. The organizers sought to educate Americans about legislative issues, such as voting rights, education, jobs, and gun reform.14 In each state along the way, they focused on a different issue of particular relevance there. The church shooting in Charleston created a sense of palpable urgency in both organizations.
In South Carolina some of the most pressing issues were on Senator Pinckney’s agenda, as he fought hard for Medicaid expansion for uninsured South Carolinians. He was particularly concerned about the state’s refusal to accept federal funding under the Affordable Care Act because so many South Carolinians are without medical insurance. In Jasper County, which was his home district, about one in four people did not have coverage in 2013.15 Pinckney cared deeply about the issue and spoke often about it, trying to persuade others in the community and the state legislature to accept the much-needed funding. US Representative James Clyburn spoke to Pinckney about this issue repeatedly: “[He] knew what the [political] realities were, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have passion to get health care for his constituents.”16 Less than a month after Pinckney was murdered, Clyburn called for expanding Medicaid funding in
South Carolina. He said that it would be more meaningful than removing the Confederate flag from the statehouse grounds, and it would be the best way to memorialize the senator. Clyburn also suggested a Clementa Pinckney Health Care Law, saying, “It’s a simple expansion of Medicaid—that’s all it is.”17
About a month after the shootings, Cynthia Graham Hurd’s brother published a moving editorial in the Washington Post, headlined “My Sister Was Killed in the Charleston Shooting. Removing the Confederate Flag Isn’t Nearly Enough.” A former North Carolina state senator, Malcolm Graham chastised the hypocrisy of politicians, particularly South Carolina governor Nikki Haley and US senator Tim Scott, for being part of the political party that supports many of the policies that negatively affect African Americans. “What are they going to do about it?” he questioned. “Are they willing to put their seats on the line to challenge members of their own party and lose standing with many conservative voters they once courted?”18 More pointedly, he wondered if they would be willing to expand Medicaid funding and support the Affordable Care Act, oppose restrictive voting laws, confront a judicial system in which African Americans are disproportionately imprisoned, and fund predominantly African American schools that go underfunded. “Anybody can be a popular politician,” Graham continued. “You just say nothing and do nothing. It’s when you speak truth to power—that’s when you rise above rhetoric and become a true leader.”19 He ended the editorial with a rallying cry for everyone who was listening: “We can’t simply move on. We’ve got work to do.”20
