Reflections on Charleston

Jacob’s Chapel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Mount Laurel, New Jersey is a tiny white building hidden on a back road between the mini mansions of ex-urban subdivisions. You’d drive past it and never know that it was once a stop on the Underground Railway. Some years ago, my wife and some friends and I were welcomed to Jacob’s Chapel on a warm late afternoon to attend the funeral of one of the church’s few Caucasian parishioners—a woman whose name and precise relationship to our party I cannot recall. I announced to my bride that I would like to don a necktie for the occasion, knowing how formal and dignified black churches often were. Marilyn suggested that this might be unnecessary, but, not wishing to be disrespectful to either the deceased or her congregation, I changed back into my “work clothes”—my clerical black and dog collar.

I had, unfortunately, forgotten the rules of hospitality of historically African American churches. No sooner had we entered the humble building but I was escorted from my wife and friends and introduced to Jacob’s senior pastor. This distinguished gentleman immediately invited me to take a place of honor in the chancel alongside the other worship leaders, deacons, and visiting clergy, and to open the service with the invocation. This request required some fast thinking on my part. I suddenly recalled that it was the hospitable tradition of such denominations to honor visiting pastors by including them in the worship service—and that it was considered highly impolite to refuse such an invitation. Unfortunately, I had never met the deceased and knew precious little about her. Nevertheless, I prayed as best I could and concluded my orison to a chorus of murmured “Yes, Lord. Yes, yes. Amen, Lord Jesus” from the grieving congregation. I felt a sense of gratitude and respect from the folks of Jacob’s Chapel which, quite frankly, I don’t always feel from my own parishioners. Their hospitality was remarkable.

Many years earlier, when I was a first-year seminarian, a field education assignment found me and several other white students at the New Bethel AME Church on Germantown Avenue in Philadelphia. When white folks enter an AME church the congregants figure out pretty quickly that they are visitors. The welcome I and my classmates received from that huge congregation was unlike anything I’d experienced in any other church. There were smiles and handshakes and words of welcome. We were addressed as “brothers,” and we felt like family. When it was mentioned that we were seminarians, we were immediately invited to join the pastor for dinner in the church basement after worship. Following a two-and-one-half hour service, we were treated to a delicious meal of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and other assorted delicacies home-cooked by church ladies especially for us. It was the most amazing display of welcome to the stranger I have ever experienced.

AME congregations seem to take Jesus’ words from Matthew to heart:

“I was a stranger and you welcomed me…Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of theses who are members of my family, you did it to me.” (Matthew 25:35c, 40)

On June 17, Emanuel AME of Charleston, South Carolina welcomed a stranger to their Bible study. I’m certain the welcome given to Dylann Roof was as loving and open as the ones I experienced at New Bethel and Jacob’s Chapel. In obedience to the gospel, the people of Emanuel welcomed this strange young white man into their church as if they were welcoming Christ himself.

Days later, after Roof had been arrested for murdering nine of Emanuel’s members, the survivors of those slain spoke words of forgiveness to the gunman at his hearing. If you watch the video of that hearing online, you’ll hear the survivors speak forgiveness as Christ himself did from the cross.

The issues brought about by the tragedy in Charleston are impossibly complex and well above my pay grade to comment on. I don’t know what I can intelligently say about racism in America, gun control, mental illness, or the Confederate flag. But I do know that the love of God is present in the welcome of a stranger. I know that we are called to see Christ in others and to be Christ to others. And I’m certain that this violent episode will not dim the joy of the welcome strangers will receive at Emanuel AME of Charleston. Nor should it dim the welcome anyone should receive from those who confess Jesus as Lord.

The LCD sign in front of Faith Lutheran of Philadelphia reads, “ALL are welcome.” I can only pray that the people of my congregation will truly embrace this message and see in the actions of the saints of Emanuel AME a genuine model of Jesus Christ’s love, grace, courage, and forgiveness. I pray that a desire for security never overtakes a commission to welcome, accept, and love the stranger. Should this commission ever be neglected, we will cease to be the Church.

Lord Jesus, comfort the people of Emanuel and all victims of gun violence. Grant peace to the hearts of the family of Dylann Roof and all who grieve the inexplicable actions of those they thought they knew. Awaken in your holy Church the spirit of openness and willingness to embrace all of your people. In your precious name, Amen.