CHARLESTON, S.C. — Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church opened its tall, wooden doors to the world Sunday, embracing strangers who walked in from the street or tuned in from home for the first worship service since a white gunman was accused of killing its pastor and eight black church members.
It was that same hospitality that allowed the suspected gunman to be welcomed into a Bible study for about an hour before he allegedly stood up, made racially offensive remarks and opened fire in the church known as “Mother Emanuel” because it is one of the oldest black congregations in the South.
Hundreds lined up in the hot Charleston sun to climb the stairs to the sanctuary. The organist played and church bells chimed as the choir sang “Blessed Assurance.”
“This is our house of worship,” said the Rev. Norvel Goff, a presiding elder of the 7th District AME Church, before adding a note of defiance to a service sprinkled with themes of love, recovery and healing. “The doors of the church are open, praise be to God.”
“No evildoer, no demon in hell or on Earth can close the doors of God’s church.”
Many in the pews fanned themselves furiously, beating back a thick heat and their fragile emotions. People fought tears, rocking back and forth. Some comforted each other in long embraces. Ushers passed out bottles of cold water. And above them all loomed the pastor’s usual seat, empty, covered by a black cloth.
But the church did not grieve alone. For several minutes Sunday, the skies above this city were alive with the sound of bells: high in steeples and in the hands of toddlers, all ringing and tinkling in unison to honor the nine people cut down at the historic church.
Churches of all denominations across Charleston agreed to ring their bells at 10 a.m. in a gesture they hoped would send a healing message of unity and love to the world.
Standing in the shadow of St. Matthew’s Lutheran, less than a block from “Mother Emanuel,” Kelly Nix said the event brought her immense comfort.
“It’s about grace, hearing the bells and being part of a community that we love,” she said, tears rolling down her cheeks as her twin girls, Lana and Margeaux, who will turn 2 years old Friday, ran around in their matching white dresses. “And searching for grace and faith in a time when you think of unthinkable things.”
Later Sunday, thousands of people gathered on the Arthur Ravenel Jr. Bridge to join hands in solidarity.
When the marchers from the Mount Pleasant side and the Charleston side met on the bridge, there was clapping and singing of “This Little Light of Mine.”
“It feels great. There’s so much love out here,” said Juliett Marsh.
The bridge is named after a former state lawmaker and vocal Confederate flag supporter. The slayings have renewed calls for the flag to be removed from the South Carolina Statehouse grounds.
A safe haven
In Emanuel AME’s nearly 200-year history, the congregation has withstood slavery, segregation, racially motivated laws to keep worshippers from meeting and fires set by angry, white mobs. But the slaying Wednesday of state Sen. Clementa Pinckney, who was the church’s pastor, and eight church members left many wondering how such a horrible tragedy could occur in a place they consider a safe haven.
“It has been tough. It’s been rough, and some of us have been downright angry. But through it all, God has sustained us and encouraged us,” Goff said. “When times of trouble come into our lives, how do we respond? Do we respond by being afraid? Or do we respond in faith?”
Goff encouraged the congregation to continue to pray and look to God for healing.
“The blood of the Emanuel Nine requires us to work for not only justice in this case, but for those living on the margins of life,” he said. “We must stay on the battlefield until there is no more fight to be fought.”
Reporters, he said, had asked him how some grieving family members who attended the bail hearing of suspect Dylann Roof could say they would forgive him. Roof, who was arrested on Thursday in Shelby, N.C., was charged with nine counts of murder and possessing a firearm in the commission of a violent crime.
The families, Goff said, were holding on to a strong faith that teaches them to love their neighbors. “God is our refuge and our strength,” Goff said. “We ought to put our hope and trust in God.”
Daniel Martin Jr., 52, who said his family has been on the membership rolls of Emanuel for more than 100 years, said the church would heal and grow stronger. “It’s painful and difficult, but if you know anything about the people of faith, Charlestonians, members of the church, you will understand when we come to church we receive the word of God.”
Others were still hesitant.
“How do you bring yourself to a place where tragedy struck?” said Brandon Robinson, 26, minister of music of “Little Emanuel,” a sister church. “There is an opened wound. Someone lost a brother, a husband, a father, a sister, an auntie.”
But Marlene Coakley-Jenkins, whose sister Myra was killed in the church basement, said she was inspired.
“I think the message was powerful, positive and compassionate,” Coakley-Jenkins said on the church steps. “Everything the family needed at this particular time. It gave us strength and faith. It allowed us to have all the emotions that an experience like this might conjure and more.”
Someone asked her whether she was thinking of the shooter. “I pray at some point he finds God’s mercy,” she said. “God’s mercy is even there for him. We can’t afford to lose one soul on Earth. I am ready to forgive him. I have to because that would block so many blessings. Nothing grows positive out of hate.”
Prayers across U.S.
Around the country, pastors asked people to pray for Charleston. In Atlanta’s First Iconium Baptist Church, a predominantly black church with a tradition of speaking out for social justice, the Rev. Timothy McDonald told his congregation Sunday that he had met Pinckney in April during a visit to Columbia, S.C., with a group of ministers.
“You talk about a promising young man,” he said, expressing shock at the manner of Pinckney’s death.
The tragedy resonated far beyond urban areas. Congregants at a small church in rural north-central Pennsylvania signed a condolence card to send to Emanuel. The Rev. Nancy Light Hardy of St. James United Church of Christ said she debated mailing the card, which seemed “pitiful and lame” when set against the “inconceivable” killings.
“But at least it lets the Charleston church know that Christians across the country are thinking about them,” she said.
As a further sign of resilience, Emanuel AME’s Wednesday night Bible study is expected to continue as normal next week, said Emanuel member Harold Washington, 75.
“We didn’t change a thing,” he said.
