The Power of Forgiving the Unforgiveable

On Wednesday, June 7, 2015, Dylann Roof entered the basement of the historic Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina. The church, a historically black congregation founded in 1816, is affectionately called “Mother Emanuel.” It is the oldest AME church in the south and has endured much in the fight against slavery and racial discrimination in its 200 years of service in Charleston. The young white man slipped into a Bible study already in progress led by Myra Thompson. The visitor was greeted warmly by the Bible study members as he sat down next to Mother Emanuel’s pastor, State Senator Clementa C. Pinkney. As Mrs. Thompson concluded the lesson, she invited everyone to stand as she began to lead them in prayer. While everyone’s eyes were closed, the 21-year-old white supremacist, filled with irrational hate, fired 77 shots from a Glock 45 at the unsuspected parishioners, leaving nine people dead.  Roof told Polly Shepard that he was letting her live so she could tell everyone that he had chosen the people of this church to kill because of the color of their skin.

 

Taking place in the aftermath of racial unrest caused by events in Ferguson, Baltimore, New York City, and North Charleston, these unconscionable murders further inflamed and unsettled the nation. It would be hard to imagine anything more egregious than a white supremacist gunning down black men and women as they were praying in their church. The collective eyes of the world were on the City of Charleston, and particularly Mother Emanuel Church. How would they respond? Would this hate-filled murderer accomplish his stated goal of starting a race war?

 

Roof was apprehended the next day and faced a bond hearing less than 48 hours after the murders took place. For security reasons, Dylann Roof appeared at the hearing via a video feed. After introductory formalities, Magistrate Judge James Gosnell read the names of the victims pausing after each one and inviting family members of each victim to address the court. The first two families named declined the offer. When Judge Gosnell asked the family of Nadine Collier if they had anything to say, something supernatural took place. Nadine’s daughter, Ethel Lance, stood, looked at the man who killed her mother, and tearfully declared,

 

“I forgive you. You took something very precious away from me. I will never be able to talk to her ever again. I will never be able to hold her again, but I forgive you and have mercy on your soul. …you hurt me. You hurt a lot of people. If God forgives you, I forgive you.”

The next to speak was Pastor Anthony Thompson, husband of the slain Bible study teacher Myra Thompson. Pastor Thompson details his story in his book, “Called to Forgive: The Charleston Church Shooting.” Here is his description of that fateful moment:

 

“I have already made up my mind not to say anything when Judge Gosnell calls on ‘a representative of the family of Myra Thompson.’

I freeze.

 

I don’t want to speak.

 

I have no idea what to say.

 

I glance at Dylann Roof, and that’s when I hear a familiar Voice calling my name. I have heard it before, and I know without a doubt it is my heavenly Father.

 

‘I have something to say Anthony,’ the Voice whispers.

 

I obey immediately and stand up. I still have no idea what will happen.

 

The judge looks at me and asks, ‘Sir, do you want to say something before this court?’

 

‘Yes, sir,’ I responded.

 

‘Please come forward,’ Gosnell says, motioning me to the front of the room.

 

Out of the corner of my eye, I see my children’s eyebrows lift, mouths drop open. The court is deathly quiet, the raw pain and tension within the room almost palpable. When I reach the podium, I stop and look at Dylann Roof’s face on the flat-screen monitor. I can see him, but through the detention hall’s camera lens, Dylann can only see Judge Gosnell. But he can clearly hear everything said to him in the courtroom.

 

I take a deep breath, and God puts His words into my mouth.

 

‘I forgive you,’ I say to Dylann. ‘And my family forgives you.’

 

I pause, unsure of what my next words will be.

 

‘But we would like you to take this opportunity to repent. Repent. Confess. Give your life to the one who matters the most: Jesus Christ, so that He can change it and change your attitude. And no matter what happens to you, then you will be okay. Do that, and you’ll be better off than you are right now.’”

 

Each family member who spoke in court that day expressed a grace that can only be found in the Gospel. And the world noticed. While some criticized the decision to forgive so quickly, most people sat in awe of the families’ choice to forgive, and, for the most part, the Charleston community followed their lead. Instead of returning hate and anger with hate and anger, love and mercy prevailed. The result was a climate that allowed the massacre to be denounced by all sides while reasoned and gut-level conversations about racial division led to substantive dialog and decisions. Instead of a race war, actual healing and reconciliation took place. As Wanda Simmons, granddaughter of the slain Pastor Daniel Simmons poignantly said at the hearing, 

‘‘Although my grandfather and the other victims died at the hands of hate, this is proof — everyone’s plea for your soul is proof they lived in love and their legacies will live in love, so hate won’t win.”

 

The response of these faithful families to forgive in the midst of their grief shocked the nation as it countered the common narrative of angry cries for justice. This is not to say that the victim’s families were not angry and didn’t want the shooter to face the judicial system. Rev. Thompson’s book details how the whole gamut of emotions rightly associated with such a horrific act were deeply felt and expressed in its aftermath. Yet it was the faith of the victim’s families that caused them to recognize that the same Gospel that covers their own sins also covers the sins of those who have wounded them, including what Dylann Roof did that fateful night. 

We often hear people shouting, “No Justice, No Peace!” Yet, has anyone who received the justice they demanded ever found peace in that justice? Peace doesn’t come from justice. Peace is only found through the injustice of the Cross, where the just died for the unjust so that the unjust can find peace. True justice and true peace are only found when we apply the blood of Jesus as payment in full for every wound we ever have or will suffer. 

The power of the Gospel was expressed through the families of Mother Emanual to the world when they quickly chose to forgive. Could it be that God expects their response to be the automatic response of His redeemed everywhere, no matter how deeply we are wounded?