I was a young pastor when the KKK came to our town. The rally was just three blocks from our home in a town where my two children attended school and my wife taught and where I pastored a CMC church. On Saturday, July 17, 1995, the national head of the Klan spoke on the steps of the Madison County Courthouse in London, Ohio.
What’s a pastor to do? I wondered in the early weeks of July. Doing nothing didn’t seem right. After all, Jesus said he had come to “release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” And angry protest didn’t seem right, because Jesus also said, “A new commandment I give unto you, that you love one another…”
I was not the only pastor who was struggling with this. Ministers, both white and black, were concerned about the KKK coming, but also about chronic racial inequalities in our community. Pastors of churches—Baptist and Pentecostal and Apostolic Gospel and Nazarene and African-Methodist and more—were all facing the same dilemma. How could we fulfill the words of Christ?
Doing nothing didn’t seem right … And angry protest didn’t seem right.
A group of pastors, city and county leaders, school officials, and civic leaders came together in the basement of the courthouse. And from this meeting an idea evolved, an alternative event. Instead of going to the Klan rally, even to protest, we would ask London to come to an event we called Keep the Unity in the Community.
Plans came together quickly. At the spacious Farm Science Review site, we said in our promotions, people could find an antique car show, a whiffle ball tournament, music groups, a talent show, and an appearance by boxer Buster Douglas. There would also be scripture reading and preaching. The night before the rally, people met to pray at the courthouse.
Out of a town of 9,000 people, a crowd of almost 1500 came to the unity event the next day. And so did Columbus television stations.
None of us there knew what was happening at the KKK rally until later. And it wasn’t much. A crowd of about 150 gathered—mostly police officers, but also a few demonstrators, some curious spectators, and a handful of Klansmen and some supporters. The 45-minute rally came and went with little fanfare.
Following the unity event, the churches of Madison County drafted a resolution: “All people are created equal and it is time for healing and reconciliation to take place politically, socially, economically, and spiritually.” Friendships developed across churches and races. Black pastors preached in white churches, and white pastors preached in black churches. The following year brought several community-wide church services to celebrate racial reconciliation.
Our community got a small glimpse of heaven. In Revelation 7, one can read about a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people, and language, that stood before the throne and in front of the Lamb. Altogether, they cried out with a loud voice, “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb.”
2 Responses
Thanks, Steve,
This is a great story of an institutional (pastors and other community leaders) response to racism. I wonder how things appear if we look at issues of racism through the “Pathways” focus that we had several years ago at our annual gathering. How would other gifts face this issue? How can the church support the full range of spiritual pathways, and those who walk them, in confronting racism? Service? Activism? Business?
Perhaps the church is always at a fork in the road ahead, but we seem to be at an especially significant moment in our national history. Will we look back at this moment and see a church that supported the status quo, or see a church that vigorously joined all who work for justice and equality?
Steve,
That’s an incredible story of the Kingdom of God among us. This is the kind of unity we need in the the sad divide we’re experiencing in our country. It’s very important to remember we belong to the party of the Kingdom of God.