These days I am
working at a church in Meridian, Mississippi. A friend of mine who is the lead
pastor at an exciting growing church has been stricken with pancreatic cancer. In
June he called me to come help out as a kind of interim pastor as he fights for
his life against the cancer. I was honored and, of course, accepted the
invitation.
Aside from driving
through Meridian a few times last winter, I had not heard of the place
except from news reports when I was a child. The news Meridian made in those
days was not good. They told of horrible racial troubles. From what I
remembered of the reports, Meridian represented some of the worst of the
prejudice and bigotry the South had to offer. When I came to help my friend and
his church I decided to try to keep an open mind toward the community. After
all, the 1960s were a half-century ago.
I was surprised and
pleased to find that the congregation, while it is predominately made up of
white people, included several black families. It so happened that one of those
families had a 14-year-old boy who was desperately ill with cancer. He had come
home from spring football practice complaining of a sore knee and a bump on his
leg. By the middle of July he was dead. The church had prayed fervently for the
healing of this young man and they were devastated by the news of his passing. The
youth group was particularly hard hit. The heart of everyone went out to his
family.
The boy’s family
chose the church as the scene for the viewing and funeral. It would be the
first funeral in the new sanctuary building. The whole church rallied around
the family, offering the traditional family meal after the service. That was a
big offer as it turned out, because the family members at the funeral numbered
100 or more.
The funeral was a
sad, beautiful time of both sorrow and hope. After the funeral and the
committal, I stood in the multi-purpose building and watched as the family
shared the meal that the church provided. I have attended many such funeral
dinners. This one was fairly ordinary. The family served themselves buffet
style and women and youth assisted by some of the men made sure the serving
bowls stayed full, walking among the tables filling and refilling glasses with
tea and lemonade. I’ve seen this many times, but suddenly I saw special
significance in this one. The family was African-American, and those doing the
serving were mostly Caucasian church members. Big deal? Yeah, big deal. This is
Meridian Mississippi. Not far from here three “Freedom Summer ” civil rights
activists were murdered while trying to educate and register black voters in
1964.
The amazing thing
was that the people at the dinner that day were taking it all in stride. This
congregation was simply taking care of one of its own families, with no notice
about the skin color. They just wanted to do what they could to lighten the
load of this family and honor the memory of the sweet young man who had lost
his brave battle. If this can happen in a place with the bitter history of Meridian,
Mississippi perhaps, it can happen anywhere. I quietly rejoiced with some tears
in my eyes as I watched.
Now, I know the
relationship between the races in America still has many problems. We have a
long way to go to reach the promise of the Declaration of Independence “that
all men are created equal,” and Martin Luther King’s dream that one day his
children and all people “will not be judged by the color of their skin but by
the content of their character.” But, I rejoice because we have made progress. At
the funeral and the dinner, I saw a mile marker on the journey. It was a place
to look back and see how far we have come, as well as to look forward with
resolve to finish the journey.
