By Rev. Jarrett B. Washington, MDiv., MACE
My wife and I had the opportunity to view the “Emanuel” movie last evening. We made a conscious decision to not the view the movie during the prescreens or special events because we had a different relationship with those who were killed and we desired the anonymity the public movie theater would bring. The well-produced film told the story of how the survivors of the tragic events of June 17, 2015, dealt with forgiveness and the idea of no longer having those you love in your company. Each part of the film attempted to share the story of how forgiveness can translate into strength and one’s ability to cope with the vicissitudes of life. During the film my good friend and brother, Raphael James, of Live 5 News poignantly stated, “I don’t know was so much better than knowing.” While sitting in the dark movie theater those words burned in my inner core. For the truth is, as we sat in the year 2019, the entire theater knew what at the time was the unknown pronouncement by Raphael.
The unknown for me was pulling in my driveway on June 17, 2015 as my wife runs outside with tears in her eyes, saying, “there’s been a shooting at Mother Emanuel and people are saying that some people have died.” Immediately, I went into a panic or maybe even a frenzy. I thought, wasn’t I just there on Sunday? We turned on the news and you could see the reporters reporting from near the church but still not saying exactly what happened. I phoned my little sister, Valencia Wicker, who at the time was a reporter here in Charleston, and she answers her phone only to say to me, “she can’t talk right now.” As soon as I disconnected from her, I received an email from my district telling me to go to the Embassy Suites near Mother Emanuel.
Still dealing with the unknown, I, along with two of my colleagues in ministry drove downtown to be with the families and the church at the hotel. As we drove into downtown Charleston it was almost as if the entire city was shut down. We parked on King Street in front of Virginia’s on King. We saw no one. We walked up to the back alley to the Embassy Suites and there at the door we were greeted by FBI agents who said to us, “there is a bomb threat on this building, get in, or go out.”
As we walked into the hotel, we saw some familiar faces, no one really wanting to make eye contact, just staring as if they had heard the worst news ever. We entered into a ballroom filled with members of Mother Emanuel. There were chaplains present. There was a large police presence. There was a handful of pastors. And then there was us trying to cope with the unknown.
I so vividly remember the police officers and chaplains quietly tapping the shoulders of the loved ones of the deceased and posing various questions to them. By this time, no one knew who was dead, but you could almost feel the level of duress because some family members were repeatedly calling their loved ones and not getting an answer. I even recall, one officer asking a family member, “do you remember what your loved one had on when they left the house today?” Only for the family to respond, “I’m not sure.” That’s when I knew something was terribly wrong. The unknown was becoming known.
Some hours into the night, Chief of Police Mullens, Mayor Riley, and their entourage enter the room. Everyone gets really quiet. The Chief of Police explains, “there was shooting during the bible study, eight people are dead, one is at the hospital.” It was at that very moment, that the woman standing next to me, screams the loudest scream I’ve ever heard, and she collapses into the arms of the man standing next to her. On the floor, yes sitting on the floor, is a man who immediately punches the wall (certainly there was a hole) and cries until his shirt is covered in his own tears. Presiding Elder Goff, begins to speak, and asks everyone in the room to sing the words to the familiar hymn “My Hope is Built.” As the people attempted to sing, you could see pain, stress, anger, and every other emotion possible to man/woman in that room.
In the coming days, things changed in our city and in our church. I remember the vigils, the meetings, and the overwhelming media presence. What became difficult, also translated to honor as my company, Legacy Graphics, was contracted to produce the funeral programs for the deceased. During the day, I would collect the pictures and memories from the families and funeral homes, lock myself in my office, cry, work, cry all over again, and come out with a finished product. I learned so much about these martyrs of the faith, some things I hadn’t known before, in those days of work.
The film is evidence that much has changed since that horrific night, but then some things are still the same. The Confederate flag has come down. Gun laws are being reviewed, yet seemingly not changed. And we are still mourning the loss of those men and women on that night in June 2015. Today, if you do anything, show somebody you love them. Be extraordinarily nice to your brothers and your sisters. Be strengthened and renewed with greater faith in God. Realize that even if it is unknown to you, there is a God who knows it all. For as the Hebrew writer so eloquently articulated, God has already prepared a city for them and if we know anything we ought to know that we should all live our lives as if we will meet them in that city one day.
The Rev. Jarrett B. Washington is the pastor The Rev. Jarrett Washington is the pastor of Hopewell AME Church in Hemingway, South Carolina. He is a graduate of Turner Theological Seminary at the ITC in Atlanta, Georgia, with both the Master of Divinity and Master of Arts in Christian Education degrees. Currently, he serves as the co-editor of The Voice of Mission Magazine and layout artist for the Missionary Magazine. He is married to Deronda C. Washington and is the father of one daughter, Braylen Jael.of Hopewell AME Church.
