When The Devil Comes To Church | Emanuel AME – Charleston, S.C.

What happens when the devil comes to church? What does he find?

I can imagine exactly what the churchgoers thought when the devil first entered Emanuel AME. They saw an unfamiliar face and were taken aback, yet pleasantly surprised. Here was a newcomer– a “first-time” visitor. It didn’t matter that this young man was white; they welcomed and embraced him. And for an hour before they were murdered, they loved him unconditionally.

“As it is written, For thy sake we are killed all the day long; we are accounted as sheep for the slaughter”

I don’t label that terrorist “the devil” because I attribute his actions to the Biblical Satan. No! The evil that men do does not require the aid of Lucifer. I call him the devil because his name should never again be mentioned: it should be forgotten! We should only remember and recount the names of the people who, in their dying hour, were faithful to their calling and who offered love to the unlovable.

Fear none of those things which thou shalt suffer: behold, the devil shall cast some of you into prison, that ye may be tried; and ye shall have tribulation ten days: be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life.

As the group sat around singing hymns, I can hear Mother Susie Jackson breaking out to give her testimony about how good God had been to her that day. It didn’t matter to her that everything wasn’t perfect. All that mattered was the “goodness of Jesus” and that the Lord had given her a “reasonable portion of health.”

Pastor Clementa Pinckney  was probably more relaxed during Bible Study and Prayer Service than most people were used to seeing. I can imagine that he liked Wednesday night a little bit more than Sunday because he was able to discuss the Word of God without the rigidity and formality that sometimes comes with Sunday morning. There he could freely discuss the Word of God to his delight.

The youngest of the group, Tywanza Sanders, was that young and faithful brother that the Pastor could count on—reliable, dependable, and full of innovative ideas of how to take the ministry even further than it already was. I can see him reading the Word on his Bible App and then switching over to share that infamous picture with his followers on SnapChat.

I can see Sharonda Coleman-Singleton nodding her head in agreement with what “Pastor” said. That particular scripture spoke directly to the situation with which she had been struggling. She thought to herself, “how is it that the pastor always knows what I’m going through?”

Cynthia Hurd clutched her Bible closely to her body–not out of fear of the stranger in the room– but out of love for the Word. Hugging it was almost like hugging the Savior. It was only dropped from her bosom in order for her to read a passage aloud whenever the pastor asked for a volunteer.

Rev. Dr. Daniel Simmons was a Biblical scholar and a senior statesman. During that final hour, he parsed every word of the younger pastor —not to critique him, but in admiration of Pickney’s gift.

Myra Thompson, the wife of a minister, undoubtedly was there both to celebrate and to help “where-ever” needed. She was committed to the work of the Lord, and like both Mary and Martha, she was ready to worship and ready to serve at a moment’s notice.

Depayne Middleton Doctor was the consummate professional. Yet, I can see her waiving her hands in agreement with the same scripture “Pastor” read that resonated with Sharonda. Dapayne may have had to contain herself in her corporate offices; but at Emanuel, she could praise without inhibition.

And then there was Ethel Lee Lance—somebody’s grandmother. She rocked back in forth in her chair humming the hymn even after the rest of the church had already finished. But for Ethel, the melody of the hymn kept ringing in her heart. And so that she didn’t disturb the rest of the prayer service, she just worshiped the Lord silently to herself. But I still her Ethel humming:

Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus, Just to take him at his worth.

I don’t know the victims of this tragedy personally. But what I do know is the love of the Black church. I know that that love is extended to all of mankind. It is a redemptive and forgiving love. Historically, it has had to be so.

They didn’t suspect that the devil had walked right into their sanctuary. They never considered that on last night they would be required to be “faithful even unto death.” They didn’t suspect any of this because of the love they had in their hearts—the same love that led each of them to welcome their murderer in, shake his hand, and even embraced him with a hug.

This is what the devil found when he came to church. He found unconditional love. And he had the opportunity to not only be loved, but to return this love. But instead, he allowed a hatred so evil to overcome him that nothing could redeem him. This devil heard Sister Ethel Lee Lance humming, but it didn’t move him. He saw Sis. Hurd clinging to her bible, but it didn’t move him. He heard Mother Jackson testifying about the goodness of Jesus– and in his mind he laughed because of the plans he had for each of them.

This is the type of hatred that racism and white supremacy breeds. It is a hatred so deep and so evil that it can look in the face of the purest form of love and slaughter it. It can ignore the redeeming embrace of the sincerest believer and gun it down as though “love” itself had offended it. This is what we are up against. And anyone who capitulates to it, justifies it, ignores it, coddles it, explains it away, or deflects from it in order to avoid the very necessary conversations about race that this nation must have has become an accomplice to it.