It’s hard to my feelings about what happened in our city last week into words, but I’m going to try:
On the evening of June 17th, I was at board meeting on Calhoun Street. My meeting was at the city offices so I ran into a few police officers on duty and chatted about the beautiful weather and the architecture of the new building housing the department. I came home, had dinner, and prayed with my kids as we tucked them in for the night.
When I woke up in the morning, I had a text message from my dad about a shooting on Calhoun Street. I immediately got online and was overwhelmed with the images from last night. I couldn’t understand that this happened right here in our town, in a CHURCH, just a block from my meeting the night before.
A hate crime in Charleston. The city I have come to know and love as one of tolerance where citizens, both black and white, live in harmony. Where the white mayor of 40 years marched to Columbia in solidarity with black citizens to support removing the confederate flag from the statehouse in 2003.
As the details came through, it felt like something out of a dream. Our city was wounded but the way she came together in the aftermath of the devastation was nothing short of miraculous.
The relatives of those who were slain showed the world the love of Christ through their words of forgiveness towards the gunman. Major news outlets were speechless and had no way to explain what was unfolding in Charleston.
