“We tend to do proclamation well in the evangelical world, but when we do, we often shout the truth from afar and shake our heads when others don’t listen. To be light, however, we need to be present. We need to be in the places where the darkness has a foothold.”

Explicit public expressions of the gospel in popular culture are few and far between. We just do not see many public examples of the apostolic faith these days, and this scarcity is probably the reason behind the relative ease with which Christian belief can be caricatured in movies, television shows, and new reports as prudish, ignorant, reactionary, and angry. Such a portrayal of Christian community is so common, in fact, that I am afraid many Christians believe it themselves despite their daily experience to the contrary. Group-think packs a nuclear punch.

Presence in the Darkness

Every once in a while, however, the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot comprehend it (to borrow image and language from the apostle John).

Last winter, for instance, the world was horrified by reports that twenty-one Egyptian Christians were marched onto a Mediterranean beach and beheaded by ISIS henchmen. The Christians wore prison jump suits though they were innocent of any meaningful crime, and the name of Jesus Christ was on their lips as they shed this earthly life like a garment. Their martyrdom, which itself means “witness,” refracted around the world as news outlets told and retold the story, and, in the light of their public faith, the darkness of the horrific event seemed to dissipate, even if just for a moment.

Light is not only about proclaiming the good news of Jesus Christ, it is about being present. We tend to do proclamation well in the evangelical world, but when we do, we often shout the truth from afar and shake our heads when others don’t listen. To be light, however, we need to be present. We need to be in the places where the darkness has a foothold. We need to be in the room when darkness makes its advance. Jesus said he didn’t come for the healthy but for the sick (Mark 2:17), so we need to ask ourselves, are we seeking out the dark places of this world so that we can shine the floodlight of the gospel into them or are we standing on a faraway hill, cupping our candlelight in the wind?

When the Darkness Finds Us

Sometimes the darkness comes to find us, as it did last Wednesday night, when a racist and hate-filled young man stood up during a prayer gathering and opened fire on the assembled believers at Emmanuel A.M.E. church in  Charleston, S.C., killing nine people in cold blood. Doesn’t that sound like darkness? Doesn’t that sound like an oppressive, blinding darkness that pierces the soul when you hear news of it?

During a bond hearing last Friday, some of the relatives of the victims of the attack addressed Dylann Roof, the young man who confessed to taking away their loved ones forever. They were short and to the point, but their statements have elicited an remarkable response from those who have heard them.

Felicia Sanders, the mother of 26-year-old Tywanza Sanders, who was one year out of college, said this to Roof:

“We welcomed you Wednesday night in our Bible study with welcome arms. You have killed some of the most beautiful  people that I know. Every fiber in my body hurts and I’ll, I’ll never be the same. Tywanza Sanders was my son. But Tywanza Sanders was my hero. Tywanza was my hero. … May God have mercy on you.”

Nadine Collier, daughter of victim Ethel Lance, a 70-year-old woman of God who was known for coming into the church in her spare time to clean it up for the various study groups and clubs that used the facility, said this:

“I forgive you. You took something very precious away from me. I will never get to talk to her ever again. I will never be able to hold her again, but I forgive you, and have mercy on your soul. … You hurt me. You hurt a lot of people. If God forgives you, I forgive you.”

A relative of Myra Thompson, a vibrant member of the prayer group, and the wife of Rev. Anthony Thompson, the vicar of Holy Trinity Church, and Anglican congregation in Charleston, said this:

“I would just like him to know that, to say the same thing that was just said: I forgive him and my family forgives him. But we would like him to take this opportunity to repent. Repent. Confess. Give your life to the one who matters most: Christ. So that He can change him and change your ways, so no matter what happens to you, you’ll be okay.”

In response to such statements, many were dumbfounded and confused. What could cause someone to say such things to the person who took their loved one two days before? How does a person speak like this? How do we explain such extraordinary grace in the midst of such heart-breaking suffering and loss?

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