Pastor Charles Jenkins
Last evening, I attended a memorial service and candlelight vigil for the Charleston Nine at St. Paul's A.M.E. Zion in neighboring Gettysburg. I was gratified and filled with hope to see that half the people who packed the church were white. All of us, regardless of color or ethnicity, were there to grieve together and offer support to the congregation of Emanuel A.M.E. in Charleston, South Carolina.
Worship service at St. Paul's is vastly different from services at Menallen Friends Meeting, where I am a member - though more in name only over the last couple of years. We Quakers sit in silence, awaiting God/the Light Within to speak to our souls. At St. Paul's, they call out loud for God to enter the House, to fill their hearts and souls with His presence. They offer praise with prayer, with songs, with their bodies. I felt at home there last night, unlike I have felt at my meeting for a very long time.
One thing I found interesting, and understandable considering the small size of St. Paul's, is that they use recorded music, to which they sing along. Joy spills out of the mouths of the congregation, their voices raised to a level that makes it seem the rafters are shaking. Which they might be, given the age of the church.
The gospel song that was playing when I arrived, that the congregation was singing with great fervor, rocked my soul last night, long after the vigil ended and I drove back home. It is my anthem for the rest of my life. One phrase, especially, is my new motto (and the title of this post).
I will not turn away this time. I can't. How about you?
