God Weeps

God Weeps: A Reflection from the National Memorial for Peace and Justice - Pastor Kevin

Today our group journeyed to The National Memorial for Peace and Justice in Montgomery. Upon arrival, we were told we would have only 45 minutes for our self-guided walk through the 6-acre outdoor memorial.

My pilgrimage began at a sculpture depicting enslaved people being prepared for auction. In the photos I'm sharing below, you can see the anguish of family separation captured between father and mother/child—a preview of the grief that would follow.

Then came the lynchings—listed by name, by county, by state. Knowing my time was limited, I began quickly scanning for North Carolina, the soil where I have lived most of my life. I intended to document everything—pictures of each county in NC, each name.

After the first section, I glanced at my watch. No time for that approach. There were too many.

I revised my strategy, deciding to photograph only the counties where I had lived. I began searching more frantically: Washington, Alamance, Onslow, Carteret, Mecklenburg… still too many.

Then a friend pointed to one of the hanging memorials—a county in South Carolina where one of my best friends currently lives. There I saw the same last name as his family. I lost it. I didn't even try to wipe away what began flowing from my eyes. Too many had become too much. Too much.

I felt a bodily impulse to bolt, to exit. This never happens to me, but I began to twitch and clench my fists anxiously. I felt an involuntary compulsion to leave and complete my reflection outside. I firmly resisted the urge and continued.

The names, the many listed as "unknown," the counties—all displayed on coffin-shaped monuments. My walk continued. At first, these memorials stood in front of me, then beside me, and as I progressed, now above me. Once I left the pavilion where so many hung suspended, I journeyed to where there were more—now on the ground, row after row.

I continued photographing counties where I had lived, but another glance at my watch confirmed my allotted time was running short. I moved more quickly, scanning and searching: Alabama, Texas, Oklahoma, Florida, South Carolina, Virginia, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi… it was too many. It was too much.

Another glance—now less than 10 minutes remaining. I moved with urgency to complete my self-assigned documentation task and turned the next corner on the path. I stopped in my tracks and could not take the next step. There were more. So many more. This time I said it aloud, but quietly under my breath: "Too many! This is too many! God … God … this is just too many!" My eyes once again could not hold their water.

It was at that moment I felt something else. Water—not on my cheek, but on my arm. First one drop, then another, and another. Thank God! Someone else was seeing. Someone else was taking roll. Someone else knew all the names—even those listed as "unknown," even those not represented here, even those we don't yet know about.

The sky was weeping, and it was the first time I slowed my pace and took a breath—a real breath. God sees. God hears. God weeps.

[Photo gallery from the National Memorial for Peace and Justice below]