[Mb-civic] Amid ashes, unity - The Boston Globe

[William Swiggard]

  Amid ashes, unity


  As unsolved fires ravage Alabama churches, a racial barrier falls

By Megan Tench, Globe Staff  |  February 15, 2006

CENTREVILLE, Ala. -- A day after flames tore through the predominantly 
black Pleasant Sabine Baptist Church, one of 10 churches set ablaze in 
rural Alabama this month, church member Wardell Harris, 62, saw a group 
of people walking down a dirt hill toward the wreckage.

They were members of Antioch Baptist Church, located just a few hundred 
yards away on an isolated winding country road.

And they were white.

''I saw them coming, I didn't know what to make of it," Harris recounted 
Sunday as he stared out into the piles of charred rubble where Pleasant 
Baptist once stood. ''Them folks never bothered with us. We never 
bothered with them. And then there they were."

The church burnings that struck Alabama over the past two weeks have 
devastated communities, but in Bibb County, the scene of five of the 
fires, they have done something else as well: They've begun to bring 
together a long-segregated community.

Like Pleasant Sabine, Antioch Baptist was also the target of arson in 
the dead of night on Feb. 3. But the fire set in a floral arrangement by 
the pulpit fizzled before causing major damage. Sensing their good luck, 
and knowing their own pangs of fear, Antioch Baptist members made an 
extraordinary offer to the members of Pleasant Sabine.

''People who I thought didn't care, you know white people, they started 
expressing their sorrow," Harris said, his eyes widening in 
astonishment. ''They came down and hugged us. Some of them started even 
crying. Even the older ones, they came and said, 'Come worship at our 
church.' "

Like the fires, word of the invitation quickly spread.

''I heard that the blacks from Sabine went to the white church last 
Sunday and they worshiped together," Jonda Ingram, 45, whispered during 
church services in a trailer near the charred remains of Rehobeth 
Baptist Church, a predominantly white church that was also burned on Feb. 3.

Indeed, some members of Pleasant Sabine worshiped at Antioch on Feb. 5. 
Members of the predominantly white Old Union Baptist Church, which was 
also damaged, helped black parishioners at Pleasant Sabine clean up 
after the fire. And some members of Old Union have reached out even 
farther, creating a joint e-mail list to share pain and suffering with 
black churches that were burned in other parts of the state.

A deep uneasiness about crossing racial lines is etched into Bibb County 
-- and Alabama's history. Some of it dates to Harris's teenage years, 
when four black girls were killed in a racially motivated bombing of the 
Sixteenth Baptist Church in Birmingham. It was 1963, and one of the most 
painful events in the history of the civil rights movement.

''When I was a kid the Klan was hiding in them woods," Harris said 
clutching a figurine of the Virgin Mary, one of the few items that 
withstood the blaze at Pleasant Sabine. ''We were terrorized."

For decades afterwards, burnings of crosses and churches were almost 
always acts of violence by white supremacists against blacks.

But today, as many white Alabamans cope with random attacks on their 
houses of worship, some in the most remote and segregated communities 
are experiencing an awakening that seems years overdue.

Five of the churches attacked, including the most recent one, Beaverton 
Freewill Baptist Church in Northwest Alabama, which was burned on 
Saturday, were predominantly white. The other five were black.

Now, white and black churchgoers together are feeling the pain and 
anxiety of what investigators are calling a hate crime.

In Bibb County, marked by long two-lane roads curving deep into the 
wooded hills, five churches -- four white and one black -- were struck 
within minutes of one another on Feb. 3. While two of the churches, 
Antioch and Old Union Baptist Church, survived the flames, three others 
-- Ashby Baptist Church, Pleasant Sabine, and Rehobeth Baptist -- lost 
everything.

Four more Baptist churches, all with predominantly black congregations, 
were struck in Southwest Alabama on Feb. 7. Morning Star Missionary 
Baptist Church and Galilee Baptist Church were destroyed. Two other 
churches were damaged, Dancy Baptist Church and Spring Valley Baptist 
Church. All were located on isolated and often unmarked country roads, 
and most had ties dating to the days of slavery.

No one was injured in any of the 10 fires.

Based partly on witness reports and physical evidence, and partly on 
patterns of behavior, federal investigators said on Monday that two 
white men, possibly ''bosom buddies" in their 20s or 30s are responsible 
for the fires, said Tom Crowley, spokesman for the federal Alcohol 
Tobacco and Firearms and Explosives Agency.

Evidence collected at the scenes suggests that the arsonists may have 
been briefly trapped in one of the churches during the fire, and may 
have been hurt, the investigators said.

Investigators also said they have not yet determined whether Beaverton 
Freewill was torched by the same arsonists as the other nine, or was the 
work of a copycat.

''We view the intentional burning of a place of worship as a violent 
attack on our community's well-being," said ATF Special Agent in Charge 
James Cavanaugh. ''Identifying and prosecuting those responsible is one 
of our highest priorities."

Singed and torn Bible pages, twisted metal chairs, and charred pianos 
and church pews are all that is left of the tiny sanctuaries destroyed 
in Bibb County, about 45 miles from Birmingham.

The fires have left holes in deeply religious communities where the 
churches are the only places for miles where neighbors, many living in 
mobile homes, some without telephones, can gather to share meals, pray, 
and entertain.

''Maybe the church burnings needed to happen to get the blacks and 
whites together," said Ingram, who watched in disbelief as fire devoured 
Rehobeth Baptist, a tall white church built in 1819. ''Like my sister 
said, 'They may have set the church building on fire, but they also set 
the people on fire. They're all getting together now.' "

And then she shared a secret: ''I always wished I could go to one of 
those black churches. I mean, it seems like so much fun. I just want to 
jump out of my seat and yell 'Amen' but here they'd look at me like I 
was crazy."

During service Sunday at Rehobeth, the Rev. Duane Schliep tried to rally 
his congregation with words of hope, delivered quickly in a thick 
southern accent. But the grief inside the spartan trailer, filled with 
plastic folding chairs and tables, was palpable. In the middle of sermon 
Schliep tried a different tack, one that was sure to raise eyebrows and 
fire up emotions.

''You and I got a task before us," he said, challenging parishioners to 
link arms and help the entire county rebuild its churches. ''It's time 
to get off our knees now. Dust off our knees, roll up our sleeves, and 
get to work."

Ingram raised her hand and squealed, ''Amen."

Members of other Bibb County churches say they, too, have been spurred 
to action. It was minutes after 4 a.m. on Feb. 3 when Alvin Lawley, a 
deacon at Old Union Baptist Church, received a chilling message. 
''Someone called my wife and said, 'They're burning the churches!' "

Lawley, 45, raced from his home to the small country church, a onetime 
Civil War military hospital. He threw open the doors and found flames 
shooting from the church pulpit. Another fire smoldered inside a flower 
pot sitting beneath the American flag in the corner of the room.

Lawley, a volunteer firefighter, grabbed a fire extinguisher and saved 
his church from burning to the ground.

But his quick thinking did not spare churchgoers from the fear. Their 
life of quiet isolation on a hilly road bounded by thickets of trees, 
trailer homes, and old abandoned cars has been jolted.

''Many of them said they wanted to stage a 24-hour watch over the 
church," he said. ''There's a lot of people out here worried, but I say 
we can't go on for the rest of our lives being afraid. We just can't do 
that."

On Sunday, the Rev. David Hand preached from the charred pulpit.

''I never thought this could ever happen to us," said Lawley's wife, 
Connie Lawley, also 45. ''No, this ain't about color. It's about evil."

Still, Connie Lawley said before the fires she had never heard of 
Pleasant Sabine Baptist Church, even though it is located just a few 
miles down Deer Creek Road.

''I didn't even know Pleasant Sabine even existed," she said. ''But 
after the fire we had met these people, talked to them. I even picked up 
pieces of their stained glass window with them. Now they are a part of 
our family."

Wearing a purple suit and a black-rimmed hat, Pleasant Sabine pastor 
Robert E. Murphy said he hopes the sudden semblance of racial unity will 
outlive the wave of arson.

''This is spiritual warfare," he said, climbing the concrete stairs that 
once entered his church but now lead to blackened ruins.

''Whoever did it, he made a mistake," said Murphy, shaking his head. 
''He tried to tear us down. He only made us stronger." 

http://www.boston.com/news/nation/articles/2006/02/15/amid_ashes_unity/
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