A Fourth Church Reflection by Youth Group and Leaders

August 22, 2010 | 4:00 p.m.

Reflections on the 2010 Justice Journey Work Camp

Fourth Church Youth and Leaders
Chelsea Bumpus | Mark Nelson | Marie Donaldson | Bert Rogers

Amos 5:21–24
2 Corinthians 5:16–21

Work trips are always a defining factor of my summer. I love being a part of them, and I’m sad I only have one more left. So when our trip started off a bit rocky, I was a little surprised and unsure if it would live up to the standards set by the previous ones. As the week went along, however, I realized it would most definitely live up to those other work trips—if not surpass them. We not only learned about reconciliation and justice, but we were able to experience it for ourselves.

Going to civil rights museums, meeting with important figures, and working on homes showed us how important reconciliation is, especially those of us who feel the need to continue on with the civil rights movement and what it stood for. But for me, nothing demonstrated reconciliation more than standing in a circle mixed with faces I’d known forever and faces I had just met and singing “Let It Be.” At this point in the trip, we had been though a couple rough patches, and watching us stand together singing showed me we really had put those issues behind us. Regardless of what church we came from, what neighborhood we lived in, or what race we were, we came together and sang.

I’ll remember that moment for a long time and hold it close to me—as an accomplishment of how far our “Justice Journey” group came; as an aspiration for what should be achieved worldwide; and finally as a continuation of the efforts so many leaders put forth in fighting for civil rights and social justice.

—Chelsea Bumpus

• • •

As a youth leader, you see and experience work camp from many different perspectives. Like the kids, we get to experience the educational, moving, and fun experiences. (That is if you consider living with twenty-nine kids in camp-like accommodations “fun,” which I do.) We also take responsibility for various tasks at the worksites and at our living accommodations. This year, that included a stretch of nearly twenty-four hours without sleep for many of us. And we also get to take a big step back and watch the youth grow and learn from their experiences. That’s perhaps the most rewarding part.

Let’s start with the experience itself. I’ve been on more of these trips than I—or my wife—care to admit. Each is a unique experience, but I honestly feel that this may have been one of the most influential. The experience of tracing the roots of civil rights in this context was incredibly powerful. The memory of crossing the Edmund Pettis Bridge in Selma just as the Freedom Marchers did in 1965 still brings a tear to my eye. Hearing Elizabeth Perkins talk about her brothers and sisters integrating the schools and “the white swimming pool,” as she called it, in Mendenhall, Mississippi, was fascinating. And while I’ve been to the National Civil Rights Museum before, doing so on this trip was a completely different experience.

Two exhibits at the museum impacted me most. The first was a replica of a Woolworth’s lunch counter at which our youth sat as our guide talked about and demonstrated the type of training the Freedom Marchers of the 1960s had to endure. It was gut wrenching, but not as much as an exhibit on Freedom Summer a few steps later. There on the wall we saw mug shots of mostly northern college students, many of whom were white, who traveled to Mississippi in 1964 as part of a grassroots campaign to increase the number of registered black voters. The mug shots were taken before they left so they could be identified if they were beaten or murdered. These volunteers were willing to give their life for justice.

I began to wonder, “Where would I have been in 1964?” Would I have been courageous enough to stand up to some pretty intense situations and literally lay my life on the line for civil rights? It’s a hard question to answer. I’d like to think yes, but it would have been risky. When our small group discussed this question, we ultimately decided that the question of “would we have gone?” is not the right question. The really important question is how do we stand up for justice today? Do we call out unfair practices and support social justice initiatives in our lives today?

In his “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” which I was fond of referencing on this trip, Martin Luther King Jr. lamented that the “white moderate” was one of the great stumbling blocks of the civil rights movement. He noted that the white moderate—and the white church in particular—was on the sidelines. In Birmingham, we learned that one of the pastors to whom Dr. King was writing was the Reverend Edward Ramage. Reverend Ramage was the pastor at First Presbyterian Church of Birmingham, one of the churches where we stayed. In the 1960s, First Presbyterian had at least a few Ku Klux Klan members among its membership. Dr. King’s letter moved Reverend Ramage off of the sidelines. Among other things, the pastor changed the words of the communion liturgy to say “We welcome those whom God welcomes.” In one of my favorite sermons of Dr. King’s, he talked about harnessing our “Drum Major Instinct”—our desire for recognition, distinction, and to be out in front leading the parade. Are we on the sidelines or like Reverend Ramage are we drum majors for justice?

Those are the types of questions that our youth have to wrestle with now.

I mentioned that one of my favorite parts of these trips is being able to take a step back and observe the growth that happens in each of these kids. I’ve never been more proud—and you should be as well. The way this group came together after adversity and the bonding that occurred on this trip were powerful to watch.

Obviously our youth’s eyes were opened to the civil rights issue in the ways you would have expected. But our tour of Cary, Mississippi, reminded us that diversity is not just a racial issue; it’s an economic and cultural issue as well. And our encounter with Chaffin, the homeless gentleman we met in Birmingham, put a face on homelessness for each of them. For those who live in a city like Chicago, where homeless men and women stand almost invisibly on the nearest street corner, that’s a particularly important experience.

At our closing devotion our group sang “We Shall Overcome.” I couldn’t help but look around the room and think about what Dr. King would think about a group of racially diverse youth from Chicago traveling together on a “Justice Journey” to Mississippi. We have come a long way from the Edmund Pettis Bridge, but our journey is not finished. Racial and economic disparities still exist in Mississippi and here in Chicago. And numerous groups—gays and Muslims, the mentally ill and many others—are still met with discrimination. But as the song says, “We shall overcome. Deep in my heart I do believe, we shall overcome.” That I do believe. After all, I saw it last week.

—Mark Nelson

• • •

When I left for the “Justice Journey,” I did not know how it would affect me. Although we saw many museums and exhibits, the things that left the biggest impression on me were not planned events.

Within the first two nights we had spent on the trip, some incidents occurred that resulted in three of our friends being sent home. This caused a major drop in the mood of the group. No one wanted to see their friends sent home, and we all felt guilty for the way our group had behaved. Things did not look good for the future of our trip, but we continued on the journey. Once we arrived in Cary, we were assigned jobs that involved us working together as a group. By the end of the first day of work, there was a noticeable change in the attitude of the group; lots of bonding had occurred. Throughout the next three days at the Cary Christian Center, we continued to grow closer through both our work and our play. After work, it was hard to be in the common area and not hear music coming from one of the guitars we had on the trip. We also played lots of cards and other fun games. By the end of the third day, no one was ready to leave Cary, much less our group.

We were able to go to Graceland the next day, but then it was time to head home. The seating arrangements on the bus on the way home to Chicago were drastically different than the ones coming from Chicago. The three churches were mixed together, and people were constantly moving around to talk to other people. This really showed me how much reconciliation the group had done.

The focus of the trip was to learn about reconciliation between black and white people of the past and how to continue it in the future, and I think our group demonstrated that this really is possible. I am extremely grateful that I was able to go on this trip, and I hope I never forget all of the memories and friends I made on it.

—Marie Donaldson

• • •

Reconciliation is a big, fancy word that most of us didn’t know the meaning of when we embarked on our Justice Journey. It is a noun that comes from the Old French verb reconcilier, which in turn comes from the Latin word conciliare, meaning “bring together,” and the prefix “re-” meaning “back.” At face value, reconciliation is defined as the act of bringing back together. Simple right? Unfortunately, no. At least that’s what John Vest kept trying to tell us. There was some kind of nuance John tried to explain to us, but couldn’t. Like explaining to a foreigner why we tell someone to “break a leg” when we’re wishing them luck. We just didn’t get it. The meaning of that word, reconciliation, was revealed to me one stressful morning in Birmingham, Alabama. You see, the night before someone threw some paint out a window onto a homeless man’s mattress and belongings.

This homeless man, whose name was Chaffin, was a good friend of the minister there at First Presbyterian Church in Birmingham. Chaffin surprised us all when he showed up that morning and sat with our group. He wasn’t outwardly angry or hostile; instead, he was forgiving. He said he didn’t want to forgive us but that he had to forgive us. His words that will forever be ingrained in my mind were, more or less, a command, that it was time for us to stop being Christian and start being Christ-like. We might have destroyed everything this man owned. We definitely disrupted his already difficult life. But he still found the love to forgive us. Chaffin’s calm forgiveness was both relieving and slightly unsettling. No one expected that kind of reaction out of him. When John asked us to apologize, most of what was said amounted to “I didn’t do it, but I’m sorry.” We still didn’t get it. My biggest regret from this journey was my inability to find the words I wanted to say that morning, something that would convey how truly, and sadly, amazing Chaffin’s forgiveness was in today’s world. I say it was sadly amazing because of how rare it really is.

In the Gospel of Luke, chapter 24, two of Jesus’ disciples are walking on the road to Emmaus when Jesus appears to them. Jesus was resurrected after being dead for three days, so either out of divine will or sheer disbelief, his disciples did not recognize him. It was only when they sat down together that evening and Jesus broke bread that his disciples recognized him. At that moment they got up and hurried out into the night towards Jerusalem, hoping to spread the word.

Chaffin reminded me of this story. He was a total stranger living on the street in a faraway town who was suddenly revealed to be more of a friend to us than perhaps some of you sitting in the sanctuary. Much like how two of Jesus’ own disciples walked for miles without recognizing the stranger in their midst as their own teacher, we often go about our lives without realizing how we fail to be Christ-like, or even Christian for that matter.

—Bert Rogers