On the Front Lines of Racism

It wasn't until I lost my grandmother, Alpha Robertson, four years ago that I understood how deeply she influenced my spiritual beliefs.

You see, Alpha Robertson had long been a hero to many. Forty-three years ago she'd lost her youngest child, Carole Robertson, to the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church bombing in Birmingham, Ala., one of our nation's most shameful examples of domestic terror.

But to me, she was Granny. She was the no-nonsense, book-reading, old movie-loving, witty woman who filled up a room without even trying. She declined to wear grief like a badge. She refused to court hate in any of its subtleties, declaring to all that it "would do no good." Instead, she put her spirit on the front lines, willing it to be all that the Bible says it should be, compelling it to do all that God promised it would do and refusing to make a fuss over life and its peculiar ways.

Part of it was her core ethic: after the bombing, depression was a luxury she could ill afford when there were her husband, Alvin, other children, aging parents, and a myriad of community issues that needed her intellectual and emotional presence. The other, larger part, which even she may not have fully appreciated at the time, was that God uses people to manifest His word. He needed a living example of love -- a love that transcends hatred, bitterness, destruction, and premeditation. He needed a living example of forgiveness, the kind that truly lets go and looks forward. He needed a living example of understanding, the type that can trust in a larger purpose even in the face of untold personal sacrifice. He needed a walking example of these things, and He used her.

So, while much of what I know about God comes from the Bible and my own experiences, I know firsthand about the power of His love because my grandmother tested it and trusted it. What I know for sure, thanks to her example, is that the way forward -- through the very worst of circumstances -- is love.