The Stones Will Cry Out
In the excitement over the election, perhaps you missed this little news story. It was on Page 9 of the November 8, 2012, New York Times: “Anti-Obama Protest at Ole Miss Turns Unruly.” Early Wednesday morning, a crowd of 400 people – fueled by social media – formed outside the student union building. They chanted racial slurs, yelled profanity, and lit Obama campaign signs on fire. They probably sang “Dixie,” as well. Two people were arrested for disorderly conduct.
This nasty little bit of business probably wouldn’t have drawn much more than a paragraph had it not been at the University of Mississippi, the site of so much segregation-fueled hatred in the 1950s and ‘60s during the Civil Rights Movement.
To be fair, Ole Miss has tried to redeem its past in recent years. The Times reported that the school solemnly marked the 50th anniversary of desegregation in September, changed its mascot from a Confederate soldier to a black bear, and even dropped “Dixie” as its fight song. Ole Miss students elected their first black homecoming queen this year. And, in the riot’s aftermath, black and white students have since walked across the campus together, holding candles and singing, in public opposition to the sentiments expressed that night.
As one white student said, “What happened last night was really disappointing. We do have a history of racial issues, but this is not at all what our school or most students stand for.”
It was at the University of Mississippi, you may remember, where Air Force veteran James Meredith registered in September 1962, forcing a horrific, sometimes violent, response by thousands of students and outside agitators. President John F. Kennedy eventually called in 31,000 federal troops to force Ole Miss to abide by the law of the land. But Meredith’s couple of years on the campus were living hell.
The sad, sick little riot at Ole Miss the other night reminded me of a story told me by English contemporary Christian artist Adrian Snell. You must understand that to be a CCM artist in the U.K. means that you must really, really be called to what you do, because there is none of the Christian music infrastructure there. It’s a tiny audience and Snell and the other CCM artists essentially live hand-to-mouth – and keep their day jobs. Not surprisingly, Adrian is a clear-eyed realist. He’s not a mystic, not a dreamer, not a romantic. He writes songs about his faith and is occasionally allowed to sing them before small audiences that may or may not give him a love offering. He’s also very talented.
Adrian was invited to perform at a church in Germany. Church members promised to provide his transportation costs, room and board, and take up a love offering. He agreed. A lovely older German couple picked him up at the airport on the appropriate evening and drove him to his destination – a town in the Black Forest. The couple spoke passable English and they had an uneventful trip until …
… until they entered the Black Forest.
The closer they came to their destination, the more difficulty Adrian had in speaking. He told me he felt as if he were in a small, pitch-black closet – and that the walls were closing in. There was an unspeakable sensation, he recalled, of oppression.
When they finally arrived at the church, a nice crowd was waiting. Adrian took his guitar, stumbled to the stage, and discovered that he could not sing. He tried several times. Nothing happened. The sense of oppression was too great.
Finally, his hosts led him off stage. The German husband turned to his wife and said, “Well, it has happened again.”
Adrian managed to blurt out, “What has happened again!?”
“Sometimes when we bring singers here, they find they can’t sing, just as it has happened to you.”
“Why?” Adrian cried.
“We believe it is because the church is on the grounds of a Nazi concentration camp where many, many innocent people were murdered. You are apparently sensitive to this.”
Adrian said he spent the night at the couple’s home and they took him to the airport the following day.
In Luke 19:40 (NIV), Jesus tells His disciples, “I tell you, if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.”
Mary once had a similar experience. It happened when I was co-writing the book Madman in Waco with Brad Bailey. Shortly after the fire at the Branch Davidian compound that killed so many people, Mary and I drove out to the site. It was dusk. The feds had taken the fences down and we walked towards to the ashes of the barrack-like buildings. We were alone that evening. Suddenly, Mary was overcome with grief and a feeling of oppression and we had to leave immediately. I’m not as perceptive or intuitive as Mary, but even I felt … something that night.
The stones will cry out …
Perhaps you’ve had a moment like that, a moment where something otherworldly or supernatural or spiritual has washed over you.
Perhaps it was even a good feeling. I had that once – and only once – while visiting the little village of Eyam in the north of England. On the path towards the village of Hathersage one evening, I felt for the one time in my life a sense of being … home. I even broke down in tears. I’ve never had that sensation since.
As you may know, I have been immersed in the intersection of the Civil Rights Movement and black sacred music in recent years. Consequently, I have been to many of the places in the South where blood was shed – Birmingham and Memphis, in particular. Perhaps the stones still cry out there as well, just as they do in the Black Forest and at Ole Miss.
If nothing else, the stupid little riot at the University of Mississippi reminds us that as a people we still have a long way to go when it comes to race in this country. As a number of commentators have pointed out, you only have to over-lay a map of the Confederacy with a map of the states that voted against President Obama …
The Civil Rights Movement is an on-going movement, whether we think it is old history or not. Ole Miss reminds how far will still have to go.
