The gloomy sky and biting wind only deepened the sense of foreboding in the air on the morning of Jan. 6, 2021. Apprehension had been growing in Washington for weeks as news continued to spread that supporters of Donald Trump, including the white supremacist groups Proud Boys, Oath Keepers and others, were mobilizing for a protest in the nation’s capital on the day Congress was set to certify the results of the November election. Several days before the protest, Washington’s mayor began urging D.C. residents to avoid downtown and to refrain from engaging the protesters.
Local clergy had been planning for weeks to gather on the morning of the 6th for a three-hour prayer vigil on the front lawn of Luther Place Memorial Church in Washington. Since Luther Place is a full eight blocks from the White House and the protests were planned for the afternoon, we decided to go ahead with the vigil, as we believed counter-planting a peaceful, prayerful witness on that day, of all days, was especially important. Luther Place was a fitting location for the prayer gathering. Founded in 1873 as a memorial to peace and reconciliation after the Civil War, today Luther Place is known for offering hospitality to the abused, the unhoused and those suffering under the kinds of oppressive systems named by Isaiah and pointed to again by Jesus in Luke 4.
Julie Pennington-Russell (left) with with arryl Roberts at Luther Place Memorial Church for a prayer rally on the morning of Jan. 6, 2021.
My friend Darryl Roberts walked with me to the vigil. Roberts is pastor of the historic Nineteenth Street Baptist Church, a prominent African American church in D.C. and the sister church of the congregation I serve. Before the pandemic, First Baptist and Nineteenth Street were meeting periodically for worship, racial and social justice initiatives and rewriting our shared history to reflect a more honest narrative.
Shivering that morning beneath a tall statue of Martin Luther, we stood in a large circle, offering audible prayers. Behind us the church’s homemade Black Lives Matter sign was propped against the base of the statue. The original sign had been vandalized three weeks earlier by white supremacist groups marching through Washington chanting racist tropes and vandalizing, even burning, churches’ BLM banners, including those at two of D.C.’s oldest African American churches.
All around our clergy prayer group, people of all ages were walking, cycling and scootering to the White House to hear the president’s now-infamous speech at a rally on the Ellipse, organized by the group Women for America First. Many carried large flags with various pro-Trump messages. Some wore tactical gear.
Halfway through the morning, as we were praying on the lawn, three young white men approached our circle. Although surprised, we welcomed them as they walked into the center, thinking their intention was to join us — until one of the men pulled off his coat to reveal a T-shirt emblazoned with the words “I Can’t Breathe.” Grinning at us, he fell, face-down, on the lawn. Then his friend knelt on his neck while the third man filmed the display for social media. “He’s reenacting the murder of George Floyd,” whispered Pastor Darryl in disbelief. After a few minutes, the three of them ran off, laughing. We continued praying.
It wasn’t until I arrived home in the early afternoon that I learned, along with the rest of the country, of the violent insurrection unfolding at the Capitol, three miles from our house, in which four protesters and one police officer died, two more officers by suicide days later; hundreds of lawmakers, staff and other workers at the Capitol were traumatized; and American democracy was severely wounded.
“He’s reenacting the murder of George Floyd,” whispered Pastor Darryl in disbelief. After a few minutes, the three of them ran off, laughing. We continued praying.
In the days after the insurrection, our church published a response denouncing the sinful ideologies of white supremacy and Christian nationalism that gave rise to the events of Jan. 6. We voiced a collective prayer for an awakening of conscience in, and genuine repentance by, those who committed the assault, and for the political and religious leaders who encouraged and enabled them.
The past six years in America have caused me to recognize more clearly my obligations as a white Christian to:
- Name and challenge my own prejudices.
- Educate myself on the lived experiences of Black and brown people.
- Confess that I have benefited from white supremacy in ways I may not even realize.
- And most of all, to act as an unambiguous ally to Black and brown friends, neighbors and strangers, taking my cues from those who know what it means to resist injustice daily.
More difficult for me as a follower of Christ and one made in the image of the Beloved, however, is allowing the Spirit to generate in me a loving response to those who say and do appalling, hateful things — even while resisting the spirit of white supremacy with all the moral courage I possess.
On this somber anniversary, I find the words of Dr. King pulsing in my mind and heart:
Hatred paralyzes life; love releases it.
Hatred confuses life; love harmonizes it.
Hatred darkens life; love illuminates it.
May we release, harmonize, and illuminate life — this very day.
Julie Pennington-Russell
Julie Pennington-Russell serves as senior pastor of the First Baptist Church of the City of Washington, D.C.
Related articles:
Facing white Christianity’s role in the Jan. 6 insurrection | Opinion by Robert P. Jones
Some things are worth dividing over | Opinion by David Bumgardner
January 6 truth or consequences | Opinion by Erich Bridges