UPCOMING EVENT:On Sept. 17 from 1-2:30 p.m. Eastern, Presiding Bishop Michael Curry will join us for a virtual conversation to explore the spiritual dimension of Sacred Ground and to share in the hope, joy, and purpose that this program embodies. Please register here.
During The Episcopal Church’s General Convention this summer, many people came to me and shared moving stories around Sacred Ground. The program opened their eyes and hearts, and in many cases it has led people to not only think differently but to work toward justice and beloved community. Here’s an especially powerful story, from Kentucky native Macauley Lord:
Portrait of the Rev. James Craik. Courtesy of Macauley Lord.
Being wealthy in Louisville, my family had black “help.” My mother was wet-nursed by a woman whose name I wish I knew. Emma, Jeanette, and Clifton cooked and cleaned for my grandparents. One sweltering August day when I was 21 and home from an enthralling job, I encountered a man named Nelson kneeling and sweating in our sprawling un-air-conditioned house as he scrubbed our front hall floor.
The disparity between his and my life circumstances shocked and distressed me even then. But despite my going to seminary and serving for years as a volunteer chaplain, it was my Sacred Ground experience in 2021 that helped me understand that I was afflicted with a kind of racial myopia, and I am still striving to see clearly what is right in front of me.
In the process of writing a book about moral injury, slavery, and the healing power of water, I began to research my ancestors. One was the Rev. James Craik, the 11th president of the Episcopal House of Deputies. He served in that role from 1862-77 and was rector of Christ Church in Louisville, Kentucky, for decades. I grew up there.
I knew that Craik and his family had owned people in Maryland and Virginia, but I also knew that none had owned slaves in Kentucky, because that’s what my father told me. Dad was wrong.
The Rev. Canon Jason Lewis at the Episcopal Diocese of Kentucky proved it in March when he handed me a page from the 1850 slave census. It showed Craik owning seven people. Seen alongside the 1860 census, it demonstrates the overwhelming likelihood that one of Craik’s slaves was his own son and that as many as eight were his grandchildren. I also knew, after reading about genomic research, that African Americans were, on average, 26 percent European. I began to realize that I might have Black cousins whose ancestors were enslaved by, and likely raped by, my ancestors.
1850 Craik slave census
I pray that I may learn the answer to this question: The woman who wet-nursed Mom, Nelson, who scrubbed our floor, Mamie, who washed and folded my clothes—were they my forsaken Black cousins? Were their ancestors’ people, whom my ancestors first owned, then denied, and finally never spoke of again? And what moral responsibility do I have to them?
The rabbi Jesus would have agreed with what the 20th century rabbi Abraham Heschel wrote: “Few of us are guilty, but all of us are responsible.” God calls people like me—descendants of enslavers—to walk toward the evil that people like Craik wrought, and, at the very least, to bring what they did out of the hidden and into the Light. It’s what our Jewish kin call tikkun olam, healing the world. After all, isn’t that why Jesus came to us in the first place?
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Andrea Lauerman is the Sacred Ground program coordinator.
Macauley Lord is a chaplain, fly-fishing instructor, and writer of a forthcoming book on moral injury, the legacy of slavery, and the healing power of water.