The President: Giving all
praise and honor to God. (applause) The Bible
calls us to hope. To persevere, and have
faith in things not seen. "They were still living
by faith when they died," Scripture tells us. "They did not receive the
things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them
from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners
and strangers on Earth." We are here today to
remember a man of God who lived by faith. A man who believed
in things not seen. A man who believed there
were better days ahead, off in the distance. A man of service who
persevered, knowing full well he would not receive
all those things he was promised, because he
believed his efforts would deliver a better life
for those who followed. To Jennifer, his beloved
wife; to Eliana and Malana, his beautiful, wonderful
daughters; to the Mother Emanuel family and the
people of Charleston, the people of South Carolina. I cannot claim to have
the good fortune to know Reverend Pinckney well. But I did have the pleasure
of knowing him and meeting him here in South Carolina,
back when we were both a little bit younger. (laughter) Back when I didn't have
visible grey hair. (laughter) The first thing I
noticed was his graciousness, his smile, his
reassuring baritone, his deceptive sense of humor --
all qualities that helped him wear so effortlessly a
heavy burden of expectation. Friends of his remarked this
week that when Clementa Pinckney entered a room, it
was like the future arrived; that even from a young age,
folks knew he was special. Anointed. He was the progeny of a long
line of the faithful -- a family of preachers who
spread God's word, a family of protesters who sowed
change to expand voting rights and
desegregate the South. Clem heard their
instruction, and he did not forsake their teaching. He was in the pulpit
by 13, pastor by 18, public servant by 23. He did not exhibit any of
the cockiness of youth, nor youth's insecurities;
instead, he set an example worthy of his position, wise
beyond his years, in his speech, in his conduct, in
his love, faith, and purity. As a senator, he represented
a sprawling swath of the Lowcountry, a place that has
long been one of the most neglected in America. A place still wracked by
poverty and inadequate schools; a place where
children can still go hungry and the sick can go
without treatment. A place that needed
somebody like Clem. (applause) His position in the
minority party meant the odds of winning more
resources for his constituents
were often long. His calls for greater equity
were too often unheeded, the votes he cast were
sometimes lonely. But he never gave up. He stayed true to
his convictions. He would not grow
discouraged. After a full day at the
capitol, he'd climb into his car and head to the church
to draw sustenance from his family, from his ministry,
from the community that loved and needed him. There he would
fortify his faith, and imagine what might be. Reverend Pinckney embodied
a politics that was neither mean, nor small. He conducted himself
quietly, and kindly, and diligently. He encouraged progress not
by pushing his ideas alone, but by seeking out your
ideas, partnering with you to make things happen. He was full of empathy and
fellow feeling, able to walk in somebody else's shoes
and see through their eyes. No wonder one of his senate
colleagues remembered Senator Pinckney as "the
most gentle of the 46 of us -- the best of
the 46 of us." Clem was often asked why
he chose to be a pastor and a public servant. But the person who asked
probably didn't know the history of the AME church. (applause) As our brothers
and sisters in the AME church know, we don't
make those distinctions. "Our calling," Clem once
said, "is not just within the walls of the
congregation, but...the life and community in which our
congregation resides." (applause) He embodied the idea
that our Christian faith demands deeds and not
just words; that the "sweet hour of prayer" actually
lasts the whole week long -- (applause) -- that to put our faith
in action is more than individual salvation,
it's about our collective salvation; that to feed the
hungry and clothe the naked and house the homeless is
not just a call for isolated charity but the imperative
of a just society. What a good man. Sometimes I think that's the
best thing to hope for when you're eulogized --
after all the words and recitations and resumes are
read, to just say someone was a good man. (applause) You don't have to be of
high station to be a good man. Preacher by 13. Pastor by 18. Public servant by 23. What a life Clementa
Pinckney lived. What an example he set. What a model for his faith. And then to lose him at 41
-- slain in his sanctuary with eight wonderful members
of his flock, each at different stages in life but
bound together by a common commitment to God. Cynthia Hurd. Susie Jackson. Ethel Lance. DePayne Middleton-Doctor. Tywanza Sanders. Daniel L. Simmons. Sharonda Coleman-Singleton. Myra Thompson. Good people. Decent people. God-fearing people. (applause) People so full of
life and so full of kindness. People who ran the
race, who persevered. People of great faith. To the families of the
fallen, the nation shares in your grief. Our pain cuts that much
deeper because it happened in a church. The church is and always
has been the center of African-American life -- (applause) -- a place to call
our own in a too often hostile world,
a sanctuary from so many hardships. Over the course of
centuries, black churches served as "hush harbors"
where slaves could worship in safety; praise houses
where their free descendants could gather and shout
hallelujah -- (applause) -- rest stops for the weary
along the Underground Railroad; bunkers for the
foot soldiers of the Civil Rights Movement. They have been, and continue
to be, community centers where we organize for jobs
and justice; places of scholarship and network;
places where children are loved and fed and kept out
of harm's way, and told that they are beautiful and smart
-- (applause) -- and taught that
they matter. (applause) That's what
happens in church. That's what the
black church means. Our beating heart. The place where our dignity
as a people is inviolate. When there's no better
example of this tradition than Mother Emanuel -- (applause) -- a church built by blacks seeking liberty,
burned to the ground because its founder sought to end
slavery, only to rise up again, a Phoenix
from these ashes. (applause) When there were
laws banning all-black church gatherings, services
happened here anyway, in defiance of unjust laws. When there was a righteous
movement to dismantle Jim Crow, Dr. Martin Luther
King, Jr. preached from its pulpit, and marches
began from its steps. A sacred place, this church. Not just for blacks, not
just for Christians, but for every American who cares
about the steady expansion -- (applause) -- of human rights and human dignity in this country; a foundation stone for
liberty and justice for all. That's what the
church meant. (applause) We do not know whether the
killer of Reverend Pinckney and eight others knew
all of this history. But he surely sensed the
meaning of his violent act. It was an act that drew on
a long history of bombs and arson and shots fired at
churches, not random, but as a means of control, a way
to terrorize and oppress. (applause) An act that he
imagined would incite fear and recrimination;
violence and suspicion. An act that he presumed
would deepen divisions that trace back to our
nation's original sin. Oh, but God works
in mysterious ways. (applause) God has different ideas. (applause) He didn't know he was
being used by God. (applause) Blinded by hatred,
the alleged killer could not see the grace
surrounding Reverend Pinckney and that Bible study
group -- the light of love that shone as they
opened the church doors and invited a stranger to join
in their prayer circle. The alleged killer could
have never anticipated the way the families of the
fallen would respond when they saw him in court -- in
the midst of unspeakable grief, with words
of forgiveness. He couldn't imagine that. (applause) The alleged killer
could not imagine how the city of Charleston,
under the good and wise leadership of Mayor Riley -- (applause) -- how the state of South
Carolina, how the United States of America would respond --
not merely with revulsion at his evil act, but with
big-hearted generosity and, more importantly, with a
thoughtful introspection and self-examination that we so
rarely see in public life. Blinded by hatred, he
failed to comprehend what Reverend Pinckney
so well understood -- the power of God's grace. (applause) This whole week, I've been
reflecting on this idea of grace. (applause) The grace of the
families who lost loved ones. The grace that Reverend
Pinckney would preach about in his sermons. The grace described in one
of my favorite hymnals -- the one we all know: Amazing
grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. (applause) I once was lost, but now
I'm found; was blind but now I see. (applause) According to the
Christian tradition, grace is not earned. Grace is not merited. It's not something
we deserve. Rather, grace is the free
and benevolent favor of God -- (applause) -- as manifested in
the salvation of sinners and the
bestowal of blessings. Grace. As a nation, out of this
terrible tragedy, God has visited grace upon us, for
he has allowed us to see where we've been blind. (applause) He has given us
the chance, where we've been lost, to find
our best selves. (applause) We may not have earned
it, this grace, with our rancor and complacency,
and short-sightedness and fear of each other -- but
we got it all the same. He gave it to us anyway. He's once more
given us grace. But it is up to us now to
make the most of it, to receive it with gratitude,
and to prove ourselves worthy of this gift. For too long, we were
blind to the pain that the Confederate flag stirred in
too many of our citizens. (applause) It's true, a flag
did not cause these murders. But as people from all walks
of life, Republicans and Democrats, now acknowledge
-- including Governor Haley, whose recent eloquence on the
subject is worthy of praise -- (applause) -- as we all have
to acknowledge, the flag has always
represented more than just ancestral pride. (applause) For many, black and
white, that flag was a reminder of systemic
oppression and racial subjugation. We see that now. Removing the flag from this
state's capitol would not be an act of political
correctness; it would not be an insult to the valor
of Confederate soldiers. It would simply be an
acknowledgment that the cause for which they fought
-- the cause of slavery -- was wrong -- (applause) -- the imposition
of Jim Crow after the Civil War, the
resistance to civil rights for all people was wrong. (applause) It would be one
step in an honest accounting for so many unhealed wounds. It would be an expression
of the amazing changes that have transformed this state
and this country for the better, because of the
work of so many people of goodwill, people of all
races striving to form a more perfect union. By taking down that flag,
we express God's grace. (applause) But I don't think God
wants us to stop there. (applause) For too long, we've been
blind to the way past injustices continue
to shape the present. Perhaps we see that now. Perhaps this tragedy causes
us to ask some tough questions about how we
can permit so many of our children to languish
in poverty, or attend dilapidated schools, or grow
up without prospects for a job or for a career. (applause) Perhaps it causes us to
examine what we're doing to cause some
of our children to hate. (applause) Perhaps it softens
hearts towards those lost young men, tens and
tens of thousands caught up in the criminal justice
system -- (applause) -- and leads us
to make sure that that system is not infected with bias; that we embrace
changes in how we train and equip our police so that the
bonds of trust between law enforcement and the
communities they serve make us all safer
and more secure. (applause) Maybe we now realize the
way racial bias can infect us even when we
don't realize it, so that we're guarding against not
just racial slurs, but we're also guarding against the
subtle impulse to call Johnny back for a job
interview but not Jamal. (applause) So that we search
our hearts when we consider laws to make it harder for
some of our fellow citizens to vote. (applause) By recognizing
our common humanity by treating every child as
important, regardless of the color of their skin or the
station into which they were born, and to do what's
necessary to make opportunity real for every
American -- by doing that, we express God's grace. (applause) For too long -- Audience: For too long! The President: For too long,
we've been blind to the unique mayhem that gun violence
inflicts upon this nation. (applause) Sporadically, our
eyes are open: When eight of our brothers and sisters
are cut down in a church basement, 12 in a movie
theater, 26 in an elementary school. But I hope we also see the
30 precious lives cut short by gun violence in this
country every single day; the countless more whose
lives are forever changed -- the survivors crippled, the
children traumatized and fearful every day as they
walk to school, the husband who will never feel his
wife's warm touch, the entire communities whose
grief overflows every time they have to watch what
happened to them happen to some other place. The vast majority of
Americans -- the majority of gun owners -- want to do
something about this. We see that now. (applause) And I'm convinced
that by acknowledging the pain and loss of others,
even as we respect the traditions and ways of life
that make up this beloved country -- by making the
moral choice to change, we express God's grace. (applause) We don't earn grace. We're all sinners. We don't deserve it. (applause) But God gives it
to us anyway. (applause) And we choose
how to receive it. It's our decision
how to honor it. None of us can or should
expect a transformation in race relations overnight. Every time something like
this happens, somebody says we have to have a
conversation about race. We talk a lot about race. There's no shortcut. And we don't need more talk. (applause) None of us should
believe that a handful of gun safety measures will
prevent every tragedy. It will not. People of goodwill will
continue to debate the merits of various policies,
as our democracy requires -- this is a big, raucous
place, America is. And there are good people on
both sides of these debates. Whatever solutions we
find will necessarily be incomplete. But it would be a betrayal
of everything Reverend Pinckney stood for, I
believe, if we allowed ourselves to slip into a
comfortable silence again. (applause) Once the eulogies
have been delivered, once the TV cameras move on, to
go back to business as usual -- that's what we so often
do to avoid uncomfortable truths about the prejudice
that still infects our society. (applause) To settle for
symbolic gestures without following up with the hard
work of more lasting change -- that's how we
lose our way again. It would be a refutation of
the forgiveness expressed by those families if we merely
slipped into old habits, whereby those who disagree
with us are not merely wrong but bad; where we shout
instead of listen; where we barricade ourselves behind
preconceived notions or well-practiced cynicism. Reverend Pinckney once said,
"Across the South, we have a deep appreciation of history
-- we haven't always had a deep appreciation of
each other's history." (applause) What is true in the South
is true for America. Clem understood that justice
grows out of recognition of ourselves in each other. That my liberty depends
on you being free, too. (applause) That history
can't be a sword to justify injustice, or a shield
against progress, but must be a manual for how to avoid
repeating the mistakes of the past -- how to
break the cycle. A roadway toward
a better world. He knew that the path of
grace involves an open mind -- but, more importantly,
an open heart. That's what I've felt this
week -- an open heart. That, more than any
particular policy or analysis, is what's called
upon right now, I think -- what a friend of mine, the
writer Marilyn Robinson, calls "that reservoir of
goodness, beyond, and of another kind, that we are
able to do each other in the ordinary cause of things." That reservoir of goodness. If we can find that grace,
anything is possible. (applause) If we can tap that grace, everything can change. (applause) Amazing grace. Amazing grace. (sings) --
Amazing grace -- (applause) -- how sweet the sound, that
saved a wretch like me; I once was lost, but now I'm
found; was blind but now I see. (applause) Clementa Pinckney
found that grace. Cynthia Hurd
found that grace. Susie Jackson
found that grace. Ethel Lance
found that grace. DePayne Middleton-Doctor
found that grace. Tywanza Sanders
found that grace. Daniel L. Simmons, Sr.
found that grace. Sharonda Coleman-Singleton
found that grace. Myra Thompson
found that grace. Through the example of their
lives, they've now passed it on to us. May we find ourselves
worthy of that precious and extraordinary gift, as
long as our lives endure. May grace now
lead them home. May God continue to shed His
grace on the United States of America. (applause)
