Woodlawn Cemetery

If you drive east on Huron River Drive from Whitaker road in Ypsilanti Township your eye will naturally be drawn to the left where glimpses of Ford Lake appear as shimmering gems between the trees. You’ll pass the Army National Guard Office and the 14B District Court where geese graze lazily on the lawn before the still pond. If you drive far enough you’ll pass the expansive Ford Lake Park with its fence line border and ballfields. However, about a mile between the two you’ll pass Woodlawn Cemetery. It’s a blink-an-you’ll-miss-it six foot opening in the roadside shrubbery. A large tree has fallen nearby recently, further obscuring the entry. In fact, the only reason you’d see it at all is a wooden sign inscribed with the name placed at the bottlenecked entrance of an otherwise empty field. Beyond that sign, the cemetery is a roadside curiosity even to those who live nearby. With no parking close it is not easy to visit. More than that, what marks this site as odd is what it lacks--- any visible graves, or anything else that would indicate that bodies were interred within. The wooden cross which was once posted in the center of the field has long since disappeared. Because of all this, Woodlawn cemetery remains a mystery; an afterthought; its sign a roadside blur to the commuters who pass by it each and every day.

 Woodlawn, though, has a vivid history and a tale that deserves to be remembered.  

It begins in the midst of WWII. Though they served to swell the ranks of the armed forces as the United States made its appearance on the battlefields of Europe and the Pacific, black Americans faced the same challenges at home as they always had. Many, enticed by the promise of jobs in the auto industry, moved north to cities like Detroit and Flint. Many also came to Ypsilanti. In the so-called ‘progressive’ north, they faced many of the same restrictions that they had fled. Housing restrictions in Ypsilanti forced most blacks to the southern extremes of the city. Some neighborhoods had official, codified housing codes that prevented ‘objectionable’ races from moving in while others had to rely on bank loan rejections to keep their neighborhoods unified.

Into this, Garther Roberson Sr., the pastor of Second Baptist Church on South Hamilton Street, sought to create a safe place for his parishioners to be interred. His son was later quoted as saying that his father wanted a place “where people of color could have a decent and dignified burial.” To this end, Roberson bought a parcel of land close to Huron River drive in 1945 to be the final resting place for his parishioners.  Records from this time are sketchy but in 1955 Roberson himself died and was buried at the center of the cemetery. Ownership of the cemetery passed to Estella Roberson and Mrs. Booker Rhonenee who quickly declared bankruptcy. In the confusion, the Woodlawn Cemetery Association failed to file the proper paperwork and no money was left for its care. The last burial is thought to have taken place in 1965 but the records were lost in a fire. To this day, the land sits in limbo with the township, which, for its part, has the field mowed several times a year.

It is estimated that approximately 150 bodies were buried at Woodlawn, though the last cemetery reading in 1981 found 76 only names. Today, there are only 21 visible grave markers and most of these are recent replacements of the last decade or so. The remaining markers have been swallowed by the hungry earth and their monuments to Ypsilanti’s former residents lost to human recollection. As a testament to the site’s history, a local Boy Scout erected the cemetery’s sign as part of an Eagle Scout project some years back.

Spurred on by my newfound knowledge of this historic site, I visited Woodlawn just before dusk one March evening. The light was fading behind the stand of trees to the west and I worried about the visibility as I parked my car on a nearby dirt road. My first observation is that someone had been out using the park, as there were a couple of old Frisbees and a partially chewed dog bone--- probably a neighbor and their dog on a sunny day. At first I was struck at the impropriety of the act but later came to see the usage somewhat of a testament to the truth that we are but dust and to dust we will return. A casual glance would have not have separated the cemetery from a typical woodlot but a closer look yielded a field full of slight to moderate depressions which, after a recent rain, had become tiny, grassy pools. Each of these depressions marked the site of a grave. Most of the stones have disappeared, broken apart or grown over by the earth. The newer, replaced grave markers stand out among the dead hillocks of last summer’s grasses. I am able to locate Rev. Roberson’s grave as well as his wife, Estella’s. I feel as if I have found someone I know at a crowded party.

I am always struck with a sense of holiness as I tread the ground where bodies have been buried. Perhaps it is a morbid curiosity with the inevitability of my own mortality or perhaps I seek in some way to honor lives just as precious as my own who have gone before. I want people to know about Woodlawn because it deserves to be known. We honor sites like Woodlawn not because the residents interred there were better than, or something other than us, but because they are us, men and women created in the image of their Creator, uniquely imbued with dignity, personalities, hopes, fears, and dreams. We remember their struggles because we too have known hardship and we know in whom our hope is found. We show honor to the lives that were; to the souls that still are, not because they are due worship in and of themselves but because they reflected in some small way the glory of their Creator.

We are slight and passing things. The psalmist remarks that “our days may come to seventy years, or eighty, if our strength endures; yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away!” Even the most exalted of us will be forgotten within a few generations. Our most intricate contributions will be lost in the annals of history. In truth, we do--- so quickly--- fly away. Yet one truth we can learn as we view Woodlawn or places like it is what to do with the days we are given. “Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love,” the psalmist continues, “that we may sing for joy and be glad all of our days. Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us, for as many years as we have seen trouble. May your deeds be shown to your servants, your splendor to their children.”

Thanks to:

-          Laura Bien who wrote an incredible informative piece in 2013 for the Ann Arbor Chronicle.

-          The Genealogical Society of Washtenaw County

-          YpsiHistor.blogspot.com

The Arrogance of Hopelessness

Being in a room with junior high girls is kind of like being in the midst of a hurricane. Words are flying all around. There are grating high-pitched noises. You lose your sense of direction. I sat nestled between the folds of a beanbag chair taking in the chaos, watching conversation ping-pong from topic to topic in spectacular fashion. Somehow, a discussion of denominational differences became a critique of the new Beauty and the Beast and further morphed into an exploration of the trans-mutative properties of Disney magic (okay, I may have contributed to the last one myself). Yet when the question was asked: ‘Why do you attend church?’ the room fell deathly silent. For the next forty minutest the discussion limped along dragging behind it the corpse of a Sunday school lesson. With each painful moment I fell further and further into despairing concern. Where was the personal saving faith? Where was the depth of knowledge? Where were the evidences of regeneration?

I have, over time, found that I tend to fall into despair when I perceive (rightly or not) a lack of faith or a disregard for the Lord in others. I get irrationally affected by reading the news. I grieve over the weaknesses of others. Yet as admirable as these attributes might sound, they are largely based not on righteousness but rather on arrogance.

It bases opinions on something we cannot know

We are limited. We are limited both in that we cannot know the innermost thoughts of another’s mind AND in that we are so self-focused that we fail to notice even the most rudimentary cues in those who surround us. Since we are so woefully incapable of discerning the thoughts of another, why do we assume that we will be best suited to judging the condition of their heart? As disconcerting as it might seem, we must admit that only the Lord is capable and worthy to judge the heart of another. We can, and should, discern and correct sin (in the context of relationship) in the lives of believers, but hopelessness steals the place that only the Lord should occupy as it attempts to rightly understand the thoughts and motivations of another.

It assumes that we are somehow morally or theologically superior to others.

Implicit in the idea of hopelessness with other humans is the conceit that we are somehow morally or theologically superior to those we deem as lost or derelict. When we assume that what we immediately observe (with our flawed human senses) is the final verdict on another’s spiritual condition we imply that we understand or apply better the Word of God and how the Spirit is working in their life. While we may very well actually be more mature or more knowledgeable or even more practiced in our faith, we tread dangerously close to the position of the prideful Pharisee in Jesus’ parable who prayed: “God, I thank you that I am not like other people: swindlers, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I pay tithes of all that I get.”

 While our path to arrogance may not be this obvious, we subtly ease ourselves closer by cloaking it in righteous indignation or, in the worst cases, supposed concern over the state of others. The truth is, even those who hold positions of spiritual authority (elders, pastors, lay leaders, parents) need to lead from the position of the tax collector who pleaded with the Lord: “God, be merciful to me, the sinner!”

Our desire to help others should come in the form of one unworthy steward, gifted by grace, helping another along the path for we know that “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” and that “there is none righteous, not oven one.”

It attempts to limit the power of an omnipotent God.

Lastly and perhaps most importantly, hopelessness, of any strain, attempts to limit the power of an omnipotent God. In our despairing over the depravity of the lost or in the waywardness of youth our shallow faith attempts to put limits upon what the Lord is able to accomplish in the hearts of those He chooses. Where we, in our bleak expectations, view the cold or unmoved soul as a lost cause or as a guilty party, the Lord sees an opportunity to display His glory either through his grace or regretfully, through His wrath. His power is not limited by the sinfulness of men. The miracle-inducing God can do whatever He wants. He can warm the coldest heart. He can fan the flame of devotion in the life of the most flippant teen. To assume that our assessment of an individual’s current condition (knowing too, that our assessments are flawed) is indicative of their final spiritual state is arrogant and ignorant. All believers can look back at a time in our own lives in which we were wayward, childish, unrepentant, and caked in our depravity and yet the Lord chose to move to convict even the most unrighteous of us.

Another thing to consider that I have learned (and must learn over and over) is that the Lord works at different times in the lives of others. Especially within the rhythm of education, it is easy to assume the path of spiritual grown rises in a linear fashion as we progress in school. We falsely assume that just as a junior would know more about composition than a freshman, that he would also be more obedient to the Lord than his younger peer. We need only to look at our own lives to see the falsity of that line of reasoning. We can hope, we can lead, and we can pray that our youth would progress in such a clean and orderly ascent of obedience but we know too that the Lord reaches out to His people at ALL ages, to the young and the old alike.

Ours is a God of power. Any attempt we make to limit that power will only result in our own folly. We do not judge fully or rightly the hearts of men. Those who appeared most righteous may hold within their hearts deep unrepentant sin. Those who appeared most disrespectful and wanton might just be changed by a movement of the Holy Spirit. We need only pray and open our eyes. Miracles never cease.

When Sunday School Fails Us

This past year has been an incredibly informative one. In the course of studying through the book of Genesis to teach in Sunday school I’ve really come to learn more about the foundations of the Christian faith and about the biblical figures who, until this point, were caricatures in my mind. Growing up outside the church, my knowledge of the patriarchs consisted of a few smattering of stories about Noah, Moses, and something about Joseph’s coat. I can, in fact, remember sitting through an off-Broadway rehearsal of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat while visiting my uncle in New York City. As a young teen I had little to no context for the stories (and songs) being presented.

Over the course of the eleven years I’ve spent in youth ministry, I’ve come to see that my experience with biblical history as a non-believer did not differ all that much from that of students who had been raised in the church. I began to wonder why students, who had been raised by well-meaning, Bible-believing Christians, would have such a limited knowledge when it comes to basic and foundational historical facts.

What I’ve come to believe is by no means authoritative and it may certainly be influenced by my own experience as an outsider to the Christian community.

In my experience, the church (as a whole) has done a poor job of providing comprehensive Biblical knowledge. Of course, given our current place in history and the proliferation of Bibles (in this country, at least) each believer is primarily responsible to study and seek to understand Scripture (which is the Lord’s clearest form of communication to His disciples today). That said, the church has an important responsibility for and role in the discipling of young believers. Largely, we have done a poor job. We have, at times, fallen into what I call a ‘Sunday school’ mentality.

Before continuing, I want to say that I truly believe that this is not necessarily true of all churches, or all Sunday schools. It isn’t even necessarily true of those who teach Sunday school in my own church. It’s not as if we set out to do a poor job. No one does, but I believe that we have fallen into several disconcerting habits.

We Teach Sporadically and Spasmodically

In our attempt to provide quality and substantive teaching, we have a tendency to jump around from story to story sometimes disregarding the historical context that informs that story. This technique is prevalent in Sunday school classes (hence my designation of ‘Sunday school’ mentality) where it is common to learn about Abraham one week, Joseph the next, and Moses the next. While there are certainly times it is relevant to cross-reference a verse or story, this sporadic style often breeds misunderstanding of biblical chronology and general confusion about characters. The lack of context can also reduce historical biblical events into one-off morality stories.

I’ve spoken with students who have little to no understanding of when events took place within the Bible or, more importantly, why they took place. While such misunderstandings are common in all historical pursuits, it is concerning when it occurs with figures and events which should be informing how we live, work, and worship today.

In addition to this, I have in my own classes, attempted to connect Old Testament stories to their interpretation in the New. This helps students understand more of the why of the events.

We Pick and Choose Which Portions of Stories We Teach

In addition to skipping from story to story, we also have a tendency to teach incomplete versions of events. For instance, we might highlight the faith of Abraham demonstrated in his willingness to sacrifice Isaac but we may not talk about his willingness to deceive the Pharaoh of Egypt by lying about Sarah being his sister. We love to share the story of Jonah and the fish/whale but few sermons or lessons linger on Jonah’s disreputable motivations or his indignation even after the repentance of Nineveh.

The Results

Due to points 1 and 2, we tend to form incomplete pictures of biblical characters that cause us to think that:

1.     The Lord was far more involved (physically or audibly) that He was.

a.     By highlighting only moments within full lifetimes we often come to the faulty conclusion that the Lord showed up in a burning bush every day when, in reality, He did it only once in the entire course of recorded human history. We sometimes think that the Lord showed up every day in the lives of the patriarchs when, in reality, we have only two or three instances recorded throughout an entire lifetime. Misunderstandings such as this might make us feel that our own spiritual lives are somehow deficient or even cause us to doubt the existence of God since He may not speak audibly or split a sea in our own lives. Children and students often see the perceived contrasts between what they are taught of the lives of biblical figures and their own seemingly mundane lives more clearly than adults and by these false perceptions of the Lord’s personal involvement in everyday life will ring false with their own experience. We should strive to do everything in our power to reduce any opportunity for the seeds of doubt to germinate.

2.     That biblical figures were somehow something ‘other’ or more holy than we are.

a.     By highlighting only fragmentary elements of biblical stories we might come to the belief that figures such as Moses or Joshua were supermen who never struggled or wrestled with disbelief or obedience. Seeing these figures as superheroes can cause us to elevate them to another level above us ‘regular’ Christians. These distinctions are not supported by orthodox Christian theology which understands that all have fallen short of the glory of God and there is none righteous apart from Christ. We look to these figures as examples to emulate but always as models of what the Spirit of the Lord can do in spite of our own flawed humanity.

So what are we to do? We need to strive to understand Scripture not only so that we might teach it more clearly but also so that we would understand and apply it more fully to our own lives. We have all experienced seasons when the Word of God felt dry and lifeless; when stories appeared confusing and dusty without context. These lessons are for us as much as they are for those who would learn from us. We can only teach what we know. We can only know what we understand. Our first aim should be to put ourselves in the best possible position to understand the literary form, historical context, and intent of the authors. These goals, as well-intentioned as they may be, only serve to put us into a position in which the Spirit of the Lord might best work. That is the ultimate aim—the touch of the Holy Spirit which transcends human understanding and convicts the heart.

As we seek, pray, and wait on the Spirit’s revelation, we can:

1.     Read the Bible regularly – this is the most basic (and often most difficult) step. We must be involved if we expect to be changed.

2.     Read entire books of the Bible – in our own personal study we should read books in their entirety. We do ourselves a disservice if we sabotage our understanding by setting ourselves up to misunderstand.

3.     Seek to understand the literary and historical context of the book we’re reading—this is the most daunting if not the most difficult step. Part of this comes from reading books to completion, but other sources such as Bible dictionaries, maps, and concordances can also assist.

4.     Try to teach Scripture and its context in age-appropriate ways to children and youth of all ages. As we teach, there are necessarily going to be times when we will not literally read every verse of Scripture to a child, but we need to try to communicate the entirety of the story in a way that is understandable and relatable. We often give our students too little credit when it comes to helping them understand Scripture, sometimes we just need to present them with it, read aloud.

Justice Misapplied

Yesterday my family and I were on our way to a funeral. We, obviously, needed to get there on time. We got on the expressway north and made good time for about ¾ of our trip. Much to our chagrin however, the traffic slowed to a crawl without any discernable reason. As we limped along, we began to notice that the southbound lane of the freeway was deserted. The southbound lanes, it seemed, had been shut down due to an accident. We proceeded on until we could see where the police had the expressway cordoned off and traffic was stopped.

Just then, about ten car-lengths ahead of us, an SUV pulled out into the “authorized access only” turn arounds and pulls a U-turn into the now abandoned expressway. Both my wife and I were aghast and furious that this person would a) disobey a posted sign and b) disobey a police-directed initiative. As I watched the car disappear in my rear-view mirror I saw movement come up alongside me. A police car drove up on the shoulder and approached the turn around. My wife and I both said out loud, “Go get him”. In a moment of perfect justice, the police officer, too, pulled a U-turn, flipped on his lights and chased after the offender who must have felt so isolated and vulnerable being the only car driving down an abandoned expanse of highway. We cheered. Justice was done. All was right in the world.

Humans have an inherent sense of justice. Our quest for justice is born and rooted in being made in the image of God. We know that the Lord is righteous, wholly and perfectly righteous; so righteous in fact that He must be then opposed to anything that is unrighteous. From that attribute flows the wrath of the Lord which opposes anything that would hate or be opposed to His moral character. It is one of the communicable attributes of the Lord. We, too, seek out justice and fairness in this world, whether it is in some offense or slight committed against us or whether it is, in the instance of this driver, someone who has broken the rules. We naturally demand that those who break the rules require punishment for justice to be done.

Illegal U-turns must be punished.

Yet our desire for justice can quickly transition into hatred and bitterness. A misplaced sense of justice leads can quickly lead into pride and self-righteousness since we, unlike our Maker, are not perfect and are riddled with sins of our own. Our sense of justice can quickly cause us to overlook the long list of our own sins.

In the gospel of Matthew, Jesus tells a parable to those crowds gathered around Him. He tells of a landowner in need of workers for his vineyard. Early in the day he hires a group of men, promising them a day’s wages. Around noon he hires another group offering them, too, a day’s wages. He does the same around three in the afternoon. Finally, around five, he hires a final group, offering them a day’s wages as well.

“When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his foreman, ‘Call the workers and pay them their wages, beginning with the last ones hired and going on to the first.’

The workers who were hired about five in the afternoon came and each received a denarius [a day’s wages]. So when those came who were hired first, they expected to receive more. But each one of them also received a denarius. When they received it, they began to grumble against the landowner. 

‘These who were hired last worked only one hour,’ they said, ‘and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the work in the heat of the day.’

But he answered them, ‘I am not being unfair to you, friend. Didn’t you agree to work for a denarius? Take your pay and go. I want to give the one who was hired last the same as I gave you. Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?’”

Jesus told this story to illustrate to self-righteous religious Jews that He was more interested in bringing others into His fold through grace than He was in validating the already righteous (or at least, self-righteous). It was the misplaced sense of justice (and jealousy) that led these men to overlook that they too were hired fairly by the landowner.

In our quest for justice we must not too quickly ignore the fact that mercy is also an attribute of the Lord. We need to seek justice as a means to save and serve others, not out of some sense of self-righteous pride. We, too, should be as quick to show mercy and grant leniency as we are to condemn others for infractions for which we have been forgiven. None of us can conceive of exactly how guilty and unrighteous we are in the eyes of God. Yet, in spite of this deficiency, we have been redeemed by the grace of God through Jesus Christ. As we begin, in our own feeble human terms, to seek retributive justice for others, we must never forget the ledger of offenses that were once levied against us. This does not absolve others of guilt or exclude them from punishment (especially on a civic level) but it keeps us grounded in the reality that we too are debtors who cannot pay. We should not take joy from the downfall of others but turn our eyes to ourselves and praise the great and merciful Father who chose us before the foundation of the world to demonstrate His loving kindness.

Seasons of Change: Reflections of the Life of Christ through the Seasons

[Note: This is in no way biblical exegesis or meant to be authoritative. It is simply a way I have come to experience the world.]

It is winter in Michigan. By winter, I don’t mean we just had our first snow or that we’re looking forward to Christmas. No, this is the winter in the north when all the trivial notions of crackling fires and roasting chestnuts are long past. This is March, the time when the skeleton limbs of trees have grown tiring to look at and the sky is in a persistent state of gray.

This is (not coincidentally) the time of year when you begin to hear conversations in which people long for the summer’s warm embrace or question their willingness to suffer through another round of northern seasons. The snowbirds have long gone and are likely clogging the shuffleboard courts or tiki bars somewhere down in Florida.

As a hiker, this is also the time of year when I begin to get asked why I am still hiking even when the mercury sinks ever lower and the only fauna are hidden deep beneath blankets of snow or nestled among lonely boughs. I’ve struggled to find an answer to these questions of my perseverance. I’d like to say it was unyielding dedication but the rest of my life unveils the lie of my devotion.

Recently, I stumbled on a thought that has been percolating on the periphery of my consciousness for a few years now. I have come to see similarities between the seasons we experience here in this climate and the life of Christ.

We begin in the joyful heat of summer where are dreams are realized. We yearn for it. We plan vacations during the darkest nights of winter. Our calendars anticipate its arrival. It reminds me of the years of Christ’s active ministry when we he walked, taught, and performed miracles while his disciples struggled to comprehend even the most basic of his teachings. I wonder how often the apostles, as they faced martyrdom or old age, thought back to those days, back to when their Savior walked before them and taught the crowds as they grew ever more amazed at this strange and commanding man. How they must have longed for those days when they could share a meal or laughter with their Savior.

As sweet as those days were; as much as the disciples (and we, ourselves) learn from the parables and teachings, the divine plan of reconciliation was far deeper than “the good times”. Just as Jesus was delivered to his accusers, tried, mocked, and crucified the verdant throes of summer fade into the cold embrace of autumn which disperses the migratory birds and strips the trees of their gaudy dressings. Jesus, Himself, is hung up on a lonely tree, His disciples having fled like the falling leaves. We experience the haunting loneliness as the world is stripped away until only the bones remain, a hollow memory of this transitory world and our own faltering obedience.

Darkness falls after that grim day. Just as the sun disappeared from the day, the hours of daylight now grow fleeting and the clouds begin to occupy the place that summer’s blue once held sway. We feel the loneliness and despair that Jesus’ followers felt as they ruminated upon their loss, their disappointment, and their own weakness they demonstrated in their flight. They met together indoors, in doubt, and fear, and shame. We, too, are driven inside by the chill winds of our own dark time. It is in these days and nights that we long for the return of the sun and all the joyful plans we will experience in the year to come.

Into that darkness; into our long suffering, the resurrection comes. On Easter we again experience the rebirth of our Savior physically, and of our own lives spiritually. The time of suffering has passed. The time of rejoicing has come. So too, note how the budding of trees brings joy to our hearts, how the return of the birds long departed puts a spring in our step. Seasons are reborn. Speckled fawns lie softly on freshly sprouted grass. Flowers poke their heads above the soft loam.

As a Northerner, I may be in the minority in saying this, but we need our seasons. As much as we may prefer one to another; as much as the chill or bleakness might dull us with monotony, they provide a type of calendar for our lives. In that way they are a gift. I understand that it is only a very small sliver of the planet that can experience the seasons in this way. I would imagine that each climate has its own peculiarities which make them unique. We do have an infinitely creative God, after all. I have come to feel such spiritual rhythms as I walk the trails and traverse the roads. Though my conscious mind may never grasp it fully, I will often find myself filled with longing, joy, or despair without ever knowing precisely why. As in all things, in turning my eyes toward Christ I am able to see the world fully, for what it is. These moments, are admittedly far too few. My resolve is deplorable at best. My eyes so rarely turn toward him but every so often when spring’s promise breaks winter’s clutch and I feel the warming of redemption and salvation, I witness the glimmers of Christ inviting me again to turn to him.