On Tuesday, August 8, 2020, a small group from the Episcopal Church of the Transfiguration joined to say Evening Prayer at the Royse City Cemetery, just outside of Dallas, Texas, at the graveside of Commodore Jones, a Black man lynched in Farmersville, Texas on that date in 1911. Commodore Jones was made to step off the top of a telephone pole with a noose around his neck for having “insulted” a white woman who answered the switchboard at the telephone company. I was invited to deliver a short homily in remembrance. This is what I remember having said, with maybe a little added detail and some polishing up.
I had prepared something to say today, a little homily in which I would have told you a bit about Commodore Jones. But I left it in the car — purposely, not because I forgot it!! Because on the way over here today, something grabbed me and wouldn’t let go and so I think I have to tell you about it.
We live in the suburbs where the mailboxes sort of match the houses. The mailbox in front of our home is set into a foundation with bricks that match our house. It’s a pretty substantial mailbox really, very sturdy. A couple weeks ago a young woman crashed into it and completely destroyed it. She’s fine, no one was hurt, but we are out a mailbox. So this past week, my husband has been dealing with a guy hired by the young woman’s dad to rebuild the structure. It’s been pretty frustrating for a million little reasons we didn’t expect, including that the post office doesn’t seem to want to deliver us mail without the box and no one can match the bricks.
The other day, I was sitting at my kitchen table doing some work, just around the corner from my husband’s home office, when I heard him answer a call about the mailbox. He’s a soft-spoken and peaceful guy, for those of you who don’t know him. In our house, he’s chill and laid back and I’m, well, not. But I could hear frustration in his voice on the phone that day as he tried to deal with one more delay, one more problem with the stupid mailbox. And if I could hear it, I imagine the person on the other side of the phone could hear it as well.
In 1911, that could have earned him a brutal death, pushed off the top of a telephone pole with a noose around his neck. Like Commodore Jones.
My husband is Black, in case you didn’t guess already.
To my knowledge, there is nothing written about the life of Commodore Jones. We have only ever read about his death in short newspaper clippings, and so we don’t really know what type of a man Commodore was. I expect that he was just a normal man. At 26, he may have been married with children. Perhaps he was a share cropper or other agricultural worker, which of course would make sense in Farmersville and the surrounding area, especially in 1911. It’s probably not a far stretch to expect that he was poor, that he was uneducated, that he was Christian. But we will never know these things for sure.
So, I do not mean to draw similarities between the lives of Commodore Jones and Jesus. But I do think we’d be remiss, as a largely white church, if we didn’t consider the similarities between their deaths. Because they did have similar deaths. Both faced an angry, blood-thirsty mob, hungry for a fight. Both faced accusations that were unfounded at best — because Commodore may have allegedly insulted a white woman, but even if he did, an insult is not a crime, it’s just impolite. Both heard hateful shouts threatening death. Both suffered greatly before finally dying on a piece of wood.
Afterwards, both of their bodies were carried away in secrecy to graves away from the crowds, across county lines in Commodore’s case. And both left behind divided, fearful communities.
I wonder if we can sit with those similarities for a moment.
Friends, I want us to be here today, I hope that we are here today to say something to our friend, Commodore.
Commodore, we repent. We humbly repent of our complicity in the injustice that brought you and so many others here. We repent of our willful blindness to the oppression of Black people. We repent of our hard hearts. We repent of the ease with which we follow anger and fear rather than leading with love.
And I want us to say to Jesus, Lord, forgive us. Transform us. Redeem this mess we have created. Show us how to fight for justice. Help us to join you in the work of building your Kingdom.
Friends, there is no room for these injustices in the Kingdom of God. In the Kingdom of God there is no room to lynch someone for an insult. And there is no room for a crushing knee on the neck of a man with a fake $20 bill.
Friends, there is no room for these things in the Kingdom of our Lord.
Amen.
