On this day in 1863 the Massachusetts 54th marched out of Boston.
I think a great deal about that march and what followed.
I think about Shaw, that child of Unitarian faith, and where that faith led him.
But more, I think about the 54th.
The truth is that there was a single State’s right the South was looking to defend.
And there were people who were willing to fight and die that something truly evil would be eradicated from the nation’s soul.
There was a cancer that needed cutting out.
And I find it is so terribly important that people who had been enslaved could take up the arms that would free them, could have their own part in this ending of something so terrible, so wrong, so soul killing.
It was so important that at least one hand holding the scalpel would be black.
And more. This event holds up so much that is complex and difficult and wrong and right in our human lives.
How religion would be invoked by those who would enslave,
And the prayers of those who would be free.
And more, complex and messy, so much more than messy, so filled with wrong and with right.
In this story of the Massachusetts 54th, whatever the prayers they actually prayed to whatever gods, they died.
Ugly.
Violent death.
Trying to take a fort that may not have needed taking.
But, something more happened in those hellish moments…
My faith tells me war is wrong.
My faith says killing is wrong.
My observation is that the reality of multiple causality and the cascade of unintended consequences means nothing is any pure single thing, and without doubt every violent action leaves a cascade of hurt behind.
The tears that follow war fill oceans.
And to take up arms, to be caught up in the violence and blood and destruction is to be cast into hell.
No doubt.
And this is the hard part, the really hard part.
Sometimes, perhaps, possibly, I fear, I believe; that is exactly what we have to do.
The consequences of those centuries of slavery are still with us. Prejudice and hatred continue to poison people’s hearts. Today in this country there are people whose lives are a form of slavery.
And people spit on the memory of the peculiar institution and wonder how people could possibly have thought it anything but sin.
And know bones and marrow nothing like that should be allowed to exist.
So hard.
So important.
Whatever gods there may be, may they bless Robert Gould Shaw.
Whatever gods there may be, may they bless the Massachusetts 54th.
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