IN SOUTH CAROLINA, a community is mourning the loss of their mothers, fathers, sons, daughters and children. The youngest victim was 26; the oldest, 87.

For me, amid the accounts of the dark and troubled mind of the gunman, I also heard a powerful and consistent answer to that darkness: love.

A young African-American man said to a BBC interviewer:

“What he was going to accomplish, he did the opposite. And so we’re smiling and laughing at him, while yet praying for him. And he can’t stop us from praying for him, and he can’t stop us from loving him. So he’s got to live with black people loving white people, and white people loving black people.”

The stark, humble beauty of that statement echoes the words of Martin Luther King: “Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.”

I don’t think anyone could blame that parishioner of Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church if he chose to express only anger, or a desire for vengeance. Yet he chose the higher path, as described by Dr. King:

“And certainly when I talk about love at this point I am not … talking about some sentimental or even some affectionate emotion. I am talking about something much deeper. It would be nonsense to urge oppressed people to love their violent oppressors in an affectionate sense. Fortunately the Greek language comes to our aid at this point. There are three words in the Greek language for love. There is the word Eros. Eros is a sort of aesthetic love. Plato used to talk about it a great deal in his dialogues, the yearning of the soul for the realm of the divine. It has come to us to be a sort of romantic love, and so in this sense we all know about Eros. We have read about it in all of the beauties of literature. We’ve experienced it in the sense that Edgar Allen Poe was talking about Eros when he talked about his beautiful Annabelle Lee with the love surrounded by the halo of eternity. In a sense Shakespeare was talking about Eros when he said love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, bends with the remover to remove, it is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken. It is a star to every wondering bark. You know I can remember that because I used to quote it to my wife when we were courting. That’s Eros. Then the Greek language talks about Philia, which is another level of love. It is a kind of intimate affection between personal friends. On this level you love because you are loved. You love the people that you like. This is friendship. And then the Greek language comes out with another word; it is the word agape. Now agape is more than romantic love.  Agape is more than friendship. Now agape is understanding, creative, redemptive goodwill for all men. It is an overflowing love, which seeks nothing in return. Theologians would say that it is the love of God operating in the human heart. And when one rises to love on this level, he is able to love the person who does the evil deed, while hating the deed that the person does. And he is able to love those persons that he even finds it difficult to like, for he begins to look beneath the surface and he discovers that (the) individual who may be brutal toward him and who may be prejudiced was taught that way — was a child of his culture. At times his school taught him that way. At times his church taught him that way. At times his family taught him that way. And the thing to do is to change the structure and the evil system, so that he can grow and develop as a mature individual devoid of prejudice.”

To American ears, Dr. King’s words, and the actions and attitudes of those parishioners of Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church, are almost indescribably radical. They challenge all of us not only to be better citizens, but also those of us who call ourselves Christians to act in a way that is deeply true to the authentic teachings of Christ.

Many years ago, during the March from Selma to Montgomery in 1965, an old African-American woman was overcome with fatigue and sat down on someone’s lawn to massage her feet.

After a short while, she saw a shadow darken her dress, and looked up to find two white men with hate in their eyes, who told her that they were going to teach her a lesson about knowing her place. From the way they said it, she knew that this lesson was to be communicated by their fists, or worse.

Her eyes filled with compassion, she said: “I am an old woman, and if you are going to beat me, there is not much I can do to prevent it. But, if you don’t mind, before you start your beating, I would like to take a few moments to pray for you.”

She knelt, closed her eyes, and said: “Lord, I ask that you pour your love into the hearts of these men, who are in such pain, such terrible pain, burdened as they are by hatred.” When she opened her eyes, they were walking away.

In South Carolina, parishioners are praying for the man who murdered their family members and friends. That will be far more transformational for their community, and for our society, than any punishment of the one who caused their grief.

Matt Talbot is a writer and poet, as well as an old Benicia hand. He works for a tech start-up in San Francisco.

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