Imparting Healing Hope

Voices of Healing: African American Women of Faith
Part V: Elizabeth Keckley: Imparting Healing Hope

Note: Taken from Sacred Friendships: Celebrating the Legacy of Women Heroes of the Faith. For more information on this book, please visit: http://bit.ly/YmaM1

Note: For Part I on Elizabeth Keckley, please visit my blog post at: http://bit.ly/FSNIt. For Part II, please visit: bit.ly/ENWjJ. For Part III, please visit: http://bit.ly/gI1H6. For Part IV, please visit: http://bit.ly/x9Axx

Healing Hope

Elizabeth Keckley not only understood how to offer sustaining comfort. She also recognized how to impart healing hope.

“At the grave, at least, we should be permitted to lay our burden down, that a new world, a world of brightness, may open to us. The light that is denied us here should grow into a flood of effulgence beyond the dark, mysterious shadows of death.”

Hope-Giving Spiritual Friendship

The hope-giving spiritual friendship between “Lizzy” Keckley and Mary Lincoln continued for a lifetime. The widowed Mrs. Lincoln needed it desperately. Elizabeth describes Mrs. Lincoln in these post-White House years.

“A few words as regards the disposition and habits of Mrs. Lincoln. She is no longer the sprightly body she was when her very presence illumed the White House with gayety. Now she is sad and sedate, seeking seclusion, and maintaining communication merely with her most intimate personal friends.”

Lizzy, or Lizzie, as Mary affectionately called her in letter after letter, was her most intimate of friends—a friendship continued by letters until Mrs. Lincoln passed away. Unfortunately, history records only the letters written to Elizabeth from Lincoln. But even these provide more than a glimpse into the openness of this sacred friendship, and the trust and safety that that an otherwise mistrusting Mrs. Lincoln felt because of Elizabeth’s care for her soul.

A Broken Heart

Writing on a Sunday morning, October 6, 1867, the still-grieving Mrs. Lincoln opens her heart wide to Lizzy. “My Dear Lizzie: I am writing this morning with a broken heart after a sleepless night of great mental suffering. . . . Pray for me that this cup of affliction may pass from me, or be sanctified to me. I weep whilst I am writing. I pray for death this morning. Only my darling Taddie prevents my taking my life. . . . Your friend, M. L.”[1]

One week later, Mary cries out again for Elizabeth’s friendship. “Oh! That I could see you. Write me, dear Lizzie, if only a line. . . . I am always so anxious to hear from you, I am feeling so friendless in the world. I remain always your affectionate friend. M. L.”

It is obvious that Elizabeth provided sustaining and healing soul care from the preceding lines.

Helping Others to Be Better

It is equally clear that she was Mary Lincoln’s source of reconciling and guiding spiritual direction from the following words. “Write me my dear friend, your candid opinion about everything. I wish to be made better off.”

Lincoln offers a great purpose statement for spiritual direction—helping others to be better off—spiritually, socially, mentally, emotionally.

A Friend Like No Other

The next month, on November 9 and 15, 1867, Mary expresses further appreciation for the depth of connection that she shares with Lizzy. “How hard it is that I cannot see and talk with you in this time of great, great trouble. I feel as if I had not a friend in the world save yourself. I sometimes wish myself out of this world of sorrow and care. . . .”[1]

“Your last letter has been received, and believe me, I duly appreciate your great interest in my affairs. I hope the day may arrive when I can return your kindness in more than words.”

The widow’s sadness is unrelenting. Her need for her best friend’s enduring presence is equally indefatigable. “Chicago, November 24. Why, why was not I taken when my darling husband was called from my side? I have been allowed no rest by those who, in my desolation, should have protected me. How dearly I should love to see you this very sad day.”

The End of the Story: What Is a Soul-Care Giver?

What is a soul care-giver? She is someone like Elizabeth Keckley who can be trusted to provide unremitting rest, protection, and presence in the saddest days of life on fallen planet Earth.

Note: Readers can enjoy the empowering narratives of over two-dozen African American women (and scores of African American men) narrated in Kellemen and Edwards, Beyond the Suffering. For more information, please visit: http://bit.ly/XvsTu

A Tornado of Sorrow

Voices of Healing: African American Women of Faith
Part IV: Elizabeth Keckley: A Tornado of Sorrow

Note: Taken from Sacred Friendships: Celebrating the Legacy of Women Heroes of the Faith. For more information on this book, please visit: http://bit.ly/YmaM1

Note: For Part I on Elizabeth Keckley, please visit my blog post at: http://bit.ly/FSNIt. For Part II, please visit: bit.ly/ENWjJ. For Part III, please visit: http://bit.ly/gI1H6

A Tornado of Sorrow

Just a few years after the death of young Willie Lincoln, at 11 o’clock at night, Elizabeth awoke to the news that Mr. Lincoln had been shot. In the confusion of the night, she finally learned that the President was dead. Her first thought was of Mrs. Lincoln.

“I wanted to go to Mrs. Lincoln, as I pictured her wild with grief; but then I did not know where to find her. . .”[1]

Mrs. Lincoln was overcome. Mrs. Secretary Wells asked Mrs. Lincoln who could comfort her. “Is there no one, Mrs. Lincoln, that you desire to have with you in this terrible affliction?”

Mrs. Lincoln responded, “Yes, send for Elizabeth Keckley. I want her just as soon as she can be brought here.”[1]

It’s Normal to Hurt

Bringing her in, Mrs. Wells excused herself and Elizabeth was left alone with Mrs. Lincoln. “She was nearly exhausted with grief, and when she became a little quiet, I asked and received permission to go into the Guests’ Room, where the body of the President lay in state.”[1]

Returning to Mrs. Lincoln’s room, Elizabeth reports, “I found her in a paroxysm of grief. Robert was bending over his mother with tender affection, and little Tad was crouched at the foot of the bed with a world of agony in his young face. I shall never forget the scene—the wails of a broken heart, the unearthly shrieks, the terrible convulsions, the wild, tempestuous outbursts of grief from the soul.”

Shared Sorrow Is Endurable Sorrow

How did Elizabeth respond? “I bathed Mrs. Lincoln’s head with cold water, and soothed the terrible tornado as best I could. Tad’s grief at his father’s death was as great as the grief of his mother, but her terrible outbursts awed the boy into silence.”

In those days, of all people, a formerly enslaved black woman was the one human being on the face of the earth who could comfort the President’s widow. And how? With her empathy. With her silence. With her physical presence. With her loving companionship.

Mrs. Lincoln’s Spiritual Friend

“Every room in the White House was darkened, and every one spoke in subdued tones, and moved about with muffled tread. The very atmosphere breathed of the great sorrow which weighed heavily upon each heart. Mrs. Lincoln never left her room. . . She denied admittance to almost every one, and I was her only companion, except her children, in the days of her great sorrow.”

Mrs. Lincoln’s testimony says it all. “Lizabeth, you are my best and kindest friend, and I love you as my best friend.”

The Rest of the Story

For the rest of the story, please return to this blog for part five . . .

Note: Readers can enjoy the empowering narratives of over two-dozen African American women (and scores of African American men) narrated in Kellemen and Edwards, Beyond the Suffering. For more information, please visit: http://bit.ly/XvsTu

Great Hearts Sorrowing

Voices of Healing:

African American Women of Faith
Part III: Elizabeth Keckley:

Great Hearts Sorrowing

Note: Taken from Sacred Friendships: Celebrating the Legacy of Women Heroes of the Faith. For more information on this book, please visit: http://bit.ly/YmaM1

Note: For Part I on Elizabeth Keckley, please visit my blog post at: http://bit.ly/FSNIt. For Part II, please visit: bit.ly/ENWjJ.

Great Hearts Sorrowing: Permission to Grieve

Through a series of sovereign appointments, Elizabeth finds herself in the role of dressmaker for the President’s wife. More than that, she finds herself in the relationship of sacred friend to the President’s wife—Mary Todd Lincoln.

Over time, the emotional, turbulent Mary Lincoln came to love and even need “Lizabeth,” as she called her. The need exploded when Mrs. Lincoln’s son, Willie, became ill. “He was very sick,” Elizabeth reports, “and I was summoned to his bedside. It was sad to see the poor boy suffer. Always of a delicate constitution, he could not resist the strong inroads of disease.”

According to Elizabeth, “He was his mother’s favorite child, and she doted on him. It grieved her heart sorely to see him suffer.”

Willie worsened, lingering a few days, and then died. “God called the beautiful spirit home, and the house of joy was turned into the house of mourning.”

Elizabeth was there when President Lincoln arrived. “I never saw a man so bowed down with grief. He came to the bed, lifted the cover from the face of his child, gazed at it long and earnestly, murmuring, ‘My poor boy, he was too good for this earth. God has called him home. I know that he is much better off in heaven, but then we loved him so. It is hard, hard to have him die!’”

The scene continues.

“Great sobs choked his utterance. He buried his head in his hands, and his tall frame was convulsed with emotion. I stood at the foot of the bed, my eyes full of tears, looking at the man in silent, awe-stricken wonder. His grief unnerved him, and made him a weak, passive child. I did not dream that his rugged nature could be so moved. I shall never forget those solemn moments—genius and greatness weeping over love’s idol lost. There is a grandeur as well as a simplicity about the picture that will never fade.”

Mrs. Lincoln’s grief was inconsolable.

“The pale face of her dead boy threw her into convulsions. Around him love’s tendrils had been twined, and now that he was dressed for the tomb, it was like tearing the tendrils out of the heart by their roots. Willie, she often said, if spared by Providence, would be the hope and stay of her old age. But Providence had not spared him. The light faded from his eyes, and the death-dew had gathered on his brow.” Mrs. Lincoln was so completely overwhelmed with sorrow that she did not attend her son’s funeral.

Elizabeth could empathize with a grieving mother’s broken heart.

“Previous to this I had lost my son. Leaving Wilberforce, he went to the battle-field with the three months troops, and was killed in Missouri—found his grave on the battlefield where the gallant General Lyon fell. It was a sad blow to me, and the kind womanly letter that Mrs. Lincoln wrote to me when she heard of my bereavement was full of golden words of comfort.”

Clearly, all were given permission to grieve. Speaking of President Lincoln and all the President’s men, Elizabeth describes the funeral scene.

“And there sat the man, with a burden on his brain at which the world marvels—bent now with the load at both heart and brain—staggering under a blow like the taking from him of his child! His men of power sat around him—McClellan, with a moist eye when he bowed to the prayer, as I could see from where I stood; and Chase and Seward, with their austere features at work; and senators, and ambassadors, and soldiers, all struggling with their tears—great hearts sorrowing with the President as a stricken man and a brother.”

The permission to grieve extended over time, as it should. “For two years after Willie’s death the White House was the scene of no fashionable display. The memory of the dead boy was duly respected. In some things Mrs. Lincoln was an altered woman.”

From Elizabeth’s perspective, President Lincoln grieved as one who had found Christian hope.

“Mr. Lincoln was reading that divine comforter, Job. He read with Christian eagerness, and the courage and hope that he derived from the inspired pages made him a new man.”

Here Elizabeth records a profound Presidential example of scriptural exploration bringing hope to the hurting. In her words, “What a sublime picture was this! A ruler of a mighty nation going to the pages of the Bible with simple Christian earnestness for comfort and courage, and finding both in the darkest hours of a nation’s calamity. Ponder it, O ye scoffers at God’s Holy Word, and then hang your heads for very shame!”

The Rest of the Story

For the rest of the story, please return to this blog for part four . . .

Note: Readers can enjoy the empowering narratives of over two-dozen African American women (and scores of African American men) narrated in Kellemen and Edwards, Beyond the Suffering. For more information, please visit: http://bit.ly/XvsTu

Elizabeth Keckley: Part II

Voices of Healing:

African American Women of Faith

Part II: Elizabeth Keckley:

All Silver in Heaven

Note: Taken from Sacred Friendships: Celebrating the Legacy of Women Heroes of the Faith. For more information on this stirring book, please visit: http://bit.ly/YmaM1

Note: For Part I on Elizabeth Keckley, please visit my blog post at: http://bit.ly/FSNIt

All Silver in Heaven: Acquainted with Grief

Like her Savior, Elizabeth Keckley was a person of sorrow acquainted with grief, and thus able to bring sustaining and healing spiritual care to Mrs. Lincoln. Though enslaved, her first few years were at least spent in the love of her intact family. However, soon her father was sold to another slaver and the golden dream faded all too soon.

As Elizabeth poignantly recalls it:

“The announcement fell upon the little circle in that rude log cabin like a thunderbolt. I can remember the scene as if it were but yesterday;—how my father cried out against the cruel separation; his last kiss; his wild straining of my mother to his bosom; the solemn prayer to Heaven; the tears and sobs—the fearful anguish of broken hearts. The last kiss, the last goodbye; and he, my father, was gone, gone forever."

Elizabeth’s earthly despair was all-encompasing; her longing for heaven all-embracing.

“The shadow eclipsed the sunshine, and love brought despair. The parting was eternal. The cloud had no silver lining, but I trust that it will be all silver in heaven.”

As was typically the case in slavery, Elizabeth’s family was not given permission to grieve or the opportunity to hope.

“Deep as was the distress of my mother in parting with my father, her sorrow did not screen her from insult. My old mistress said to her: ‘Stop your nonsense; there is no necessity for you putting on airs. Your husband is not the only slave that has been sold from his family, and you are not the only one that has had to part.”

To these unfeeling words, Elizabeth’s mother made no reply. “She turned away in stoical silence, with a curl of that loathing scorn upon her lips which swelled in her heart. My father and my mother never met again in this world.”

When she was fourteen, Elizabeth went to live with her master’s oldest son, a Presbyterian minister, married to “a helpless wife, a girl that he had married in the humble walks of life. She was morbidly sensitive. . .” At eighteen, a Mr. Bingham, a village schoolmaster and member of her master’s church, said he would whip her naked. She refused. He subdued her. Tied her. Stripped her dress. Whipped her.

“I could not sleep, for I was suffering mental as well as bodily torture. My spirit rebelled against the unjustness that had been inflicted upon me, and though I tried to smother my anger and to forgive those who had been so cruel to me, it was impossible.”

He again tried to conquer her, striking her with savage blows. “As I stood bleeding before him, nearly exhausted with his efforts, he burst into tears, and declared that it would be a sin to beat me any more. My suffering at last subdued his hard heart; he asked my forgiveness, and afterwards was an altered man.”

In her future ministry in the White House, Elizabeth would need her indomitable spirit in the face of unspeakable suffering.

The Rest of the Story

For the rest of the story, please return to this blog for part three . . .

Note: Readers can enjoy the empowering narratives of over two-dozen African American women (and scores of African American men) narrated in Kellemen and Edwards, Beyond the Suffering. For more information, please visit: http://bit.ly/XvsTu

Freedom's Eve--Watch Night Service

Freedom’s Eve—Watch Night Service

Many of us, regardless of race, are familiar with the tradition of a New Year’s Eve Watch Night Service. However, few of us know the true history behind it.

We can trace the history of the Watch Night Service all the way back to 1862. December 31, 1862, was a very special evening for the African American community. It was the night before the Emancipation Proclamation took effect, freeing all the slaves in the Confederate states.

Thus, on New Year’s Eve 1862, many African American churches held prayer and worship services from the late evening until midnight when they welcomed the new year with praise, thanksgiving, prayer, and confession. They called these services Watch Night Meetings. And now you know the rest of the story.

Heard and Moseley.
Waiting for the Hour [Emancipation], December 31, 1862.
Carte de visite.
Washington, 1863.
Prints and Photographs Division.
Reproduction Number: LC-USZC4-6160 (4-21a)

A Voice of Healing

A Voice of Healing

Picture the scene. It’s Civil War America. Women have no right to vote. Across the South, Blacks have no rights whatsoever. President Lincoln is assassinated. His widow, Mary Lincoln, is left devastated. To whom does she turn?

To a Black woman.

To Elizabeth Keckley.

In the story of her life Behind the Scenes, or Thirty Years a Slave and Four Years in the White House, Keckley explains, “. . . I have been intimately associated with that lady (Mrs. Lincoln) in the most eventful periods of her life. I have been her confidante . . .”[1]

Given the inauspicious beginnings of Keckley’s life story, her spiritual friendship with Mary Lincoln is staggering. “My life has been an eventful one. I was born a slave—was the child of slave parents—therefore I came upon the earth free in God-like thought, but fettered in action.”[2]

How in the world did a Black woman of that cultural era become confidante to the slain President’s wife? Keckley understood how. “God rules the universe.”[3]

All Silver in Heaven

Like her Savior, Keckley was a woman of sorrow acquainted with grief, and thus able to bring sustaining and healing spiritual care to Mrs. Lincoln. Though enslaved, her first few years were at least spent in the love of her intact family. However, soon her father was sold to another slaver. As Keckley picturesquely recalls it:

“But the golden dream faded all too soon. . . . The announcement fell upon the little circle in that rude log cabin like a thunderbolt. I can remember the scene as if it were but yesterday;—how my father cried out against the cruel separation; his last kiss; his wild straining of my mother to his bosom; the solemn prayer to Heaven; the tears and sobs—the fearful anguish of broken hearts. The last kiss, the last goodbye; and he, my father, was gone, gone forever. . . . The shadow eclipsed the sunshine, and love brought despair. The parting was eternal. The cloud had no silver lining, but I trust that it will be all silver in heaven.”[4]

Years later, through a series of sovereign appointments, Elizabeth Keckley finds herself in the role of dressmaker for the President’s wife. More than that, she finds herself in the role as the President’s wife sacred friend.

A Tornado of Sorrow

Upon the announcement of the President’s death, Mrs. Lincoln was inconsolable. Mrs. Secretary Wells asked Mrs. Lincoln who could comfort her. “Is there no one, Mrs. Lincoln, that you desire to have with you in this terrible affliction?”

Mrs. Lincoln responded, “Yes, send for Elizabeth Keckley. I want her just as soon as she can be brought here.”[5]

Bringing her in, Mrs. Wells excused herself and Keckley was left alone with Mrs. Lincoln. “She was nearly exhausted with grief, and when she became a little quiet, I asked and received permission to go into the Guests’ Room, where the body of the President lay in state.”[6]

Returning to Mrs. Lincoln’s room, Keckley reports:

“I found her in a paroxysm of grief. Robert was bending over his mother with tender affection, and little Tad was crouched at the foot of the bed with a world of agony in his young face. I shall never forget the scene—the wails of a broken heart, the unearthly shrieks, the terrible convulsions, the wild, tempestuous outbursts of grief over the soul.”[7]

How did Keckley respond? “I bathed Mrs. Lincoln’s head with cold water, and soothed the terrible tornado as best I could. Tad’s grief at his father’s death was as great as the grief of his mother, but her terrible outbursts awed the boy into silence.”[8]

Beyond the Dark, Mysterious Shadows of Death

In those days, of all people, a formerly enslaved Black woman was the one human being on the face of the earth who could comfort the President’s widow! And how? With her empathy. With her silence. With her physical presence. With her loving companionship.

“Every room in the White House was darkened, and every one spoke in subdued tones, and moved about with muffled tread. The very atmosphere breathed of the great sorrow which weighed heavily upon each heart. Mrs. Lincoln never left her room. She denied admittance to almost every one, and I was her only companion, except her children, in the days of her great sorrow.”[9]

Mrs. Lincoln’s testimony says it all. “Lizabeth, you are my best and kindest friend, and I love you as my best friend.”[10]

Elizabeth Keckley not only understood how to offer sustaining comfort. She also recognized how to impart healing hope. “At the grave, at least, we should be permitted to lay our burden down, that a new world, a world of brightness, may open to us. The light that is denied us here should grow into a flood of effulgence beyond the dark, mysterious shadows of death.”[11]

The Voice of the Voiceless

All of us, even the “best trained,” at times feel speechless when face-to-face with a grieving family member. But have we an excuse to remain voiceless?

If a Black woman in Civil War America—the epitome of voicelessness—can soothe the tumult of the President’s widow, can we not find our voice in the Wonderful Counselor? A voice that speaks out of our own melting grief, a voice that speaks with soothing kindness, a voice that speaks of heavenly hope. A courageous voice from a courageous soul set free by the One who calls Himself the Word.

[1]Keckley, Elizabeth. Behind the Scenes, or Thirty Years a Slave and Four Years in the White House. Reprinted by the Schomburg Library of Nineteenth-Century Black Women Writers, ed. Henry Louis Gates, Jr., New York: Oxford University Press, 1988, p. xiv.
[2]Ibid., p. 17.
[3]Ibid., p. xii.
[4]Ibid., pp. 22-24.
[5]Ibid., p. 189.
[6]Ibid.
[7]Ibid., pp. 191-192.
[8]Ibid.
[9]Ibid., pp. 192-193.
[10]Ibid., p. 210.
[11]Ibid., p. 24.