February 16th 2021

Every time I travel for my work in public ministry I’m undoubtedly asked, “If you believe Statesville is so broken, why do you choose to stay in a place that has hurt you and countless others?” As I hear the familiar refrain I tune the question out and daydream of my hometown… my home and I think of Moses the Magnolia Tree, the sticker on my Nana’s PO Box I put there to remember the mailbox that is still there while I check the mail for her during the pandemic.

What the question fails to account for is that even if I could leave, I hope I decide against it.

I have discerned a few career moves in various cosmopolitan cities over the years, I have interviewed, I have visited—one time it was down to me saying, “yes” but then the voice of my wise counsel and mentor and the advice he once gave me he may have long forgotten.

In the early 2010’s the United Methodist Church was entering deep waters of division over their response to the LGBTQ community, and the Rev. Nathan Kirkpatrick was on the ladder to success in the Annual Conference for which he was appointed. I remember the call the day he told me he was surrendering his orders to the over-bearing bishop so he could pursue holy orders in the Episcopal Church as a gay man, the person God created him to be:

Rob: Nathan, you can’t leave—we need you, we need your voice, your wisdom, your strength.

Nathan: Some people are meant to stay, and some are meant to flee to other fights. There are plenty of fights to be had—the decision is where you choose to engage.

Remembering that conversation now I profoundly regret admonishing Nathan to stay in the abusive and negligent institutional relationship he was in—I was putting my agenda over his welfare.

The work of advocacy and activism in any community rings true in Nathan’s response to my comment. Some of my friends who visit on Christmas and Easter, often bemoan how our town doesn’t have a Super Target. (Ok—Statesville doesn’t have a Super Target, but one can hold out hope for better supermarket days) What they miss is the fact that my calling, my activism, my advocacy was never built from the MTV Stage in August of 2017 in the wake of Charlottesville, it was from the ground up. That ground, the red clay of the Piedmont is Statesville.

I have preached in any Statesville church that will have me, I have worked to be more than a curator of activism porn, and I have had to realize my blind spots and privilege more times than I can count. Here’s the thing though—I have done so in the community I love and that learning has been fruitful.

No degree will give you credence in a place like Statesville, no accolades or tv appearance, it comes down to the fact that I can show you where El Tio’s, the original Statesville Mexican restaurant was—and how there cheese dip is a goal every cheese dip can aspire to. I can tell you the best BBQ is Port-A-Pit, no matter what Randy’s tells you, I can tell you of the community’s unique ability to skirt the fact we have a white First Baptist Church, and a Black First Baptist Church.

Ultimately with that last one we have failed. We need help and I fear that if everyone who has the power to effect change leaves—why would anyone in power want to make change happen. And what’s even more scary is that white folk like me tend to like the power they wield and they dare not yield it. Even amongst progressive folk, our friendly fire can be more detrimental than enemy attacks.

Trust me—I don’t stay in Statesville to be hip. I don’t stay in Statesville for the non-existent thriving economy and the light pollution from Car Dealerships, I stay because this is my fight. The fierce urgency of now that Dr. King talked about is not about showing off it is about showing up despite the surrounding forces of wickedness and the friendly fire from behind the line. It is being willing to use a name like Robert Lee so that others might be amplified and heard where they might not normally be listened to.

Will it be costly? It already has been.

Will it be dangerous? It will continue to be.

What about your wife and daughters? I hope they will be proud of the decision we made together to always do what’s right even if it’s scary.

I pray I am worthy of the trust the community has places on my shoulder, and the deep roots that have grown.