The Washington Times
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Stonewall ministers to save souls

By Richard G. Williams Jr.
SPECIAL TO THE WASHINGTON TIMES
Published December 10, 2005


In 1841, two teenage boys, Thaddeus Moore and his companion, Tom,
watched a slave funeral with curiosity and, one said later, a sense of
sadness as the coffin was carried to the grave.
Although neither boy knew the person about to be buried, young Tom
seemed particularly saddened by what he saw -- not just by the mournful
procession, but by the plight of the black race. Moore would later
write in his journal that Tom "seemed to be sorry for the race."
"They should be free and have a chance," Tom had said. Tom also
told Thaddeus that his close friend Joe Lightburn had once said that
the slaves "should be taught to read so they could read the Bible." Tom
said he thought so, too. Thaddeus replied that he would be well-advised
"not to make such views known."
These boys' lives, connected during their youth, would diverge in
later years. Thaddeus Moore died in Clarksburg, Va. (West Virginia
today) in 1859.
Joe Lightburn would, like young Tom, answer his country's call for
service during the Civil War. However, the two would choose different
loyalties. Lightburn would fight for the Union and, after the war,
become a Baptist pastor. Tom would not survive the war, but his name
would become immortal. He was Confederate Gen. Thomas J. "Stonewall"
Jackson.
Mysterious names
Lightburn and Jackson shared not only military careers, but also a
passion for reaching others with the Gospel. While Lightburn's ministry
would not begin until after Appomattox, Jackson's most important
ministry took place during the six years leading up to the war.
It is a strange paradox - Lightburn fought for the Union,
survived the war and later ministered to a white congregation; Jackson
fought for the Confederacy, did not survive the war, but ministered
primarily to blacks.
Jackson's belief that blacks should be taught to read so they could
read the Bible would come to full fruition in 1855, 150 years ago this
year. He began a "Colored Sabbath-school" in the fall of 1855 in
Lexington, Va.
Concerned over the lack of opportunities for Lexington blacks to
receive religious instruction, Jackson had discussed his plans with
Margaret "Maggie" Junkin. Junkin was Jackson's sister-in-law by his
first marriage, to Elinor "Ellie" Junkin, and the daughter of a
prominent Presbyterian clergyman. Ellie had died, along with their
stillborn son, the previous year.
As Jackson was one of the founding members of the Rockbridge Bible
Society and a member of its Board of Managers, he took on the
responsibility of fundraising for the printing of Gospel literature. On
one occasion, Jackson brought in an unusually generous amount of
offerings. In addition to the regular contributors, he had penciled in
additional names at the bottom of his solicitation list.
When fellow society members inquired about the added names, Jackson
replied: "They are the militia. ... I deemed it best to go beyond the
limits of our own church." However, most of the additional names were
of free blacks in Lexington.
Children of God
Some historians have noted that it was during his work with the
Bible Society that Jackson first became aware of the need to reach
slaves and the free blacks in and around the peaceful Shenandoah Valley
community of Lexington.
Robert Lewis Dabney, a Presbyterian theologian and author of an
1866 Jackson biography, would write of Jackson's efforts among "the
free blacks of the quarters, all of whom he had visited in their humble
dwellings, and encouraged to give a pittance of their earnings to print
Bibles."
Jackson "argued that the giving of them would elevate their
self-respect, and enhance their own interest in the Holy Book; and that
they being indebted to it as well as others, should be taught to help
in diffusing it."
Noteworthy is Dabney's statement that Jackson wanted blacks to
"elevate their self-respect" - exactly the opposite of the stereotype
of the Southern white slave owner. Jackson did not want blacks to think
less of themselves, but rather more of themselves as children of God.
He did not look down upon them as unable or unworthy to give and
participate in the advancement of the Gospel.
This is one of the reasons mutual respect between Jackson and local
blacks grew out of this relationship - despite the evils and
contradictions of slavery. He expected from them what others did not.
Furthermore, he believed what many other whites at that time did not
believe - that blacks were capable of greater things. That attitude
garnered further respect.
Door to door
One can picture the devout and zealous Presbyterian deacon knocking
respectfully but confidently at the door of a free black's shanty, hat
in hand, perhaps becoming a little doubtful about soliciting funds from
such impoverished members of society. After noticing the poor condition
of the humble home, Jackson may have considered turning and walking
away before anyone answered the door.
Imagine Jackson describing the work of the Bible Society to blacks
who probably were illiterate: the publication of tracts and books for
Sabbath schools and education for Christian ministry. He would be
seeking donations for reading materials from those who themselves could
not read.

Jackson may have been reminded of his own orphaned childhood, void
of any real educational opportunities, which once prompted him to write
a relative, "My mother and father died when I was very young, and I had
to work for my living and education both."
Perhaps as he made out his report, writing each name and the amount
donated, he was impressed with the need to reach these blacks with the
Gospel, teaching them to read so that they, too, could benefit from the
blessings of the printed word, as his youthful friend, Joe Lightburn,
had suggested.
Breaking the law
Jackson, on the first day of class, emphasized the need for
responsibility and faithfulness, telling his pupils that their masters
"are not going to make you come to the school" and that "they can't
make Christians of you unless you are willing to be taught yourselves."

Jackson then instructed those willing to commit to faithful
attendance to come forward and give him their names. Immediately they
came, "men and women, gray-headed, some of them, half-grown girls and
boys, and toddling children, began to proclaim their names," according
to Dabney.
By the end of the first 45-minute session, there were 50 names on
Jackson's roll. During the six years Jackson taught or oversaw the
black Sunday school, the class grew in attendance, with often 70 or 80
members present.
Jackson's class was not without controversy. While most in the
community were supportive of his efforts, he was once approached by
local court officials and threatened with prosecution for conducting
"an unlawful assembly."
At that time in Virginia, it was illegal to teach blacks to read.
The law read in part, "Every assemblage of negroes for the purpose of
instruction in reading or writing, or in the night time for any
purpose, shall be an unlawful assembly."
Breaking this law carried a maximum sentence of six months in jail
and a $100 fine. Jackson was incensed. His Scots-Irish blood boiled
with righteous indignation. Jackson, the Presbyterian deacon, Virginia
Military Institute professor, local bank board member and pillar of the
Lexington community, squared off with his accusers and replied tartly
to one, "Sir, if you were, as you should be, a Christian man, you would
not think or say so."
With those words, Jackson turned on his heel and went home. He
later reconciled with his primary accuser. The man offered his
apologies to Jackson, and nothing ever came of the legal threat. It is
interesting to note, however, that Jackson was so committed to this
ministry that he would risk his reputation and standing in the
community.
His legacy
As already stated, local blacks came to admire Jackson for his
commitment and often expressed their admiration. On one such occasion,
during Union Gen. David Hunter's occupation of Lexington and after
Jackson's death, someone had come by cover of night to Jackson's grave.
There he had placed a small Confederate flag "with a familiar hymn
pinned to it."
Upon inquiry, a Lexington woman discovered that it had been placed
by one of Jackson's young black male students. The hymn attached to the
flag was "a stanza of a favorite hymn which Jackson had taught him."
There were other tokens of admiration and memorials by blacks in the
years following Jackson's death.
Jackson's legacy - and that of his students - continues.
Several black churches were formed because of some degree of influence
from Jackson's class and pupils. Margaret Junkin would later write that
"young men went abroad from the school for further instruction, and
became preachers to their own people."
Maggie Junkin, with whom Jackson first consulted about this unique
ministry, would eventually marry professor John Thomas Lewis Preston,
founder of Virginia Military Institute. The Prestons would take over
the operation of the class after Jackson's death and continue the
school until 1887, when its operation was no longer deemed necessary.
After the Sunday school ceased operation, Mrs. Preston wrote that
Jackson's work with his students was "a grander work, in the eyes of
God ... than when, at the head of his enthusiastic army, he was making
a name which has echoed over the world."

Richard G. Williams Jr. writes from the Shenandoah Valley of
Virginia and is a frequent contributor to this page. He is the author
of "The Maxims of Robert E. Lee for Young Gentlemen" (Pelican 2005) and
has just completed a manuscript about Stonewall Jackson and his black
Sunday school class.