Legacy of Reconciliation
Rather than curse the darkness, Pastors Knute Larson and Ronald Fowler have spent most of their adult lives lighting candles. The light of their intentional friendship has brightened their homes, spilled over into the local community and helped put the national spotlight on Akron as a go-to city for ideas on racial reconciliation.
Both Fowler, who is African-American, and Larson, who is of Swedish descent, have felt the effects of racial discrimination in their lives. Both also know the healing power of forgiveness and love.
Their dialogue began in the mid-1980s when Larson moved to Akron to accept the position of senior pastor at The Chapel.
Fowler’s story
Born and reared in Northeast Ohio, Fowler graduated from East High, went to Kent State University on a football scholarship, and served in the military before going on to study theology and become senior pastor at the Arlington Church of God.
Fowler remembers sitting in the balcony at the Norka and Rialto theatres in East Akron as late as the early 1950s “because that’s what blacks always did.”
At the same time, Fowler’s home culture offset the segregation of the times, he says.
Because his father pastored a predominantly African-American church in a predominantly white Protestant denomination, many of his parents’ closest colleagues were white. They were frequent overnight guests in his childhood home, and “there was always a rich fellowship,” Fowler recalls.
Once, as a child swimming at Tinker’s Creek in Aurora, Fowler was rescued from drowning by a white girl. The painful and hopeful memories of growing up black in Northeast Ohio helped shape the man that Fowler would become.
Larson’s story
Larson, nicknamed Knute by his father (after famous Notre Dame football coach Knute Rockne) grew up in Harrisburg, Pa. His grandmother took him and his siblings to Bible clubs that crossed racial lines at a time when that was probably a radical thing to do.
There was “a lot of mixing” of the races in Larson’s high school experience too, but he knew many otherwise kind adults, including his father, who made unkind remarks about African-Americans.
While overt discrimination was on the wane, the pervasive prejudicial attitudes that remained continued to trouble Larson. Shortly before moving to Akron, Larson remembers being commended by a deacon in his church for treating an African-American family “just like regular people.”
“Everybody, when they’re thinking straight, wants this thing (racial tension) to be behind us,” Larson says.
Fowler’s story
Born and reared in Northeast Ohio, Fowler graduated from East High, went to Kent State University on a football scholarship, and served in the military before going on to study theology and become senior pastor at the Arlington Church of God.
Fowler remembers sitting in the balcony at the Norka and Rialto theatres in East Akron as late as the early 1950s “because that’s what blacks always did.”
At the same time, Fowler’s home culture offset the segregation of the times, he says.
Because his father pastored a predominantly African-American church in a predominantly white Protestant denomination, many of his parents’ closest colleagues were white. They were frequent overnight guests in his childhood home, and “there was always a rich fellowship,” Fowler recalls.
Once, as a child swimming at Tinker’s Creek in Aurora, Fowler was rescued from drowning by a white girl. The painful and hopeful memories of growing up black in Northeast Ohio helped shape the man that Fowler would become.
Larson’s story
Larson, nicknamed Knute by his father (after famous Notre Dame football coach Knute Rockne) grew up in Harrisburg, Pa. His grandmother took him and his siblings to Bible clubs that crossed racial lines at a time when that was probably a radical thing to do.
There was “a lot of mixing” of the races in Larson’s high school experience too, but he knew many otherwise kind adults, including his father, who made unkind remarks about African-Americans.
While overt discrimination was on the wane, the pervasive prejudicial attitudes that remained continued to trouble Larson. Shortly before moving to Akron, Larson remembers being commended by a deacon in his church for treating an African-American family “just like regular people.”
“Everybody, when they’re thinking straight, wants this thing (racial tension) to be behind us,” Larson says.
More than a superficial acquaintance
When Larson accepted the senior pastor position at The Chapel (in the heart of the city) in 1983, he knew he wanted to do something intentional about racial inequities. Some friends suggested meeting Fowler, so Larson invited Fowler to lunch and “asked the favor of spending time with him because I was so poor in the area of racial relations,” Larson says.
Fowler says he was “surprised and delighted” to talk with Larson, but wondered whether their meeting would lead to anything more than a superficial acquaintance.
Both men were honest and direct about the racial baggage and trust issues they brought to the friendship. Before too long, they “grew in love and candor. Our walking together was very easy,” Larson says.
It’s not a high-maintenance friendship because both men have horrendous schedules, “but when we are together it’s like we were just together yesterday,” Larson says.
The pastors’ wives have become friends too. Jeanine Larson and Joyce Fowler enjoy going out to lunch, going shopping and taking excursions to Amish country together. They plan date nights as couples and the Fowlers have visited the Larsons at their cottage in Michigan.
Larson says his friendship with Fowler has made him more conscious of his responsibility to be pro-active when it comes to issues of color. It’s easy to ignore the issue when you’re not the offended party, he explains. Rather than remain silent, people need to speak up to help change the mindset of others who still have an “us and them” mentality, Larson says.
Fowler says the impact their relationship has had on his own children has been one of the greatest personal benefits. The respect his children have for Larson and the people around him is “shaping understandings of (his grandchildren,)” Fowler says. This will “help the kids to go forward... keep the dreams alive.”
Allies
Borrowing from World War II terminology, the pastors see themselves as “allies in the war against racial prejudice and disunity,” Larson says. As a result, they established Allies, a joint ministry of their churches to find ways to encourage intentional dialogue between members.
Early on, Allies tried a variety of large and small events including men’s breakfasts and women’s luncheons and teas. They built a Habitat for Humanity home together, and have worked toward the formation of health and legal clinics over the years. Joint services during Easter Week (Maundy Thursday foot washing services at Arlington; Good Friday communion services at The Chapel) have become annual traditions.
After the Akron Beacon Journal published its Pulitzer prize-winning series on race and helped to establish the Coming Together Project, members of both churches were among the community’s most active participants sponsoring hunger walks, concerts and other special events.
The Allies group also spawned “Love Akron,” a prayer fellowship for Christian pastors and religious leaders throughout Summit County. Today, that group brings together about 100 pastors and para-church leaders for quarterly prayer events for the city.
Beyond labels
Before long, Fowler says he and Larson kind of became known as “poster boys for Coming Together.” That was fine with them because their friendship transcended labels. Besides, the notoriety gave them new opportunities to get their message out.
Together, they have recorded local television commercials promoting unity on five different occasions. They were asked to introduce Maya Angelou when she spoke at E. J. Thomas Hall.
In 1997, at President Clinton’s first town hall meeting on race, Fowler and Larson spoke about the importance of intentionally crossing boundaries and building bridges. They described how leaders can be role models to create a local climate of acceptance between races.
The next year, they attended the White House prayer breakfast with 125 other religious leaders from around the
country.
The pair received Summit County’s Cliff Skeen Lifetime Achievement Award and have been recognized by Leadership Akron. In 2002, they were named honorary alumni of The University of Akron.
Just last year, six local churches formed Imagine Unity to publicly “lay down our prejudices and hurts and violence and pick up the tools for peace: Christ’s love, forgiveness and grace.” Imagine Unity kicked off its year with a father and son/men and boys’ night out at an Akron Aeros game in August.
What’s next?
Fowler formally retired Dec. 31, 2008. After taking some time off to travel with his wife, Joyce, he plans to lead a conference for mega-churches in Chicago this spring. The couple plan to remain in Akron, and the pastor says he is currently asking “Lord, how can what I do be utilized?”
Larson prefers to think of his retirement from The Chapel, scheduled for May 17, as a “re-deployment.” The Larsons plan to move from Akron to the family’s cottage in Michigan and the pastor plans to teach at two seminaries and coach other pastors at eight large churches.
Larson has also submitted an online application to the Obama administration to work on racial issues. While he keeps his voting record private, Larson says he has always made a deliberate effort to cross party lines in love. If the current president takes him up on his offer, Larson says he wants to serve side-by-side with Fowler sharing the lessons they’ve learned in Akron with other cities interested in improving race relations.
What does Fowler (who displayed an Obama campaign sign in his office) think of that idea? “Knute has always been a dreamer,” Fowler says with a chuckle. But kidding aside, “it would be a joy to work with him,” he adds.