How Cops and Clergy Are Working Together in Baltimore

On the day of Freddie Gray's funeral—April 27, 2015, when the city of Baltimore erupted in a wave of violence, crime, and arson—the police force did not employ a single chaplain. In the two years since, they've grown an ecumenical corps of 134 men and women of the cloth who ride along with officers dispatched to scenes that demand a different sort of care. Cops and priests serve complementary, overlapping missions after all: Both help people at times of utmost need, intervening in life's liminal moments to "protect and serve."

In a city known for colonial Catholicism and violent crime, this collaboration makes great sense. And after hearing testimony from the front lines—from Police Commissioner Kevin Davis, pastor Rev. Dr. Sheridan Todd Yeary, and Archbishop of Baltimore William E. Lori—at a panel "Violence, Faith & Policing in Baltimore" on Capitol Hill Wednesday night, I couldn't shake the thought: Why doesn't every city, from Chicago to Charlotte, already do this?

Police chaplains, in light blue t-shirts with "Police Chaplain" on the back and "BPD" on the front, joined the throngs of demonstrators at the courthouse and City Hall throughout the trials of police officers indicted for Freddie Gray's death, the result of spinal injuries sustained while in a police van. Particularly after a case against one of the officers was dismissed or when one of them was acquitted of all charges, as three were in the summer of 2016, Commissioner Davis would send out chaplains to walk among the protesters and offer spiritual succor for their distress.

"It's hard to say no to a police chaplain who just spontaneously declares that we're going to have a prayer circle," said Commissioner Davis, describing something he's seen multiple times: A roiling group of protesters calmed by prayerful ministry. "Nobody would say no to that, regardless of how angry and upset you are."

The program grew out of what Pastor Yeary called a "ministry of presence" that served as a buffer between police and protesters while Baltimore burned. The evening of Gray's funeral, he and other religious leaders kneeled and prayed in the street—placing themselves between cops in riot gear and violent demonstrators. As his group marched toward the burning CVS on North Avenue—Yeary insists they'd made a fateful wrong turn to wind up there—"Law enforcement sees this mass of linked arms, mind you now, mostly African-American clergy coming toward them. There's no one to communicate to the commander that sees us coming that we come in peace." Yeary, who told us he'd been an armorer in the reserves, could see the officers coming to attention as they approached. "I know when a formation is coming toward you, you need to figure out what you're going to do pretty quickly," he said.