It was a beautiful Sunday morning in late June 1865 in Richmond, Va. St. Paul’s Episcopal Church was nearly full as many local residents sought solace for their troubles. The Civil War had been lost, many chairs were empty at family dining room tables, and the South was being occupied by blue-coated Federal troops. Adding insult to injury, to regain the rights of citizenship one needed to apply for parole, a process that required a person to take an oath that repudiated the Confederacy. Southerners found it a bitter pill to swallow; most remained defiant.

The congregation listened intently to the sermon given by the rector, Dr. Charles Minnigerode. They were unaware that on this warm June morning, something symbolic of the efforts at Reconstruction was about to happen. The service progressed to the point where Minnigerode offered communion to all who came forward.

Just at that moment, a tall, well-dressed African-American man rose and walked quickly up to the altar rail, knelt and awaited communion. Minnigerode stood frozen, unsure of what to do. No one in the congregation moved.

The treatment of African-Americans by white churches in the southern states during this time varied widely. In some, blacks were allowed their own separate service, while in others, they were refused admission entirely. Considering the restrictions, most kept to their own places of worship. St. Paul’s had a section of the upstairs gallery that was reserved for blacks. If they wished to receive communion, they could do so only after the last white parishioner had returned to his or her pew.

Before and during the war, a black person attempting to take communion alongside whites could expect trouble. Typically, the offender would have been hustled from the church, jailed for disturbing the peace, and — quite possibly — whipped for indiscretion. Now, with the city under martial law, the congregation remained in their pews and the minister stood dumbfounded. The congregants looked at each other and perhaps whispered that something had to be done. But by whom?

At that moment, an older man in a gray suit stood up in his pew. Many realized that what he wore was his former Confederate Army uniform, with all insignia removed per Federal military decree. This was Gen. Robert E. Lee, who at the end of the war had commanded all the armies of the Confederacy. Although he considered himself a failure for losing the war, he was universally respected and loved across the South. The congregation no doubt looked at him as just the person to “fix” this uncomfortable situation; Lee was used to people obeying his orders. Without a word he stepped out of his pew and walked toward the black man kneeling at the altar rail.

Following his surrender of the Confederate Army on April 9, 1865, Lee had returned to Richmond, where his family was staying in a rented house. Arlington, the large estate owned by the family, had been seized by the Federal government and turned into a cemetery (now Arlington National Cemetery). The Lees had some other farms, but they had not been worked for years and were sacked during the war. Lee had no job and little income. He had reason to fear arrest at any moment.

During his journey to Richmond, soldiers Lee had formerly commanded approached him and whispered that he needed only to give the word and the war would start anew. Their former general’s answer was always the same: The word would not be given; go home, regain your citizenship and become an asset to the country.

One day a former Confederate captain came to Lee and asked him what he should do. Lee gently urged him to take the oath and apply for a pardon. The captain’s father was Henry Wise, a former Virginia governor, Southern general and a firebrand of the Confederacy. When he told his father he had applied for a pardon, the senior Wise raged and declared that the boy had disgraced the family. But when the boy replied that General Lee had suggested it, the senior Wise calmed down and said: “Oh, that alters the case. Whatever General Lee says is all right, I don’t care what it is.”

So now the devout Robert E. Lee was looked to by his fellow congregants to set the example of how they should react to an African-American who believed he was the equal of a white person in the eyes of God. Robert E. Lee knew exactly what he had to do.

He walked with a purpose up to the communion rail; all eyes in the congregation watched to see what he would do next. Without a word, Lee knelt down not far from the black man, looked straight ahead and also awaited communion. Following the lead of the most beloved figure in the post-Civil War South, the proud people of Richmond quietly came to the rail and knelt on either side of the two men already there. Minnigerode immediately began giving communion to everyone at the rail.

Sources: “Lee: The Last Years” by Charles Flood “Duty Faithfully Performed” by John Taylor.
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