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Shaking the Gates of Hell: A Search for Family and Truth in the Wake of the Civil Rights Revolution
On growing up in the American South of the 1960s—an all-American white boy—son of a long line of Methodist preachers, in the midst of the civil rights revolution, and discovering the culpability of silence within the church. By the Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist and columnist for The Birmingham News."My dad was a Methodist preacher and his dad was a Methodist preacher," writes John Archibald. "It goes all the way back on both sides of my family. When I am at my best, I think it comes from that sermon place."Everything Archibald knows and believes about life is "refracted through the stained glass of the Southern church. It had everything to do with people. And fairness. And compassion."In Shaking the Gates of Hell, Archibald Can a good person remain silent in the face of discrimination and horror, and still be a good person?Archibald had seen his father, the Rev. Robert L. Archibald, Jr., the son and grandson of Methodist preachers, as a moral authority, a moderate and a moderating force during the racial turbulence of the '60s, a loving and dependable parent, a forgiving and attentive minister, a man many Alabamians came to see as a saint. But was that enough? Even though Archibald grew up in Alabama in the heart of the civil rights movement, he could recall few words about racial rights or wrongs from his father's pulpit at a time the South seethed, and this began to haunt him.In this moving and powerful book, Archibald writes of his complex search, and of the conspiracy of silence his father faced in the South, in the Methodist Church and in the greater Christian church. Those who spoke too loudly were punished, or banished, or worse. Archibald's father was warned to guard his words on issues of race to protect his family, and he did. He spoke to his flock in the safety of parable, and trusted in the goodness of others, even when they earned none of it, rising through the ranks of the Methodist Church, and teaching his family lessons in kindness and humanity, and devotion to nature and the Earth.Archibald writes of this difficult, at times uncomfortable, reckoning with his past in this unadorned, affecting book of growth and evolution.
296 pages, Kindle Edition
Published March 9, 2021
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 66 reviews
March 22, 2021
I almost never laugh out loud while reading books. I also almost never cry. It's not that I don't feel those emotions while reading--it's just that they're so rarely powerful enough to break through the surface. This is one of those extremely rare books that made me do both.
In the end, I'm not certain this book draws many conclusions--and maybe that's the point. Maybe it's more important that we ask the important questions--questions like "what does it mean to be truly good to our neighbors?" and "what are our obligations to fight against systems of injustice?" and "what makes someone good?" I don't come away from this book feeling like Archibald gives us neat answers, but rather that he wants us to ask ourselves (and our families) those questions, too. And maybe somewhere in the asking and the wrestling, we find our own answers--our own ways to do better and be better.
This brings me back to one of my all time favorite Cheryl Strayed quotes-- "Look hard, risk that." Archibald does just that, and asks us to do the same. Because in the end, nothing changes unless we're willing to take that risk.
In the end, I'm not certain this book draws many conclusions--and maybe that's the point. Maybe it's more important that we ask the important questions--questions like "what does it mean to be truly good to our neighbors?" and "what are our obligations to fight against systems of injustice?" and "what makes someone good?" I don't come away from this book feeling like Archibald gives us neat answers, but rather that he wants us to ask ourselves (and our families) those questions, too. And maybe somewhere in the asking and the wrestling, we find our own answers--our own ways to do better and be better.
This brings me back to one of my all time favorite Cheryl Strayed quotes-- "Look hard, risk that." Archibald does just that, and asks us to do the same. Because in the end, nothing changes unless we're willing to take that risk.
March 12, 2021
Oh. My. Gosh. (Sorry Reverend Archibald). I don't even know where to start. I have been an avid reader of John Archibald's column for years. His Pulitzer was well deserved. This book is deserving of awards as well. It is an achingly tender remembrance of his Methodist minister father, but it is so much more. He struggles to come to terms with his disappointment that his father chose to remain silent during times of racial injustice, and again in the face of discrimination against the LGBTQ community. A search through his father's file of labeled and dated sermons only confused him more. Beautiful sermons, but lacking few if any references to the turmoil erupting around him.
John takes us on a journey from his birth in 1963 to the present (with a few side trips into the years before his birth) through those sermons, his memories, and interviews with many who knew and loved his father. Along the way he discovered that in the case of his father,action often spoke louder than words. Still, he longed for the words.
This book is an extremely emotional and startlingly honest look at God, family, church and society. I found it hard to step away, and seriously considered abandoning all my responsibilities until I finished the book. I didn't, but boy, did I ever want to. I'm exhausted. Emotionally wrung out. But I will read it again. And again.
John takes us on a journey from his birth in 1963 to the present (with a few side trips into the years before his birth) through those sermons, his memories, and interviews with many who knew and loved his father. Along the way he discovered that in the case of his father,action often spoke louder than words. Still, he longed for the words.
This book is an extremely emotional and startlingly honest look at God, family, church and society. I found it hard to step away, and seriously considered abandoning all my responsibilities until I finished the book. I didn't, but boy, did I ever want to. I'm exhausted. Emotionally wrung out. But I will read it again. And again.
April 27, 2021
Most people think they know what they'd do if they had a platform in a place of importance at a critical time. This is a beautiful examination of Archibald's own family history during the civil rights movement in Alabama, elevated by his excellent writing style, honed by decades of writing newspaper columns.
February 1, 2023
Christian, beware: this book may step on your toes if you are willing to be honest with yourself.
Archibald is honest in his assessment of his, and my, beloved United Methodist Church here. The least we can do is honestly look at our own role in perpetuating the injustices and travesties that plague the communities we live in.
Preacher, beware: this book will make you question what you say, and especially what you don’t say, from the pulpit.
Archibald of a honest in his assessment of his own father’s history of not directly addressing issues that were right outside the front door of the churches he preached in, if not in the sanctuary itself. The least we can do is honestly look at how we are doing the very same thing today.
Will we be bold? Or will we be silent?
Will we worry someone won’t like us? Or will we do what is right?
Archibald is honest in his assessment of his, and my, beloved United Methodist Church here. The least we can do is honestly look at our own role in perpetuating the injustices and travesties that plague the communities we live in.
Preacher, beware: this book will make you question what you say, and especially what you don’t say, from the pulpit.
Archibald of a honest in his assessment of his own father’s history of not directly addressing issues that were right outside the front door of the churches he preached in, if not in the sanctuary itself. The least we can do is honestly look at how we are doing the very same thing today.
Will we be bold? Or will we be silent?
Will we worry someone won’t like us? Or will we do what is right?
April 22, 2021
Perhaps it is because I share a very similar background to Archibald, struggling with the Methodist church in many of the same ways, but this spoke to me on a very personal level. Sparked by MLK's Letter From A Birmingham Jail, Archibald seeks to determine what his father, a white pastor in Alabama said and did at the time to denounce racism. Through this memoir, he does that and so much more. Through endearing anecdotes, thoughtful soliloquy, and contextualization, he places his father in the context of the mid-century Methodist Church, following him through the Civil Rights Movement and the AIDS epidemic. I was left with the wisdom that speaking out loudly is not always the answer and silence is not the answer either, but there are places in between. I was left with a sense of frustration for an institution that I loved enough to be disappointed by.
March 21, 2021
I already loved Archibald but this is a wonderful book. I laughed out loud and got misty-eyed twice when I read the obit he wrote for his brother in-law and mom. The book was a memoir mixed with a reckoning on his father's silence during the civil rights era and a love letter to his family. Archibald's strength is telling us what we need to hear especially when we don't want to hear it. He, along w/ a couple other Bham news folks, serves as the conscience of Alabama. That Pulitzer was well deserved as well as any award that comes around for this book.
Probably my book of the year.
Probably my book of the year.
March 19, 2021
Well into the second half of Shaking the Gates of Hell, author John Archibald offers a five-page long reverie on the Tennessee River and his father’s lifelong love affair with it. The river is a constant for the whole Archibald family. It’s where his father, the Reverend Robert Archibald Jr is happiest, among the wonders of God’s creation. It’s where the family vacations, and where the children learn to fly-fish. John Archibald also knows that the river is frightening and dangerous, dammed up and polluted. Most Christians tend to see rivers in much the same way. Archibald’s Tennessee River is like the Jordan River, a place of baptism, for entering the waters to die and rise to new life.
Archibald’s river memories are a prelude to a story that his father often told. As a child, the story bored him; as an adult, it disappointed him. But before that story can be re-told, John Archibald recalls one more, revealing memory:
When Alecia [John’s wife] and I were with Murray [John’s brother] once in in Norfolk, Virginia and he was harassed on the street, I bowed up, read to fight for him. But he brushed it aside, in the language of the water.
“Be a river rock,” he said. Let everything else wash over you.”
Then, finally, John Archibald tells his father’s unfortunate story about ‘Pantless Pete’, a ‘sissy boy’ who had no idea that he’d fled a guys’ rambunctious outing to the river to sunbathe nearby and naked in a patch of poison ivy.
John’s brother Murray is gay.
That incident on a Norfolk street reveals as much about Archibald the son as the story of Pantless Pete says about his father: “I bowed up, ready to fight” is an apt description of John Archibald’s stance throughout his memoir.
The younger Archibald was born just outside Birmingham Alabama in the spring of 1963. He was born, as he puts it, into a revolution. It was one that he only learned about long after he was grown, when he took his first newspaper job. That is when John Archibald first read Dr. Martin Luther King’s 1963 Letter from a Birmingham Jail, while reading up on the city’s history for a new job at the Birmingham News. His father, the Reverend Robert L. Archibald Jr., was a Methodist minister and the son of a Methodist minister. Reverend Archibald served congregations across northern Alabama for nearly six decades—a period that spanned the Methodist Church’s struggles to come to terms first with racism and civil rights in the 1960s and beyond, and later, with discrimination against its own gay and lesbian members from the 1980s and forward.
In Shaking the Gates of Hell, John Archibald searches his memory and the texts of his father’s sermons. He seeks his father’s voice. He wants to hear a prophetic voice, a strong echo of Dr. King. He wants to hear racism, and then homophobia, denounced strong and clear from his father’s pulpit. John Archibald does not find, he says again and again, what he wants or needs to hear. And he is disappointed and angry.
As a reader, I soon found myself mirroring the author’s stance, ready for a fight. But I found myself ‘bowed up’ against the author himself. ‘Listen to your brother Murray,’ I wanted to tell him. ‘You are the river rock.’
The water that washes over the river rocks does not leave them unchanged, but the river shapes its rocks slowly. Likewise, in the course of John Archibald’s search through his memory and the file cabinet of his father’s sermons, the shape of his father’s life emerges gradually. In spite of himself, the author traces the constant flow of his father’s love into and through his own life, giving him the voice that he longs to hear.
Consider the stories that John Archibald tells about his father: Hitching a train of children on sleds to the open back of a station wagon on a snowy day. Coaxing his children to leapfrog across waterfalls and from river bluffs. The younger Archibald’s tongue must have been planted firmly in his check when he calls his father as a serious man. This is not the parenting one expects from a Methodist minister—especially from one who is a stickler about taking the Lord’s name in vain and about any consumption of alcohol, even red wine vinegar. Yet in every story of risks taken, and with every dumb decision the son makes (notably, as a teenager caught shoplifting condoms), his father is a steady presence, ready to pick him up when he stumbles. This is may not be the life of a prophet, but is another kind of holy man. The Reverend Archibald is a prodigal father, one who asks no questions before celebrating his wayward son’s return.
John Archibald remembers burning his fingertips with the cigarette lighter in his father’s car, and scoring a jackpot of change from a payphone, while waiting as his father visited someone in the hospital. He recalls sharing the family table when unexpected and unwashed company knocked at his father’s door in search of help. He does not recall his father ever practicing his Sunday sermons. His father was called to ‘let his life preach.’ Even before leaving seminary, Reverend Archibald understood that
Although the pulpit is usually considered to be the minister’s greatest opportunity for reaching adults, there are hundreds of daily contacts in which he has also has excellent opportunities.
It isn’t easy to recognize our own parents for who they are, instead of who we want them to be. In a capsule review, the New York Times called Shaking the Gates of Hell a “self-critical expose of white privilege.” Perhaps. But it is also a memoir of John Archibald letting go of the child’s privilege of demanding that his father be exactly what the child wants--which may not be the same as the gift of God that the father is.
In the end, John is graced to understand that. “I’m proud of you, son,” the elder Archibald says during his son’s last visit before his death, “for taking on the race question.”
The voice that John so wanted to hear from his father’s church pulpit echoes in his own writing as a prize-winning newspaper columnist. But in Shaking the Gates of Hell, Archibald’s voice becomes much like his father’s. The younger Archibald’s anger and disappointment die down; a new understanding of his father rises. Such is the slow work of a river over its stones; such is the slow work of grace; such are the wonders of all that God has created.
Archibald’s river memories are a prelude to a story that his father often told. As a child, the story bored him; as an adult, it disappointed him. But before that story can be re-told, John Archibald recalls one more, revealing memory:
When Alecia [John’s wife] and I were with Murray [John’s brother] once in in Norfolk, Virginia and he was harassed on the street, I bowed up, read to fight for him. But he brushed it aside, in the language of the water.
“Be a river rock,” he said. Let everything else wash over you.”
Then, finally, John Archibald tells his father’s unfortunate story about ‘Pantless Pete’, a ‘sissy boy’ who had no idea that he’d fled a guys’ rambunctious outing to the river to sunbathe nearby and naked in a patch of poison ivy.
John’s brother Murray is gay.
That incident on a Norfolk street reveals as much about Archibald the son as the story of Pantless Pete says about his father: “I bowed up, ready to fight” is an apt description of John Archibald’s stance throughout his memoir.
The younger Archibald was born just outside Birmingham Alabama in the spring of 1963. He was born, as he puts it, into a revolution. It was one that he only learned about long after he was grown, when he took his first newspaper job. That is when John Archibald first read Dr. Martin Luther King’s 1963 Letter from a Birmingham Jail, while reading up on the city’s history for a new job at the Birmingham News. His father, the Reverend Robert L. Archibald Jr., was a Methodist minister and the son of a Methodist minister. Reverend Archibald served congregations across northern Alabama for nearly six decades—a period that spanned the Methodist Church’s struggles to come to terms first with racism and civil rights in the 1960s and beyond, and later, with discrimination against its own gay and lesbian members from the 1980s and forward.
In Shaking the Gates of Hell, John Archibald searches his memory and the texts of his father’s sermons. He seeks his father’s voice. He wants to hear a prophetic voice, a strong echo of Dr. King. He wants to hear racism, and then homophobia, denounced strong and clear from his father’s pulpit. John Archibald does not find, he says again and again, what he wants or needs to hear. And he is disappointed and angry.
As a reader, I soon found myself mirroring the author’s stance, ready for a fight. But I found myself ‘bowed up’ against the author himself. ‘Listen to your brother Murray,’ I wanted to tell him. ‘You are the river rock.’
The water that washes over the river rocks does not leave them unchanged, but the river shapes its rocks slowly. Likewise, in the course of John Archibald’s search through his memory and the file cabinet of his father’s sermons, the shape of his father’s life emerges gradually. In spite of himself, the author traces the constant flow of his father’s love into and through his own life, giving him the voice that he longs to hear.
Consider the stories that John Archibald tells about his father: Hitching a train of children on sleds to the open back of a station wagon on a snowy day. Coaxing his children to leapfrog across waterfalls and from river bluffs. The younger Archibald’s tongue must have been planted firmly in his check when he calls his father as a serious man. This is not the parenting one expects from a Methodist minister—especially from one who is a stickler about taking the Lord’s name in vain and about any consumption of alcohol, even red wine vinegar. Yet in every story of risks taken, and with every dumb decision the son makes (notably, as a teenager caught shoplifting condoms), his father is a steady presence, ready to pick him up when he stumbles. This is may not be the life of a prophet, but is another kind of holy man. The Reverend Archibald is a prodigal father, one who asks no questions before celebrating his wayward son’s return.
John Archibald remembers burning his fingertips with the cigarette lighter in his father’s car, and scoring a jackpot of change from a payphone, while waiting as his father visited someone in the hospital. He recalls sharing the family table when unexpected and unwashed company knocked at his father’s door in search of help. He does not recall his father ever practicing his Sunday sermons. His father was called to ‘let his life preach.’ Even before leaving seminary, Reverend Archibald understood that
Although the pulpit is usually considered to be the minister’s greatest opportunity for reaching adults, there are hundreds of daily contacts in which he has also has excellent opportunities.
It isn’t easy to recognize our own parents for who they are, instead of who we want them to be. In a capsule review, the New York Times called Shaking the Gates of Hell a “self-critical expose of white privilege.” Perhaps. But it is also a memoir of John Archibald letting go of the child’s privilege of demanding that his father be exactly what the child wants--which may not be the same as the gift of God that the father is.
In the end, John is graced to understand that. “I’m proud of you, son,” the elder Archibald says during his son’s last visit before his death, “for taking on the race question.”
The voice that John so wanted to hear from his father’s church pulpit echoes in his own writing as a prize-winning newspaper columnist. But in Shaking the Gates of Hell, Archibald’s voice becomes much like his father’s. The younger Archibald’s anger and disappointment die down; a new understanding of his father rises. Such is the slow work of a river over its stones; such is the slow work of grace; such are the wonders of all that God has created.
September 18, 2021
The beginning of this book was excellent. The author is retrospectively considering the sermons and actions of his father, a Methodist preacher. I was both challenged and grieved reading about the reluctance of so many white Christians to take an active and vocal role during civil rights mid-century.
In the second half of the book the author ties that together with the churches response to homosexuality. The author does not consider himself a Christian now and has a decidedly negative view of the church. Most significantly, he has a misunderstanding about how scripture has very different things to say about these two subjects.
One of my favorite parts of the book was his story about killing the snake and the subsequent surprising and horrible event when he brought it home to show his family. I was laughing out loud.
In the second half of the book the author ties that together with the churches response to homosexuality. The author does not consider himself a Christian now and has a decidedly negative view of the church. Most significantly, he has a misunderstanding about how scripture has very different things to say about these two subjects.
One of my favorite parts of the book was his story about killing the snake and the subsequent surprising and horrible event when he brought it home to show his family. I was laughing out loud.
April 27, 2021
This is a very moving self examination by a Pulitzer Prize winning writer raised in the south as the son and grandson and even great grandson of Methodist ministers. Obviously social causes are very close to the author's heart and he is pretty hard on his father, not for being overtly racist, but for not being outspoken enough about the civil rights movement in the sixties and the gay rights movement in the seventies. At the same time, you can see his love for his father and his good memories of his boyhood growing up in his father's household. He also has an entertaining turn of phrase so the book both makes you laugh and makes you cry. Not an easy feat!
January 19, 2025
John Archibald's memoir is a poignant, sobering, and honest commentary on life, moral responsibility, family relationships, society, faith, and more. Archibald's narrative mostly centers around his late father, a Methodist minister, as he asks one major question—really the theme of the book: Why do good people stay silent in the face of evil? Archibald, who grew up in the midst of the Civil Rights revolution, first asks this question of his minister father whom he felt did not speak up enough on the "race question," as he notes his father called it. Later, Archibald asks himself the same question when he's confronted with his silence regarding LGBTQ rights after his brother and, later, his son come out as gay. At times this memoir is sad and at times it is funny, but at all times it's beautiful and begs introspection of your own life.
August 12, 2021
I absolutely loved this book. Loved it so much I went to hear John Archibald speak.
This book inspired me to review my own life and look at the times I might have been silent.
This book was of particular interest to me being Methodist and a member of one of the churches his father was a minister at.
This book inspired me to review my own life and look at the times I might have been silent.
This book was of particular interest to me being Methodist and a member of one of the churches his father was a minister at.
April 27, 2021
Expecting less from a Pulitzer-prize-winning author would be foolhardy, but even with the award before his name, John Archibald in recent memoir Shaking the Gates of Hell: A Search for Family and Truth in the Wake of the Civil Rights Revolution welds a magical, managerial command of tone. It's an excellent text.
That tone -- a mix of nostalgic, careful, demanding, yet always melancholy -- proves difficult because of the subject matter: the world doesn't need another white male perspective on the civil rights era. It doesn't until Archibald frames it in an important, engaging way, which is through the lens of his father and the church that produced his father and grandfathers before him.
Shaking the Gates of Hell examines the act of silence, and how it is an act, through close study of a childhood, a father, a mother, and an entire family, all of whom lived in Alabama during one of the most tumultuous periods in recent history. A glance may leave readers misconstruing the memoir to be that of a a white man commenting on race; however, it is commentary on not speaking out. Under such a subject, Archibald knows when to print and when to write in cursive. He wrestles with the outstanding and altruistic accomplishments of a lovely man who just so happened to be his father during the 1960s and beyond; a man who just may have not spoken aloud enough about the problems facing the nation when it came to race relations.
Every significant moment of the text is filled with love and handled in delicate measure, which in less deft hands, would've come off as saccharine, or worse, apologetic. The work becomes even more emotionally resonant and moving in the second half where Archibald continues in years begin to face the consequences of living, consequences all will face.
Towards the end, Archibald writes that "no one will know we were there." That's true, and it's not true. A lot of readers and non-readers alike will know he was here.
So many of us -- this writer included -- could use the sort of self-reflection the likes of which John Archibald employs significantly in Shaking the Gates of Hell.
Here is our starting point.
Review originally appears here: https://thealabamatake.com/2021/04/28...
March 2, 2022
This book may upset some folks in the Methodist Church, but for me, it represents an opportunity to have 'that difficult conversation' that we, as Methodists, have been urged to have regarding our biases, the role of the national and international UMC traditions and cultural morés in furthering 'religious apartheid', and the current upheaval regarding Book of Discipline rules that limit LGBTQ participation in our church.
It's an important book, written by a Methodist who grew up in the roiling pot of 60's and 70's Southern racial upheaval and the subsequent push for civil rights legislation. John Archibald draws parallels to slow reaction that church leaders had to civil rights advocacy in the 60's and its 'head in the sand' attitudes to current civil rights advocacy for the LGBTQ population.
This is also a book about a son coming to terms with his parents' pressures, hesitancies, eventual growth, and understanding them - forgiving them - relating to them. There is a certain amount of redemption on both sides of the generations that comes out by the end of the book. This was a good read - fast, but thought provoking.
It's an important book, written by a Methodist who grew up in the roiling pot of 60's and 70's Southern racial upheaval and the subsequent push for civil rights legislation. John Archibald draws parallels to slow reaction that church leaders had to civil rights advocacy in the 60's and its 'head in the sand' attitudes to current civil rights advocacy for the LGBTQ population.
This is also a book about a son coming to terms with his parents' pressures, hesitancies, eventual growth, and understanding them - forgiving them - relating to them. There is a certain amount of redemption on both sides of the generations that comes out by the end of the book. This was a good read - fast, but thought provoking.
March 11, 2022
Alabama in the Civil Rights era
Great commentary on religion in the Civil Rights times in Alabama. Very moving story of his family, in the Methodist religion, their positions, their hypocrisy, but mostly the roles played in the authors family. Well written and enjoyable. For me, it also gave me insight into roles or religion & faith and how it can affect politics, rights, lives, both positively & negatively.
Great commentary on religion in the Civil Rights times in Alabama. Very moving story of his family, in the Methodist religion, their positions, their hypocrisy, but mostly the roles played in the authors family. Well written and enjoyable. For me, it also gave me insight into roles or religion & faith and how it can affect politics, rights, lives, both positively & negatively.
December 5, 2025
This book has preyed on my mind the last few days. I am something of a contemporary of John Archibald, although 6 years older and from a less privileged background, and I experienced some of the same places and events and knew some of the same people he writes about. I am in complete agreement about Civil Rights for people of color, I remember Murray from college (and his friend Sally), I loved Camp Sumatanga and Nina Reeves, and Birmingham-Southern College. I remember his father by reputation and I'm sure we know a number of the same people. He almost certainly knew my mother's cousin, who played piano at 1st UMC in Decatur. Also, both my great-grandfathers were Methodist preachers.
Yet, I find it disturbing that he doesn't seem to have progressed beyond that typical characteristic of college-aged people that I learned in one of my college classes: one is unsure or undecided about some or many things but, when one does have an opinion, one holds to it fiercely, believes it is right and believes that all right-thinking people must agree with that opinion. If not, there is something fundamentally wrong with the other person.
From what he shares, it sounds like he is a child of "white privilege" to a greater extent than I am, and no doubt that plays a part. For example, I did not get an allowance, chores were not paid, and my parents did not feel they could afford to send me to Camp Sumatanga. Having no other way to get money, I did without lunches to save my lunch money to go to camp. And I only got to go to Birmingham-Southern because I won a good scholarship.
I enjoyed and identified with many of his reminiscences, but the judgmental spirit that is evident detracted from my enjoyment.
Yet, I find it disturbing that he doesn't seem to have progressed beyond that typical characteristic of college-aged people that I learned in one of my college classes: one is unsure or undecided about some or many things but, when one does have an opinion, one holds to it fiercely, believes it is right and believes that all right-thinking people must agree with that opinion. If not, there is something fundamentally wrong with the other person.
From what he shares, it sounds like he is a child of "white privilege" to a greater extent than I am, and no doubt that plays a part. For example, I did not get an allowance, chores were not paid, and my parents did not feel they could afford to send me to Camp Sumatanga. Having no other way to get money, I did without lunches to save my lunch money to go to camp. And I only got to go to Birmingham-Southern because I won a good scholarship.
I enjoyed and identified with many of his reminiscences, but the judgmental spirit that is evident detracted from my enjoyment.
October 19, 2022
Well, this book was not at all what I expected. Reading the subtitle: "A search for Family and Truth in the Wake of the Civil Rights Revolution" I had thought it would be focused on how stories of the civil rights revolution directly affected the author. What I found was a deeply introspective look at growing up in a United Methodist Minister's household and how the author and his father grappled with choices that directly affected their lives.
For much of the book I couldn't tell if the author was ashamed of the lack of hard stands taken by his father from the pulpit. However it was very evident by the close of book that he was proud of his father.
I found three overarching themes; There is room for all of us, Love your neighbor, and silence is complicit more often than not.
The first two themes are easy to digest, most of us have grown up hearing them and we have a basic understanding and would like to believe we possess these traits.
The silence is complicit theme is a tougher pill to swallow. Not because I don't feel that it is true, rather I feel that when I look in the mirror I find that I too often have taken the silent complicit path, and it isn't a good feeling.
There were many aspects of the book that touched me, as I too grew up Methodist, in the country, with some similarities that made me feel that parts of the book were written about me. But I also look at it as a sort of self-help book on how to be better person. Stand up for right, risk the status quo to do the right thing and leave the world a better place than you found it.
I have some work to do, but to me awareness is the first step on the path to improvement
For much of the book I couldn't tell if the author was ashamed of the lack of hard stands taken by his father from the pulpit. However it was very evident by the close of book that he was proud of his father.
I found three overarching themes; There is room for all of us, Love your neighbor, and silence is complicit more often than not.
The first two themes are easy to digest, most of us have grown up hearing them and we have a basic understanding and would like to believe we possess these traits.
The silence is complicit theme is a tougher pill to swallow. Not because I don't feel that it is true, rather I feel that when I look in the mirror I find that I too often have taken the silent complicit path, and it isn't a good feeling.
There were many aspects of the book that touched me, as I too grew up Methodist, in the country, with some similarities that made me feel that parts of the book were written about me. But I also look at it as a sort of self-help book on how to be better person. Stand up for right, risk the status quo to do the right thing and leave the world a better place than you found it.
I have some work to do, but to me awareness is the first step on the path to improvement
June 7, 2021
One of the most compelling nonfiction books I’ve ever read. If you grew up within any of the evangelical church traditions of the South, it’s a real must-read. Written by Pulitzer Prize winning columnist and Birmingham native John Archibald.
If you have wondered how we can make our deeply divided nation better, if you profess Christianity in any sense, or whether you simply strive to be a person of integrity, peace, and justice, you should read this book and ponder its sometimes painful truths. It will challenge you in all the best ways.
I started reading it in the bookstore, and I did not put it down even while eating dinner. I read until I couldn’t keep my eyes open, and was up with it again at 4 AM. Every American, black or white, gay or straight, Christian or otherwise - needs to read this book.
John has such a gift and a real way with words. It’s powerful, laugh-out-loud funny, poignant, tender, and both self-deprecating and full of righteous indignation at the same time. It will make you examine your conscience and your belief systems. You will think about who and where you came from, but most of all, it will cause you to reflect on who you want to be and how you want to be remembered.
If you have wondered how we can make our deeply divided nation better, if you profess Christianity in any sense, or whether you simply strive to be a person of integrity, peace, and justice, you should read this book and ponder its sometimes painful truths. It will challenge you in all the best ways.
I started reading it in the bookstore, and I did not put it down even while eating dinner. I read until I couldn’t keep my eyes open, and was up with it again at 4 AM. Every American, black or white, gay or straight, Christian or otherwise - needs to read this book.
John has such a gift and a real way with words. It’s powerful, laugh-out-loud funny, poignant, tender, and both self-deprecating and full of righteous indignation at the same time. It will make you examine your conscience and your belief systems. You will think about who and where you came from, but most of all, it will cause you to reflect on who you want to be and how you want to be remembered.
May 8, 2024
I really enjoyed the first part of this book that dealt so much with the civil rights movement in Alabama and the juxtaposition of his family, full of preachers, and how they tried not to preach about the movement but rather hide from the controversy. It is the struggle for the coins in the plates and the butts in the seats versus the idea of an omniscient love that should be for all people and how this has been at odds for so long. It could not more fully mirror my issues with the idea of religion. I would love to say that these problems have worked themselves out, but with the division of the Methodist Church as recently as this past year, it is all to apparent that it has not. The author’s brother was not only a child in the 60s, but came out as gay in the 70s so that added an even larger layer to this complex situation that is predominant in today’s churches. I thought it was handled very well by the author and he delves deeply into his own personal history. I found some of the chapters didn’t enhance the story, but they were charming nonetheless. You could tell he has great love for his family and his religion, but a complicated relationship with how that does not always or even very often play out in a “love your neighbor” scenario. Thought provoking.
May 25, 2021
Where to begin? A wonderful memoir of a family written with love and clear-eyed reality. I have been an avid fan of John Archibald for many years through his column for The Birmingham News. I am also a product of the South, having grown up in North Carolina and lived in Alabama since graduating from college. Sadly, I remember more than I would like about the racism and brutality of Jim Crow years. The author does a thoughtful job of exploring the words of MLK, Jr. with the words that were and generally, sadly, were not being said from pulpits during those days. As the son and grandson of Methodist ministers on both sides of the family, he struggled to understand the silence on the struggle for respect and equality and the acceptance later of the LGBTQ community.
He shares fond memories of growing up, often quite humorously, but sometimes with sadness. I laughed and wept at various points and cam away with fresh insights and a renewed appreciation of the power of the words used to shape opinions and beliefs.
Thank you, John, for a gem of a book!!
He shares fond memories of growing up, often quite humorously, but sometimes with sadness. I laughed and wept at various points and cam away with fresh insights and a renewed appreciation of the power of the words used to shape opinions and beliefs.
Thank you, John, for a gem of a book!!
February 1, 2025
Can a person be good if they stay silent in the face of injustice? John Archibald’s father, was a third generation methodist preacher in Alabama in the 1950s and 1960s. He was known as a kind, ethical, and loving man. But he did not address civil rights and segregation, even as Birmingham Alabama was racked with bombings and lynchings and racial hatred. John Archibald loved and admired his father, still does..... but he was puzzled and disappointed by his father's silence.
Shaking the Gates of Hell is two things: a charming memoir filled with amusing family stories about fishing trips, summer camp, siblings and cousins, love and acceptance – and at the same time a serious philosophical work, asking why religious leaders don’t stand up and say what should be said – why they are so cautious. And ultimately, the author asks his readers the same: Why don’t we stand up for what is right, why do we stay silent in the face of injustice?
Humorous, compassionate, emotional, honest – this is an important book, and fun too.
Shaking the Gates of Hell is two things: a charming memoir filled with amusing family stories about fishing trips, summer camp, siblings and cousins, love and acceptance – and at the same time a serious philosophical work, asking why religious leaders don’t stand up and say what should be said – why they are so cautious. And ultimately, the author asks his readers the same: Why don’t we stand up for what is right, why do we stay silent in the face of injustice?
Humorous, compassionate, emotional, honest – this is an important book, and fun too.
November 14, 2021
The frustration of my reading this book is that I expected the author to be a lot more analytical about what his father did--as a Methodist pastor during the growing civil rights movement.
Instead what I got is a part memory reprise of things from the author's childhood--including criticism of his father for not being more forceful in standing for civil rights. The outcome is that neither the memoir nor the analysis is satisfying to this reader.
The best part of the book is toward the end when the author reveals the sexual orientation of his brother, and the brother's early involvement with helping the Methodist church to move toward a more open reception of gays.
At the close of the book, the author is reminiscing about his childhood, his memories, his sense that his father could have/ should have done more. But that is mingled in with evident love and appreciation for what his father. By no means, however, was the book about "shaking the gates of hell."
Instead what I got is a part memory reprise of things from the author's childhood--including criticism of his father for not being more forceful in standing for civil rights. The outcome is that neither the memoir nor the analysis is satisfying to this reader.
The best part of the book is toward the end when the author reveals the sexual orientation of his brother, and the brother's early involvement with helping the Methodist church to move toward a more open reception of gays.
At the close of the book, the author is reminiscing about his childhood, his memories, his sense that his father could have/ should have done more. But that is mingled in with evident love and appreciation for what his father. By no means, however, was the book about "shaking the gates of hell."
April 29, 2022
Pulitzer Prize winning journalist John Archibald gives us a masterful work that is part history, tracing the integration/segregation battles in Birmingham, AL in the 1960's and beyond, through the failures of the Methodist Church to lift their condemnations of LGBTQ members. It is in part memoir, and in part biography of the Archibald family of Alabama, That may sound like quite a package to put into a book under 300 pages, but it is deftly handled by superb writing. Archibald, long-time columnist for the Birmingham News, alternates skillfully between chapters that focus on civil rights, to chapters and chapters that show one family's epic history throughout it all. His narrative is skillfully honest (even in moments of near-painful self-disclosure), insightful, human, humorous, and lays deft fingers on the heartstrings. It is a sweeping immersion in the beauty, worth and love of human life, all of it.
November 19, 2021
Wow, I wrote lots about this book on Facebook but did not even list in on my Goodreads page. After I read this one, I read Professor (retired) Bill Nicholas' book, Go and Be Reconciled. I had read many other books about the civil rights' days in Alabama but not these two. Bill Nicholas had asked me to read and comment on a chapter or an article he had written about Marti Turnipseed whose father is one of his topics in Go and Be Reconciled. I still have not found if that article/chapter has been published.
I was raised as a Methodist in rural Jefferson County, outside of Birmingham, and went to Birmingham-Southern College (that hotbed of liberalism) as a philosophy-religion major. By junior year, I was calling myself agnostic but sometime after that I realized I was an atheist. But I have stayed interested in religion and especially the Abrahamic religions.
Well, more to come.
I was raised as a Methodist in rural Jefferson County, outside of Birmingham, and went to Birmingham-Southern College (that hotbed of liberalism) as a philosophy-religion major. By junior year, I was calling myself agnostic but sometime after that I realized I was an atheist. But I have stayed interested in religion and especially the Abrahamic religions.
Well, more to come.
March 15, 2021
I am not as enthusiastic about this book as are others, but I consider it a worthy read.
Why am I less enthusiastic about this memoir? I think it could have been shorter. Also, the narrative skipped chronologically, and I’m not sure why the author made that choice.
I would be interested to know if a non-Methodist would find this memoir interesting.
The book’s strength is its unblinking portrayal of the church’s reluctance to take a stand against racism and homophobia while simultaneously using the slogan “Open doors. Open minds. Open hearts.”
[The United Methodist Church faces a decision whenever it can meet again, post-Covid. The 2020 General Conference was expected to be the one to make the final decision about accepting gay clergy and weddings. A schism is expected.]
Why am I less enthusiastic about this memoir? I think it could have been shorter. Also, the narrative skipped chronologically, and I’m not sure why the author made that choice.
I would be interested to know if a non-Methodist would find this memoir interesting.
The book’s strength is its unblinking portrayal of the church’s reluctance to take a stand against racism and homophobia while simultaneously using the slogan “Open doors. Open minds. Open hearts.”
[The United Methodist Church faces a decision whenever it can meet again, post-Covid. The 2020 General Conference was expected to be the one to make the final decision about accepting gay clergy and weddings. A schism is expected.]
March 30, 2021
Moving and loving memoir of an Alabama Methodist preacher’s son
John Archibald’s book, Shaking the Gates of Hell, is an unflinching look at the spiritual challenges of people of conscience in the Deep South during the Civil Rights Era. The author’s father was a United Methodist minister who served multiple churches in Alabama during a period of painful societal transformation in the 20th Century. Archibald lovingly tells the story of his family’s triumphs and tragedies over many generations. One cannot help but come away from a reading of this powerful work with a newfound appreciation of the struggles and small victories that people of faith must endure or enjoy during their lives. This book would be perfect material for any book group, whether of a religious or secular bent.
John Archibald’s book, Shaking the Gates of Hell, is an unflinching look at the spiritual challenges of people of conscience in the Deep South during the Civil Rights Era. The author’s father was a United Methodist minister who served multiple churches in Alabama during a period of painful societal transformation in the 20th Century. Archibald lovingly tells the story of his family’s triumphs and tragedies over many generations. One cannot help but come away from a reading of this powerful work with a newfound appreciation of the struggles and small victories that people of faith must endure or enjoy during their lives. This book would be perfect material for any book group, whether of a religious or secular bent.
April 4, 2021
This book is boldly honest. I appreciate Archibald giving us a glimpse into the inner sanctum of a pastor's home and his comprehensive view of not just a pastor but the "church" as an entity during the Civil Rights era. I am ten years older than Mr. Archibald, but experienced some of what he described as I grew up in a Southern Baptist Church in Atlanta during the 1960s. As an author I have tried writing about those times and the subsequent effects on my own journey to overcome prejudices ingrained since birth, as well as to attempt to correct and justify my own spiritual path. Some of us have come a long way, but some still have far to go, and sadly, some have no intention of taking even one step forward. Thank you Mr. Archibald for this insightful book.
December 1, 2021
John Archibald examines his family's involvement in the Civil Rights movement and wishes it had been greater. His father and grandfather were both Methodist pastors, and Archibald reads sermon manuscripts to see how they addressed it with their congregations. He also takes a look at the Methodist Church and homosexuality, using his brother Murray as a case study. While I disagree with some of the author's theological assertions, the well-written but under-documented book creates a readable examination of the Civil Rights era in northern to central Alabama. The book was received for review in a professional library publication. This longer review is forthcoming. (3.5 stars)
April 3, 2022
This wasn't as much of an uncovering of why a white, seemingly progressive Methodist preacher didn't speak up in Civil Rights Era Alabama as much as it was a biography of the author's father steeped in an understandable sadness. Pictures are shared throughout, as well as the dynamics of the family and the lessons the author most believed his father wished to share - but there is no information uncovered that truly helps frame why his father was silent in the face of white supremacy violence. Still, the writing is of high quality and there is some framing of the slow lurch to the present by the Methodist church as an organization.
March 25, 2021
It was a beautifully written story of the author's father and family. I'm glad I read it but I finished asking myself the same question I asked in the beginning....What was the author's purpose in telling this story this way? Was it a lesson in civil rights? or Was it meant to somehow move society from a state of silence to one where we stand (both figuratively and vocally) against injustice?
In the end, I say Thank You John Archibald for telling your story and for trying to light a spark under a very quiet society.
In the end, I say Thank You John Archibald for telling your story and for trying to light a spark under a very quiet society.
December 14, 2021
An extraordinary story of the family of a United Methodist pastor and his family and the challenges of addressing civil rights and matters of sexuality from the 1950s to the present day. The author is a Pulitzer Award winner who does a remarkable job of weaving together stories of family love, frustration with how the father/pastor dealt with matters of crucial importance, and the evolution of the pastor and his relationship with his son. Riveting, and a beautifully painful and honest look at how clergy wrestle with church politics, personal strengths and challenges, and the gospel.
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