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| Funeral procession for Martin Luther King, Jr., April 9, 1968 |
There are dates in history that are seared in our minds -- John F. Kennedy's assassination, the moon landing, Nixon's resignation, the failed launch of the Challenger space shuttle, and 9/11. I was too young to remember JFK's death and I slept right through the moon landing, even though I had asked my mom to wake me up so I could see the astronauts take those first steps. The others are vivid in my memory.
My first memory of a public event was Martin Luther King's funeral in 1968, not so much because I knew he was a great man who had been murdered, but because my parents left us with a babysitter that afternoon so they could join the tens of thousands who walked in the procession through the streets of downtown Atlanta. A couple of years later, I was miffed that my grandparents, who came to hear me present a report on King Henry VIII to my 5th grade class, were more interested in the fact that my classmate, Dexter King, the younger of MLK's two sons, was lying on the floor under a table in the living room section of our classroom, than in my carefully researched work.
These memories are of course colored now by my grownup understanding of King's work. And thankfully given that his birthday is a national holiday, this is not forgotten (although sometimes terribly misinterpreted in bad faith). Today, the airwaves and newspapers will be full of tributes and I'm sure we'll be hearing plenty of "I have a dream" and "injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere" as the appreciations roll out.
But for me, the words of Dr. King that resonate most deeply, with both admiration and some measure of embarrassment, are from his "Letter from a Birmingham Jail," written in April 1963 after his arrest in the course of nonviolent demonstrations against racism and racial segregation. In his letter, addressed to the city’s white clergy, King admonishes them for doing too little too late – for not throwing their shoulders behind the wheel, for not using their power to bring about true justice.
“I must make two honest confessions to you, my Christian and Jewish brothers. First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season..."
“I felt that the white ministers, priests and rabbis of the South would be among our strongest allies. Instead, some have been outright opponents….all too many others have been more cautious than courageous and have remained silent behind the anesthetizing security of stained glass windows.”
Ouch.
So today, when you hear the words delivered at the March on Washington, on receipt of the Nobel Peace Prize, or any other occasion, remember that we (and particularly those of us who are privileged) are called to do more than just honor Dr. King. We are also called to do more than write checks, read and reflect, and go to the occasional march or protest. These are all fine but they are not sufficient. The work of justice requires us to get off the sidelines and get into the thick of it now, and not when most convenient; to speak up even when it may seem embarrassing or feel impolite; to listen and support our neighbors who are fighting for things that many of us take for granted.
One of the most meaningful things I've been doing in retirement is becoming more actively involved in the Washington Interfaith Network, an organization comprised of dozens of houses of worship across DC, where we are challenged to build deep relationships -- across race and across faith -- and work productively to build affordable housing, improve the conditions of public housing, strengthen opportunities for Black homeownership, address threats posed by climate change, and address the epidemic of gun violence that is shattering many communities in Washington.
The work can be slow and it can be frustrating, but even so, it is also soul strengthening. It's something else to sit in the sanctuary at Metropolitan AME Church and listen to the powerful words of its pastor, Rev. William Lamar, surrounded by others who are in common cause. It's stirring to listen to the choir at Varick Memorial in Ward 7 and then cheer on neighborhood residents as they demand specific actions of city council members. And it is joyful to celebrate WIN's wins with people from all these different congregations, most of whom I would otherwise never meet.
We are still a long way from Dr. King's vision of the beloved community. But engaging in direct action and doing more than, as he said, "mouth pious irrelevancies and sanctimonious trivialities" seems like a pretty decent start.
