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Reading Amos after Ferguson

nancy — Fri, 12 Dec 2014 17:39:51 +0000

Amos 5:18-24
Psalm 50:7-15
Matt 18:12-14
I want to talk about Eric Garner.
I want to talk about Michael Brown.
I also want to talk about John Crawford —an unarmed black man shot and killed by police officers in August in a Walmart in Beaverville, OH. The in-store security camera shows he was shot while talking to his mom on his cell phone and holding at his side a BB gun that he had taken off the shelf of the store.
I want to talk about Akai Gurley —an unarmed black man shot and killed by a police officer nineteen days ago while walking down thestairwayof a Brooklyn housing project with his girlfriend.
I want to talk about Rumain Brisbon, an unarmed black man shot and killed by a police officer one week ago in Phoenix, AZ in his girlfriend’s apartment.
I want to talk about Larry Eugene Jackson Jr., an unarmed black man shot and killed by a police officer last year here in Austin under the Shoal Creek Bridge at 38th street.
Sadly, my list could go on but the key terms would all be the same: Unarmed. Black man. Killed. Police.
And when I say that I “want to talk”about these cases what I really mean is that I don’t want to talk about any of these cases. I don’t even want them to exist. They horrify me. They enrage me. They tempt me to hopelessness.
So, allow me, if you will, to defer, just for a moment, that conversation, in order to listen to another conversation that the prophet Amos was having with his fellow Israelites in the 8th century BC—a prophet whose most famous words became a rallying cry for Martin Luther King, Jr. in his “I have a Dream”speech on the Washington Mall in 1963: “let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”
The words we read from Amos this morning follow an opening rhetorical sting operation that deftly exposes Israel’s assumption that they stand above divine judgment, even as they get to pass judgment on the less righteous nations around them. “Thus says the Lord”Amos pronounces in chapter one, “For three transgressions of Damascus, and for four, I will not revoke the punishment.” YES, thinks Israel, about time judgment falls on those unrighteous Syrians. Amos continues,“For three transgressions of Gaza, and for four, I will not revoke the punishment.” Yes, again, thinks Israel, these Philistines have been a thorn in our flesh since we arrived in the promised land; it’s time they feel the fire-power of God.
And on it goes—the Edomites, the Ammonites, the Moabites, all brought under judgment, all promised fire, destruction, and death. Amos plays beautifully to Israel’s sense of judgmental self-righteousness. Amos has, over the course of his opening 18 verses, worked his hearers to a fever pitch of judgment upon others, that, in turn, reaffirms their own righteousness.
But suddenly, things start to get a bit confusing, “For three transgressions of Judah,and for four, I will not revoke the punishment.” Whoa. That’s Judah we’re talking about. The southern kingdom of God’s people. . . . Then again, Amos is prophesying to the northern kingdom so perhaps we could imagine a response like, “Yes, God, you are right, even some of our own people have gone astray; they never should have broken off from us in the first place. Surely, they are just getting what they deserve.”
After a moment of instability in which the fires of judgment came a little too close to home, we might imagine Amos’s hearers solemnly nodding and realizing they are the only ones left who stand beyond judgment, those whose chosen status makes it impossible for them to be brought up on charges.
Then the trap snaps, the sting operation captures the unwitting accomplice. Amos, it turns out, is not standing alongside Israel stoking their righteous indignation about neighbors who deserve what they get; no, Amos is setting Israel up to be judged for crimes far worse than those of their neighbors. “Thus says the Lord: For three transgressions of Israel,and for four, I will not revoke the punishment.”
Having judged seven of Israel’s no-good, trouble-making neighbors in the opening 19 verses, Amos goes on in the following 41 verses to recount Israel’s crimes and to promise judgment . . . “they sell the righteous for silver, and the needy for a pair of sandals—they . . trample the head of the poor into the dust of the earth, and push the afflicted out of the way . . . [they] oppress the poor and [they] crush the needy”(2:6-7; 4:1).
Thus we are led to the verses we read this morning: “Alas for you who desire the day of the Lord! Why do you want the day of the Lord?”
Of course, Israel wanted the day of the Lord! It was to be the day of their vindication, it was to be the day when their enemies were judged; it was to be light and triumph and victory! But no, says, Amos, “It is darkness, not light; as if someone fled from a lion, and was met by a bear; or went into the house and rested a hand against the wall, and was bitten by a snake. Is not the day of the Lord darkness, not light, and gloom with no brightness in it?”
Israel’s festivals and offerings and songs have not placated a God who sees their injustice. Israel’s assumption that they stand above the law, has not, in fact, placed them above the law. And so Amos cries out, and Martin Luther King, Jr. cries out, “let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”
Amos reminds the people of Israel, and reminds us, that there is no status that places you above the demands of justice. Neither divine election nor the police officer’s badge ensures that you are always in the right. Neither divine election nor the police officer’s badgeallows one free reign to abuse others without accountability. Yet both divine election and the police officer’s badgecan tempt an individual or a community to what Augustine identifies as the root of all sin, libido dominandi, the “lust for domination.”
We are experiencing a cultural moment in which white America is having to face what has long been obvious to African-Americans: that “driving while black”or “walking down the stairs while black”or “running in fear while black”or “being a large man while black”or “reaching for your wallet while black”can get you killed.
Following the the shooting in 1999 of Amadou Diallo, an unarmed black man, by the New York City police, Bruce Springsteen wrote an anthem titled “American Skin (41 shots)”calling attention to the 41 shots fired at Amadou Dialloby the four police officers. The song was written fifteen years ago, but, sadly, could have been written yesterday.
Springsteen imagines himself into the experience of people of color in these lyrics:

Lena gets her son ready for school

She says, “On these streets, Charles

You’ve got to understand the rules

If an officer stops you, promise me you’ll always be polite

And that you’ll never ever run away

Promise Mama you’ll keep your hands in sight”

Is it a gun, is it a knife

Is it a wallet, this is your life

It ain’t no secret

No secret my friend

You can get killed just for living in your American skin

The reaction to Springsteen’s song was swift and vitriolic. The President of the New York Policeman’s Benevolent Association called for a boycott of Springsteen’s upcoming concerts and Bob Lucente, President of the New York State Fraternal Order of Police called Springsteen a “dirtbag” for singing the song.^{^[1]}
But as always, the facts get more complex. Within weeks of his comment, Bob Lucente was removed from his position. And another police group, calling themselves, “100 Blacks in Law Enforcement Who Care,”issued a statement saying “We commend Bruce Springsteen, and we believe that he is courageous in the position that he is taking”^{^[2]}
Just when we think we can find a group to accuse and judge en masse, we find ourselves standing again in the shoes of ancient Israel hearing Amos call us to account. Amos is so hard to hear because just at the point where you are sure you are on the side of righteousness, that your judgments are unquestionable, the challenge turns back upon you – does your lovely liturgy make you above reproach? are your judgments miraculously without self-deception or self-interest? are you waiting for the day of the Lord knowing that your side will get vindicated?
And so as we pray for the souls of the departed: Garner, Brown, Crawford, Gurley, Brisbon, Jackson, we also need to pray for Darren Wilson, Darryl Pantaleo, Sean Williams, Charles Kleinert—some of the police officers who did the chasing and choking and shooting. Their lives and their decisions are not without ambiguity and pain and perhaps even remorse. They have been trained to do exactly what a fearful populace has asked them to do—protect “us”at all costs. The problem is that this “us”does not include everyone.
Yes, it is insufficient for police departments to point to “a few bad apples.” There is systemic racism and injustice that must be addressed. But it is also too easy for citizens to look at police departments and say “there’s the problem”—easily contained among those who are not “us.”
My brother-in-law is a police officer in Albuquerque, NM, and I have ridden along with him in the middle of the night as he seeks to bring protection and justice to places where most of us don’t go at times when most of us are asleep. He does not lack conscience or a soul, but his work often takes him into situations that are chaotic and ambiguous and dangerous.
If justice is to “roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream”it is a task for all of us. Racism is a rhizomatic scourge, springing up from multiple sources, finding expression in multiple locations. When we point the finger and call for justice—as we rightly do in cases of unjust and unwarranted police shootings—we must, as Amos reminds us, point the finger back at ourselves and our communities and ask, what are we doing to make this vision of justice true for all of God’s people?

^{^[1]} Jeffrey Symynkywicz, “The Gospel According to Bruce Springsteen,”WJK Press, p. 136.

^{^[2]}

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John Hines Day 2012: The Rev. Kathryn Ryan

nancy — Mon, 08 Oct 2012 22:33:47 +0000

“Are you better off than you were four years ago?” The question reverberated through the air at the Republican National Convention and caught democratic strategists off-guard. A question far more complicated than the stark responses for which it begs, I’m sure it has kept at least a few of us awake at night. … Even now, I sense I have raised the anxiety in the room! And not just in those protective of our tax-exempt status! Are you better off than you were four years ago? It depends, it seems, on what you mean by “better”.
Our question today is not that question – not whether we are better off than four, but more like 60 years ago, when Bishop John Hines, coadjutor of Texas, founded this seminary. Is the Episcopal Church better off? Depends on what you mean by “better”. In terms of numbers, the Episcopal Church has declined over the past 60 years. In 1952, there were 1 and a half Episcopalians for every hundred folk in the US. By 2011, to get to 1 and a half Episcopalians, you’d have to gather at least 225 people. The life of the Episcopal Church has been slipping away, one might say. Naturally, some yearn for the good old days, when youth groups burst at the seams, potlucks filled the parish halls, and all of the women were casserole baking, bazaar organizing members of the ECW. Oh, that we could go back to the robust and wealthy Church of those days. Shall we go back? Are we better off, my friends, than we were 60 years ago? What measure shall we use to judge the state of the Church?
Our scriptures, honestly, overflow with references to the numbers of God’s people. 600,000 men led out of Egypt; five hundred thousand soldiers devoted to the Lord; 72 to go into all the places to which Jesus was headed; 3000 baptized in one day! Apparently, numbers matter. But God never accepts numbers in lieu of God’s higher standard. God calls God’s people to fidelity – faithfulness to the Lord and to the Lord’s purposes and ways. Think we’re cozy with God because we’re rich or popular or numerous? Think again! God wants to know whether we love God with all our heart and love our neighbors as ourselves. God measures the Church by whether she lives that love into concrete reality – doing justice and loving mercy, following Jesus, whatever the cost. More than sixty years ago, John Elbridge Hines joined the long line of prophetic voices calling the Church to measure herself by the same standards.
And so… Are we? Are we better off? Are we more faithful to God’s demands for justice?
Long before John Hines took up residence in Houston on the path that would lead him to election as the Episcopal Church’s 22nd Presiding Bishop, Amos from Judah took up residence in Israel. And God gave Amos a prophetic vision about the measurement of God’s people. As God spoke to him, Amos saw a plumb line. A plumb line to measure whether the wall that was Israel was straight and true. A plumb line to judge the wall’s reliability and worthiness to stand. Alas! By God’s word Amos knew the wall of Israel rose crooked from the land. Rather than on the straight blocks of justice, and fairness, and concern for the poor, Israel’s wall was filled with the rubble of greed and self-indulgence and oppression. The wall would surely fall.
When John Hines looked at the Episcopal Church in which he ministered, he assessed it as if with Amos’ plumb line. He saw a Church indulging in the same habits of injustice which filled the society. The segregation of the races, which perpetuated poverty and stymied upward movement of African Americans. A blind eye toward the crumbling life of the nation’s cities. Self-satisfaction with ritual and institutional life that resisted change, lest the peace, beauty and strength of the church be threatened.
Hines, though, did not speak as Amos spoke to Israel, as an outsider, but as a son of the Church. When Bishop Hines preached to the Church, his word was always “we” rather than “you.” And when he wanted to preach to society, to repair injustice and to bring good news, he pressed Christ’s own people to act. Hines battled injustice in the world by calling the Church to change first: outraged by segregation, he proposed the integration of church institutions. Reflecting on the exclusion of women, he pressed his diocese to admit them as delegates and Vestry members. Witnessing first-hand the devastation of urban riots, he advocated the spending of the church’s own resources.
Hines knew there would be a cost for his zealous insistence on racial equality and inclusion and no-strings attached funding. And there was – for Hines and for the church – a shortened ministry for Hines, withheld funds, angry colleagues, damaged relationships, empty pews, …fatigue, even mission curtailed. And if we minister, as we surely do, in a church shaped by Hines’ vision, we still pay the price. It’s been a costly toll.
Some critics of Hines and the Episcopal Church point to the decline and label Hines as a culprit – a reckless social justice advocate who confused worldly aims with gospel standards. They argue that numerical decline proves the Church has been unfaithful. And they yearn for earlier days, before a progressive social agenda advocated either a courageous stand for the oppressed, or a wholesale abandonment of the tenets of scripture… depending on who you ask. Do they really hunger for those days? Days when programs inside our parishes kept us sheltered from human suffering in our streets? The days in which we, the Episcopal Church, politely defended our right to segregation, and piously justified a second-class status for women, minorities, and others, by referencing select passages of Holy Writ?
Today’s Episcopal Church reflects the commitments to justice and inclusion for which John Hines fought. If we are to measure whether we are better off than we were 60 years ago, whether we would like to go back, we must surely ask whether the Church, measured by Amos’ plumb line, rests more firmly on God’s call for justice than in those days.
Are we better off? Are we better advocates for God’s brand of justice?
If the cost paid proves fidelity, we must certainly be on the right path! We’ve become a church expert at taking one for the justice team! Some days it seems that all it takes to get a majority of the Episcopal Church fired up is to say the two magic words…..”justice issue”. Don’t get me wrong. I love that about our church. I’ve not only drunk the kool-aid; I was weaned on it – the Hines’ vintage, nonetheless! I wonder, though, does the angry resistance and a justice banner prove, without question, that we are carrying a cross right behind Jesus?
Lest we assume that Bishop Hines would be thrilled with the state of the Episcopal Church today, let us recall the commitment upon which all his prophetic witness rested. Hines grounded his life – and called the Church he led – to an unwavering devotion to Jesus Christ. His demand for social justice was not for some universal notion of social justice, equally obvious to all people of all faiths. No. Hines’ standards were the ideals and demands he discovered in the gospel of Jesus Christ. He called the Church to deny herself, take up her cross, and follow Jesus. Jesus’ life, Jesus’ teachings, Jesus’ sacrifice – Jesus’ compassion toward the hungry, the poor, the excluded, the oppressed – Jesus’ willing embrace of the cross – these defined the broad scope of Bishop Hines’ understanding of the word justice.
Are we better off? Are we following Jesus?
Sometimes it’s hard to know. The claim that a matter is a “justice issue” often chills efforts at theological reflection within the Church. Try to initiate theological conversation about women’s health and abortion, or consumption, commoditization and the environment, and you, too, might discover my dilemma! Where does this paralysis leave us? We, the Episcopal Church, cannot discover a particularly Christian approach to justice in these matters unless we have the courage to talk about Jesus. Unlike John Hines, we who follow him have failed to master the art of planting our flag of justice within the shadow of the cross on which we, and more importantly the world, have been redeemed.
A Church in which it is more acceptable to say justice than to name Jesus is no Church at all. Christ cannot be incidental, and never was for John Hines. At his service of installation as Presiding Bishop, he preached, calling on St. Paul: “God’s mandate to the Church requires that we preach not ourselves – but Christ Jesus as Lord. And this can happen only when we in the Church are caught up in a real and saving encounter with Jesus Christ as Savior!” (Kesselus, 214-215) Justice, for all its good, does not save. Jesus does. Too often over our recent decades, our advocacy for the social gospel has dissolved into “social” without much “gospel”. We have been zealous to pursue some brand of “justice” – while too timid or confused to proclaim with Bishop Hines why we do so.
Are we better off? Yes. Because justice matters, and God emboldened John Hines’ to lead and shape the Church as the servant of God’s justice for the sake of the world. Are we? Yes again. Because numbers matter, but never so much as God’s call to do justice. And what about sixty years from now? Will the Episcopal Church be true to God, servants of God’s mission, followers of Jesus? I guess it’s left to us – us happy few! May the Lord fill us with the clear vision and voice of Bishop Hines – about society, and the church, and, especially, about Jesus! Let us, in our own day, follow boldly behind our savior, the one whose face reveals true justice! Let us, like Jesus, live and love justly, whatever the cost.

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On the feast of Alexander Crummell

nancy — Thu, 13 Sep 2012 23:01:47 +0000

Sermon by Ms. Ora Houston, President, The Rev. John Dublin Epps Chapter, Union of Black Episcopalians
51��Ƶ
September 12, 2012

In our lives Lord, be glorified
In your Church Lord, be glorified
In my words Lord be glorified, today…

I am going to invite you to do something very un-Episcopalian (participate) – most of us have seen signs, banners or bumper stickers which proclaim, “The Episcopal Church Welcomes You”. If you believe that proclamation in your soul, say ‘��’.
Unfortunately, for me and others in our communities we find those words to be hollow. The words do however, invite us to stretch our understanding of ‘welcome’; and grow into the reality of what those words mean.
Rev. Alexander Crummell who we remember today, was a product of not being welcomed, not being accepted, and being made to feel that he did not belong in the denomination he felt called to serve. His journey of faith was circuitous and difficult. He was denied entrance to General Theological Seminary, yet that did not deter him. He studied privately and at the age of 25, Alexander Crummell was ordained priest in 1844. 50 years after the ordination of Rev. Absalom Jones in 1794 and 19 years before the Emancipation Proclamation was signed in 1863. We, the descendents of slaves have been faithful members of this Church a very long time.
Rev. Crummell decided to leave the United States and travel to England after experiencing additional personal affronts. He graduated from Queens’ College, Cambridge University in 1853. Then his ministry called him to Liberia, he was an evangelist, church planter, educator and author. When he returned to the States Crummell began ‘mission’ work at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Washington DC. Rev. Kim Baker, a graduate of this seminary is currently assisting at St. Luke’s.
Rev. Crummell never left the Episcopal Church, even when it was silent on the institution of slavery.
In 1882, a priest in Mississippi launched an attack on Blacks because our numbers were declining. The reasoning was that Blacks lacked the intellect, morals and leadership ability to be members of The Episcopal Church. The Sewanee plan proposed to segregate Blacks into a ‘diocese based on race’. In response, The Convocation of the Colored Clergy was organized; Rev. Crummell was its 1^st president. The name was later changed to the Conference of Church Workers among Colored People.
Their agenda was to lobby and fight for the full inclusion and participation of Blacks in the life of the Church at the congregational level, in seminaries, at diocesan conventions, and General Convention. The organization fiercely opposed the Sewanee Plan. Under the leadership of Rev. Crummell, separate and unequal was not formally placed in the canons or polity of our church.
Rev. Crummell was highly educated, well traveled, and articulate. Can you imagine? Men and women who were slaves or newly freed having the audacity to speak up in support of their rights, as children of the Living God to participate in the Church they loved. This was during a time when it was dangerous for Black people to speak out against or challenge anything.
Some called Rev. Crummell a trouble maker, an agitator because he was a vocal activist who pushed the Church to stretch and grow. I call Rev. Crummell and members of those early organizations – prophets, servants of God who were courageous and willing to take personal risks to the ‘glory of God’ and for the greater good.
Rev. Crummell and those early organizations laid the foundation and the continuing vision for The Union of Black Episcopalians, which formally organized in 1968. As president of the Chapter in the Diocese of Texas, I am proud to inherit their legacy of advocacy, evangelism, education, identification of and eradication of systems of oppression in the Church and in society. It is a privilege to stand on the shoulders of praying, faithful, dedicated servants like Rev. Crummell. When I think about it Not much has changed. Leaders of the church still use scripture to deny the humanity of some of God’s children. I have neverleft the Episcopal Church, even though in my lifetime the Church was silent on Jim Crow laws (voter suppression/poll taxes) and it was only in the 1990’s that The Episcopal Church began to address the issues segregation and racism.
You are thinking, “What pray tell does this have to do with me or my ministry? I offer two take a ways:
*Our church must not be one of exclusion, the church of our great grandparents, grandparents or parents. Research the histories of non-white Episcopalians in your community/diocese and insure that the histories of ‘many peoples’ are imbedded in the fabric of your ministry. Share their love of God, their faith, witness and tenacity in the face of being pushed to the margins and outright rejection.
*When people show up at gatherings, who don’t look like you, smile, acknowledge their humanity and demonstrate the type of welcome we proclaim. As a leader, everyone will be watching your reaction and response. It is important to model the love of and respect for every human being which Jesus demonstrated throughout his ministry.
Our baptismal covenant requires it…it is not optional.
Did you hear ‘his’ story? Rev. Alexander Crummell’s story. What will you do with the seeds that have been planted? Will they become a part of you – thrive, grow and bear fruit? Or will they die? My sisters and brothers, God the Holy Spirit is pushing each of us to stretch and grow.

“The Episcopal Church Welcomes You” and I mean it.
AMEN~

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Martin Luther King Sunday

nancy — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 15:02:48 +0000

The Very. Rev. Douglas Travis

Martin Luther King Sunday, January 15, 2012

St. James Episcopal Church, Austin

Genesis 37:17-20

Ephesians 6:10-20

Luke 6:27-36

Who am I to preach to you?Here I stand, a white, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant, heterosexual male, one of arguably the most privileged group of people in the history of the human species.
Who am I to preach to you? A descendant of Chatham Jack Alston, in the 19^th century one of the wealthiest men in all of North Carolina, the owner of hundreds of slaves.
Who am I to preach to you?

Paul encourages us, “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,
who, though he was in the form of God,
did not count equality with God
as something to be exploited,
but emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave . . . .” (Philippians 2:5-7)

The night before he died, Jesus said to his disciples, “I do not call you slaves any longer, because the slave does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends . . . .” (Jn. 15:15)

Jesus also said, “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” (Jn. 15:12-13)

Who am I to preach to you?

The night before he died, Martin Luther King told the crowd in Memphis,

Well, I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead, but it really doesn’t matter with me now because I’ve been to the mountaintop. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long time, longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned with that now. I JUST WANT TO DO GOD’S WILL . . .

And then, with that extraordinary voice and presence he had, that presence that told you that there was SOMEONE ELSE with him, some larger ONE who spoke with Dr King when Dr. King spoke, he boomed out . . . .

And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain, and I’ve looked over, and I’ve seeeen the Promised Land! I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land! And so I’m happy tonight! I’m not fearing any man! Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord![1]

Dr. King was not always without fear. Facing what he faced, he could not always be without fear. No man, no woman, could.

But he knew he was not alone. Twelve years before he had learned he was not alone. One night, during the Montgomery Bus Strike, King found himself faltering. It simply seemed too much. History had thrust upon him this challenge of leadership. He hadn’t asked for it. He had just received an anonymous death threat on the phone:

As he later recalled that late night hour of desolation, “I couldn’t take it any longer” and “tried to think of a way to move out of the picture without appearing a coward.” Dropping his head into his hands, he suddenly realized he was praying aloud in the midnight hush of the kitchen: “Lord, I’m down here trying to do what’s right . . . . But Lord, I’m faltering, I’m losing my courage. And I can’t let the people see me like this. . . . But I’ve come to the point where I can’t face it alone.” And at that moment, as King would tell it, he seemed to hear “AN INNER VOICE . . . THE VOICE OF JESUS,” answering him: “Martin Luther, stand up for righteousness, stand up for justice, stand up for truth. And lo, I will be with you, even until the end of the world.” That voice of Jesus, Dr. King recounted, “promised never to leave me, no, never to leave me alone.”[2]

The night before he was crucified, Jesus went with his disciples to a place called Gethsemane. Going to be by himself, he threw himself on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. He said, “Abba, Daddy, for you all things are possible; REMOVE THIS CUP FROM ME; YET, NOT WHAT I WANT, BUT WHAT YOU WANT.” (Mark 14:32ff)

What is the Holy Spirit of God? WHO is the Holy Spirit of God? He is the breath of God that blows around us and through us, that dwells in us, that gives us Life, that Holy Life that we will have with God always. I have the Holy Spirit and YOU have the Holy Spirit, and that breath of God that fills us with life will make you and me friends, friends forever.

At Pentecost the friends of Jesus were gathered together, hiding from the authorities, frightened of being arrested, feeling alone, and “suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filed the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them.” (Acts 2:2-3) The sound of this event was so loud that people throughout the city of Jerusalem gathered to see what was happening, and the Apostle Peter – the same Peter who had abandoned his Lord as he hung naked on the cross – this same Peter suddenly understood, and he stood up, quoting the prophet Jo-el, and he said,

In the last days it will be, God declares,
that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh,
And your sons and your daughters will prophesy,
and your young men shall see visions,
and your old men shall dream dreams.(Acts 2:17)

I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh . . . . and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams. (Acts 2:17)

Dr. King had a dream, Dr. King had a vision.It was a dream he received from God Himself, it was a vision he saw with God’s own eyes. Isaiah described it this way:

The wolf shall live with the lamb,
the leopard shall lie down with the kid,
the calf and the lion and the fatling together,
and a little child shall lead them. . . .
They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain;

FOR THE EARTH WILL BE FULL OF THE KNOWLEDGE OF THE LORD AS THE WATERS COVER THE SEA.(Isaiah 11:6-9)

THE EARTH WILL BE FULL OF THE KNOWLEDGE OF THE LORD.

What does the knowledge of the Lord look like? Better yet, what does the knowledge of the Lord make us do?

Jesus said, “I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also . . . . (Luke 6:27-29)

One night during the Montgomery Bus Strike a bomb exploded on the front porch of King’s home. King had been at a meeting at Ralph Abernathy’s church. He rushed home to discover, to his relief, that Coretta and their infant daughter were safe, but a crowd had gathered outside. A very angry crowd. A crowd armed with clubs and guns. A crowd threatening to disintegrate into riot and vengeance.
King stood in the shattered rubble of his front porch, raised his hands and said, “We are not advocating violence! We want to love our enemies – be good to them. We must love our white brothers no matter what they do to us. Love them, and let them know you love them . . . .” At least one of the white police officers at the scene understood that Dr. King had just saved his life.

Why love your enemies?

I BELIEVE IN THE EMPTY TOMB. It seems a dream. It seems a fantasy. But I believe in it! I believe a dead man rose. I could not stand before you today if I did not so believe.
But there’s more to it than that. I believe I executed the dead man who rose. I believe this dead man whom I executed rose and extended his hand to me. I believe this dead man whom I executed rose and extended his hand to me, and said, “COME, BE MY BROTHER. COME, BE MY SISTER. COME, BE MY FRIEND.”

One of the most tangible pieces of evidence we have that the resurrection of Jesus was an historic event is that not one – not a single one – of his disciples sought revenge. Instead they proclaimed a mysterious Gospel of Love, a love that is for everybody, that excludes nobody. A love that’s free for the asking, whoever we are, whatever we’ve done.
This is a very strange way to react to the unjust execution of a friend!

Who am I to preach to you?I am nobody. I do not stand before you with any claim to a right to be here. Certainly I’ve done nothing to earn it.
But the same Lord you call Lord I call Lord. The same Jesus you call friend I call friend. The same Jesus who calls you friend calls me friend.
And because we are friends with Jesus we can breathe his Holy Spirit, we can dream his dreams, we can have his visions.
Dr. King had a dream, he had a vision. He knew he was not alone. He spoke with the voice of the prophet. When Dr. King spoke we heard the voice of God, we saw the Kingdom of God, we knew the love of God.
Who am I to preach to you?I am nobody – nobody but a friend of Jesus and your friend in Jesus rejoicing that God gave us Martin Luther King.

May God’s holy name be praised. Amen.

[1] Frady, pp. 202-203

[2] Frady, Martin Luther King, Jr., A Life, pp.45-46.