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Langst=
on
Hughes, a gifted American poet once asked:
What
happens to a dream deferred:
Does it
dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fes=
ter
like a sore –
and then run?
Does it
stink like rotten meat?
or crust and sugar over R=
11;
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe =
it
just sags
like a heavy load.
Or doe=
s it
explode?
(1951)
It has
been many years since The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. has graced our
society. The agonizing question that has been posed many times in the years
since his assassination is, “What has happened to the dream?”
It see=
ms
like he has never been replaced. But surely God never runs out of moral gen=
ius!
Rare is the moment in this life when the dream of justice becomes the road =
of
desire, and intersects with the road of opportunity. That rare moment occur=
red
in the time of Dr. King. It was a particular time, at certain places, around
the moral issue of racism, where God’s sovereignty connected with the=
moral
genius of Dr. King, and the whole world watched in fear, amazement and hope=
.
A dest=
iny
began to be realized, and change began to infiltrate the comfortable prejud=
ices
of America. Was he not a servant of the Lord in the tradition of the prophet
Isaiah? “Thus says the Lord: In a time of favor I have answered you, =
on a
day of salvation I have helped you; I have kept you and given you as a cove=
nant
to the people”…for the dream was not narrow or parochial. It wa=
s a
dream for the nations; a dream for the healing of the nations. But just as =
he
was catapulted to a level unprecedented in human experience, in an act all =
to
familiar in urban America, the dreamer fell to one of the guns we so love a=
nd
worship in American society, the guns that kill and destroy hopes and dream=
s in
American society. Thus was the dream deferred?
No it =
was
not deferred! The dream marches on. For the dream, you see, was not original
with Dr. King, nor would he ever have claimed that it was. He was clear that
the dream came from his intimate experiences with scripture. The dream was
formed by the very Spirit of God exploding in his inner being. For it was t=
he
dream of the creator of the whole universe! Had it only been King’s
dream, Bull Connor’s dogs would have eaten it up. Had it only been his
dream, Lester Mattox’s waterhoses would have drowned it. Had it only =
been
his dream, Mississippi would have lynched it and Birmingham would have bomb=
ed
it. But thanks to God the dream was larger than all of that!
The dr=
eam
is woven into the fabric of the universe, because the dream is that all hum=
an
beings should be free and possessed of great dignity, and that is none other
than the dream of the creator from the beginning. The dream is not just abo=
ut
racism; it is about every force, every principality and power that oppresses
human beings. Wherever war kills innocent children of any color, race or cr=
eed
all to satisfy the desire for power of selfish adults; wherever people of
differing sexual orientation suffer indignities and the loss of basic human
rights to satisfy people of narrow vision and little minds and small spirit=
s;
wherever racism still abounds, and it does, and white supremacists spew for=
th
their hateful words and evil acts; the dream is not deferred, the dream must
gather courage and strength!
What d=
oes
our faith say to us? That the
heavens have been torn open and the barriers between heaven and earth have =
been
removed, that the kingdom of God might come on earth. That the responsibili=
ty
for the dream would become ours, in our time. For this is the time in which=
we
have been created to be bearers of the dream. As God said to Isaiah: “=
;Is
it too light a thing that you should be my servant? – I will give you=
as
a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the
earth.”
No,
Langston Hughes, the dream has not been deferred. It makes its way into the
psyche of America as it marches on through the years with inexorable steps.
Contemplate what is going to take place on the National Mall on Tuesday. A
huge, giant step toward the dream realized! Think of the symbolism of time =
and
place. But first an aside: when I was living in Washington a friend had com=
e to
visit on the hottest week in July, and we had gone to the Mall early in the
morning to get started on our pilgrimage.
A small
group of teenagers approached us and a girl asked me, “Where’s =
the
Mall?” And I responded,
“This is the Mall. You are at the Mall.” She looked puzzled and
said, “No, the map says there is a mall here and we don’t see
it.” Ed poked me and said, “Bill, don’t you get it? They =
want
to go shopping!” No, I didn’t get it!
Contem=
plate
the symbolism of the National Mall. I remember being there on a frigid nigh=
t in
November of 1965. We lived in Wilmington, Delaware, and Pat was homesick. S=
o I
took the train with Pat and our two small girls to Union Station in D.C. so=
she
could get a train for Detroit. It only cost $25.00, which turned out not to=
be
a great bargain. There was little heat on the train and soggy tuna sandwich=
es
for food. But after their train left I walked over to the Capital. There wa=
s no
one around save a few security guards. The building was magnificent and
inviting, bathed in soft light. I looked down the Mall toward the White Hou=
se
and the Lincoln Memorial. I could hear deep in my soul the cries, songs, and
prayers of the black slaves who baked the bricks with which they built the
Capital. And then I thought of the black slaves who built the White House, =
and
the slave markets that were held on the Mall that separated families, child=
ren
from parents, sometimes forever. Then I contemplated the Lincoln Memorial w=
here
two years earlier Dr. King had given his “I have a dream speech.̶=
1;
Did you
know that the “I have a dream” – the last third of the sp=
eech
was not in his written text? Those were words from his heart. Or as Coretta
Scott King thought “the words flowed from a higher place.” At t=
hat
magnificent place, honoring the President who freed the slaves, King gave t=
hat
magnificent speech which some now call the New National Scripture. But
remember, in 1922, when that magnificent memorial was dedicated, the seating
was segregated. The blacks had to sit in a separate section. The only black
speaker that day, Robert Russa
Moton, spoke from a te=
xt
that had been censored to be sure no words were uttered that would offend
Caucasian ears.
No,
Langston, whenever we try to defer the dream, it explodes before our surpri=
sed
souls for it is God’s dream for the healing of the nations! And people from all over the world=
are
on the National Mall today, tomorrow and Tuesday, to witness the latest
explosion of the dream – because they hope it will be for the healing=
of
the nations! Amen.