A Dream Deferred

Rev. Mark Stringer

First Unitarian Church of Des Moines

1/20/02

 

Meditation

Creative Spirit, Spirit of Life

Known by many names, spoken and unspoken…

This morning we honor a man with many gifts

Gifts of oration and intelligence

Gifts of compassion and gentleness

Gifts of persistence and perseverance

 

This morning we honor a man not unlike us

A man who doubted his abilities to lead

A man who was challenged by his fears

A man who dreamed of a day when his work might be less urgent

 

This morning we honor the possibilities of our lives

Calling us to share the stories of our humanity

Calling us to act towards goals of love and justice

Calling us to understand the duty we each have to uphold the inherent worth and dignity of all our companions on this Earth.

 

This morning we honor this life

This beautiful, confusing succession of days and nights

This mysterious source of pain and joy

This gift of living which is greater than we can possibly know.

 

May we find our hope renewed this day,

Hope that our trials are temporary

Hope that those in need will find comfort

Hope that each passing moment offers opportunities for forgiveness and understanding. 

May we find our hope renewed.

Amen.

 

Reading

An excerpt from Martin Luther King's 1963 Address at the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom:

 

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.

 

I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

 

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

 

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood.

 

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

 

I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

 

I have a dream today…

 

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

 

This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

 

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."

 

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

 

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!

 

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks of California!

 

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

 

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

 

Let freedom ring from every hill and every molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

 

When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

 

Sermon

 

A few weeks ago, I wrote that this morning's sermon would be a consideration of Martin Luther King's famous dream speech, a portion of which was offered as this morning's reading.  Where are we with this dream in these early days of the 21st century?  Has any of what he dreamed become a reality?  What is our responsibility to the dream?  I intend to discuss this in the sermon that follows, but first I must acknowledge something that is crucial to my perspective:  Martin Luther King was murdered before I reached my second birthday.  I only know his story because it is still being told.  I only know his story because I have read his words, heard recordings of his speeches, and been a recipient of his legacy...a legacy that was made all the more powerful as I prepared for this sermon.  As I read his words once again I was struck with a profound sorrow.  How I wish I had known this man...this courageous, flawed, inspired, learned man who, while certainly not the sole contributor to the fight for civil rights, played a role of such significance that it is difficult to imagine the fight having progressed without him.  What a loss that this eloquent spokesperson for truth and justice was taken from us.  Perhaps the most poignant aspect of this loss has been the leadership vacuum left in his place.  Most of my generation in this country have yet to know a moral leader who could articulate a message with the passion, reason, and conviction displayed by King.  Has there been anyone to even remotely approach his leadership ability?  Perhaps, but few have garnered the attention King received.  And few have known what to do with the attention once they received it.   

 

So, where are we with the dream, and more particularly with his final hope for all God's children to be able to proclaim freedom.  One of the most striking developments since his death has been the growing realization that the dream must expand beyond just "black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics" to include women and men of all colors, religions, and sexual orientations.  The dream for many has been expanded, and this is good. 

 

There have been other changes as well.  For the past few years, before moving to Iowa, I have worked as a diversity trainer with Chicago area high school students.  A surprising aspect of this work for me has been the realization that in many ways these students are far beyond where previous generations may have been, if only because they are participants in a cultural stew that continues to thicken with added ingredients.  It is not uncommon for students in many Chicago area high schools (and some in Des Moines) to share classrooms with those of differing races, religious beliefs, and ethnic heritage.  Indeed, some of them do not appear willing or able to categorize themselves according to the limitations of previous generations.  It is clear that these are no longer black and white issues.  So while all students may not be exposed to the cultural diversity to be found in many schools, the students I have met offer proof that the melting pot of our multi-cultural country continues to bubble.  And this bubbling promises that one day we may leave behind the practice of racial distinction as an archaic and unnecessary device.  I am not foolish enough to believe, however, that this transition is right around the corner.  Clearly this is the kind of change that will require the succession of several generations.  Still, I do believe that the elimination of race as a descriptor is inevitable...even if it only comes to fruition in the words of the U2 song "when all the colors bleed into one."  Obviously the preferred method of social change that will make racial divisions a concept of the past will not involve bloodshed, but continued enactment and acceptance of the principle by which we respect the inherent worth and dignity of each individual.  But since the day when all will adhere to this principle is decidedly in the future, what is our responsibility in the meantime?   

 

Sharon Welch, a renowned UU ethicist, teacher, and writer, has described our ability to act ethically and morally as a product of the generations.  Referencing the work of Carol Lee Sanchez, a member of the Pueblo nation and a writer who offers perspectives on tribal principles for non-native people, Welch contends that having respect for the world and its inhabitants is not something we come to on our own...it has been given to us through the triumphs and sufferings of those who have come before us.  Welch challenges us to consider the importance of our ancestry despite their varied contributions to the principles we have come to accept as our own.  She points to the native American practice of creating and repeating "ceremonies of tragedy" as an example of how we might develop a view of our lives as connected to previous generations.  These ceremonies of tragedy are rituals created by the native peoples to remind themselves of past mistakes so they won't be repeated.  For example, a particular tribe may have developed a ceremony for the hunt that is a product of the suffering that resulted when they over-hunted.  Or another may have created a ceremony for the land that arose from times when they mistreated the earth.  Welch describes these ceremonies as "habits of attention"--reminders of what we have learned and of what we must never forget.

 

One habit of attention that our culture has tried to embrace is Martin Luther King Day--a day for us to remember the sacrifices of a great moral leader, but also the sacrifices and commitments of the people who contributed to and responded to his message of hope.  Perhaps many of us have not taken this day as seriously as we should.  After all, I can recall years in which the only reference I've seen to Rev. King during January has been in a McDonald's commercial.  And while the intention of advertisers using King's image this weekend is debatable, I'm not prepared to say that the result is without benefit, for it does serve as a reminder of a man whose work we should not forget.  Still, I believe this weekend should be more than a longing look back to a message of hope.  It should be a time to remember pain, to remember that behind the dream stands the suffering that made and still makes the dream necessary.  Instead of images of King delivering an eloquent address, we might be better served by seeing images of restaurants where Americans of African descent were denied service, images of water fountains for whites only, images of protesters being blasted with water hoses, images of people of many races being arrested for standing up for what they knew to be the position of moral and ethical truth.  We should recall and reconsider these images again and again because they remind us of where we've been and serve as a testimony to the sacrifices of those who had the courage to work to alleviate oppression in the midst of a culture that had not seen a problem. 

       

To be able to see a moral dilemma is a gift...a gift of generations.  And to be alive to the pain of others is a further gift.  Important to this idea is Welch's assertion that we can only care about others when we have been cared for ourselves.  Martin Luther King would have supported this theory as well.  He wrote  "My home situation was very congenial....[a factor that was] highly significant in determining my religious attitudes.  It is quite easy for me to think of a God of love mainly because I grew up in a family where love was central and where lovely relationships were ever present.  It is quite easy for me to think of the universe as basically friendly mainly because of my uplifting hereditary and environmental circumstances.  It is quite easy for me to lean more toward optimism than pessimism about human nature mainly because of my childhood experiences."

       

Pardon the understatement, but not all of us have had this kind of upbringing.  In fact, many of us may not have known the love and care that will enable us to give ourselves to others.  I believe this reality of our varied upbringings and experiences is one of the reasons religious community can be so important.  It is a place where we can be cared for and where we can extend that gift to others, thereby perpetuating the furtherance of an ethic of community and care.  However, home and church are not the only places where the gift of understanding can be given and received.  As many of you no doubt agree, the work we do in our community is often the most transformative work of our lives.  I'm talking about the work that places us in positions to listen, to really listen, to the stories of our shared humanity...to the stories which call us to acts of courage and responsibility.  Listening is the means by which our perspectives can expand beyond the limitations of our own situations, and therefore, listening is the ground of all ethical action.  When we listen to the stories of others, we more clearly recognize the Pueblo belief that "I am because we are and we are because I am." 

 

I have a personal example of how transformative this kind of listening can be, particularly as we continue to explore the status of King's dream for us today.

       

The summer before last I attended a five-day diversity training in preparation to becoming a facilitator for Anti-Defamation League sponsored diversity training programs.  Perhaps many of you have experienced similar training through the “Jubilee World Weekend” held here in the fall, or in other workshops and programs. 

 

I have learned in similar workshops that the connections I inevitably develop with the participants often hold as much value as the exercises themselves.  But during this training, there was one exercise in particular which had a profound impact on me and I'd like to share that experience with you now, because I believe it exemplifies so much of what is possible when we begin our work for justice from a place of connection...from a place of deep listening.

       

We were into our third day of the training and the nearly twenty participants and I had traded many stories from our lives in both small and large group settings.  There were participants who self identified under various descriptors, such as Latina, second-generation Mexican, African-American, Austrian, Jewish, Catholic, Protestant, and of course Unitarian-Universalist. The participants included college professors, graduate students, social workers, conflict mediators, religious professionals, and an attorney.  Though our backgrounds were varied, we shared much including the obvious desire to do the work of diversity training.  After lunch we were told that we were going to participate in an exercise that was "powerful."  Now when people tell me something is going to be "powerful," I typically feel the need to put up my intellectual dukes, almost daring them to be successful.  It's like prefacing a story with a claim that it is "heartwarming" or "hilarious."  Yeah...I'll be the judge of that.

 

My initial lack of trust was quickly displaced by activity.  The facilitators had my fellow participants and I line up shoulder to shoulder across the width of the long room where the workshop was taking place.  Imagine the room as a tennis court, with the participants as the net.  We were instructed to hold hands and then move according to a list of directions which included: 

--If you hold a college degree, take a step forward.

--If both your parents completed college, take a step forward.

--If while shopping, you have ever been followed by store personnel, take a step back.

--If the holidays which are important to your culture or religion are not celebrated by the general population, take a step back.

--If your parents took you to cultural events as a child, take a step forward.

--If you had consistent access to nutritious meals while growing up, take a step forward.

--If you have ever been viewed as a minority in any way, take a step back.

 

You get the idea right?  We were instructed to take baby steps, so as not to separate ourselves too quickly, and there were upwards of thirty statements directing us before we rested in our final positions.  An added level of complexity was brought to this exercise by the instruction that we were to remain silent, to keep holding hands as long as possible, and to look around the room to see where everyone else was after each direction.  No doubt you could accurately predict the arrangement of the room by the conclusion of the final statement.  After all, we don't have to look too far into statistics to understand the power differential in this country is still tilted significantly toward white males.  As you might imagine, I found myself at the front of the room, literally just a foot or two from the wall facing me.  Scattered behind me were the people with whom I had shared the past three days.  I had heard their stories.  We had laughed together.  We had cried together.  And now these new friends of mine, these talented, caring individuals were several feet apart, some so far back that they could no longer hold the hands of the people who at the beginning were at their side.  As I looked around, I could see some of my friends were crying.  Some looked angry.  And there I was at the front, with my arms yanked painfully back in a desperate attempt to maintain contact with my neighbors.  The concept of white privilege had never been so fully displayed to me before.  I'd seen it described on paper, but now I was feeling it...living it.  But there's more.  We were told to let go of our hands and, on the count of three, to run as fast as we could to the front of the room.  Those left farthest behind were encouraged to pull themselves "up by their bootstraps" implying that they would be rewarded with success if they just tried hard enough.  I easily won the race.  But I cannot express to you how hollow the victory felt.  What had I won?  What had I won?

 

After the exercise, we discussed what had occurred.  Those who had started at the front of the room talked about how they considered waiting for the others, yet none of us did.  I spoke of how I felt a responsibility for my companions but not a responsibility that would force me to give up the things that had enabled me to have such a short distance to the front.  I contended that the most effective way of bringing justice to the race should not be giving up the benefits of a loving, economically secure family or a good education, but to bring everyone up to where I was.  But, let's face it: my ability to rationalize my own privilege was a component of that privilege.  The real learning for me was to come from listening to the comments of those who had started at the back of the room.  Some, still teary eyed, declared that this exercise was a painful reminder of what they have experienced throughout their lives.  Others had been angered and determined to reach the front no matter who they had to trip on the way.  And some declared that they hadn't seen the point of trying to run.  Why bother? They simply gave up.  They simply gave up. 

       

Before this exercise, my position of privilege had made it unnecessary for me to fully consider the challenges those behind me had been facing.  I had been trapped by the luxury of remaining ignorant.  But now, I had been given another opportunity to be alive to the pain of others, to recognize that though I cannot be responsible for all the problems of the world...none of us can...I am responsible for a tiny piece...I do have a responsibility  to listen to those with whom I share this world, to not take for granted the gift I have been given to care, and to share that gift with the generations that will follow.  The exercise taught me that the care I have received demands that I share it.  Indeed, each of us has a responsibility to act out of our experience,  for our actions will help create the template of possibilities for succeeding generations.

       

Robert  Kennedy, when questioned about the requirements of moral leadership, pointed to the importance of not just listening, but "listening in order to act."  Listening in order to act.  I think he was talking about the necessity of our not only hearing the stories of others, but letting these stories change us.  Keeping ourselves open to someone else's reality enough so that our own reality can be changed, thereby making it possible for us to cut through all the white noise of our lives--the pervasive messages of the still dominant culture which plead with us to believe that the work of King's dream has already been done.  If we believe that we don't have to concern ourselves about the privilege imbalance, if we buy into the myth that the playing field is level, if we live by the credo that others need to simply "pull themselves up by the bootstraps" we are clearly not listening to the voices around us.  And I would contend, we are not listening to the voice inside us.  The voice that may reach us in moments of quiet reflection, but which is more likely to be heard in moments of interaction.  The voice that can be so easily drowned out by the clattering busyness of our lives.  The still, small voice that propels us to act for what we know is true.

       

The dream of freedom for all people has not been realized.  The dream is a work in progress, and I suppose as our concept of community continues to expand beyond the confines of our own community, our own nation, it is a dream that will not become a full-fledged reality any time soon.  Indeed, as Martin Luther King said, any sane, ethical and therefore lasting change will be "evolutionary and not revolutionary."  But a choice remains for each of us.  How can we live today toward the goal that this change will someday occur, that the dream will one day be realized, that we shall indeed one day overcome?  I believe the answer is simple.  We need to listen.  We need to listen in order to be changed.  We need to listen in order to act.  Questions, of course, will always remain.  To what and to whom will we listen?  Will we listen to the voices of generations past who have established instructive examples of success and failure?  Will we listen to the voices of our children who are already one step further along this evolutionary chain towards freedom?  Will we listen to those in our communities whose voices are ignored?  Will we listen to what our hearts tell us is right and true?  Will we listen to the still, small voice always waiting to be heard?  Let it be so.  Let it be so. 
The dream demands it.

 

Closing Words

from Paul Robeson:

"To be free--to walk the good American earth as equal citizens, to live without fear, to enjoy the fruits of our toil, to give our children every opportunity in life--that dream which we have held so long in our hearts is today the destiny that we hold in our hands."