I Have a Dream

Today is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day when we celebrate the leadership and courage of the preacher, pastor, and prophet Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I find it enormously appropriate that the inauguration of President Barack Obama falls on this day, because regardless of how you voted and regardless of what you think about his politics, you have to admit it’s pretty cool that in the space of 50 years we’ve gone from such blatant and heinous treatment of black people to the (not only first but second) inauguration of our first black President. Honestly, that’s pretty amazing. What would Dr. King say about that if he were here? What would his speech be because you know he would speak at the inauguration; how could he not? What would he say about the progress we’ve made as a country and as a society?

We’ve come such as long way. And yet we have such a long way to go. Yes, race relations have gotten exponentially better since Dr. King told us about his dream and vision for the country, and yes our laws and regulations have served to infinitely improve the lives of millions of people of color, but where are we now in spite of that? For someone of my generation, who grew up decades removed from the Civil Rights Movement and for whom terms like “affirmative action” seem more like common sense than a wild idea, the thought of discrimination based on race is laughable. Actually, it’s beyond laughable—it’s ridiculous to the point of scandalous. It’s illegal, immoral, unethical, and utterly pointless. Racial discrimination? Please! That’s so last generation.

I read this speech and watch documentaries about Emmet Till and Rosa Parks and can hardly believe they’re true; and then I look around and see the discrimination that still happens here, now, today. It may not be as obvious as separate water fountains and divided seating arrangements, but you can’t deny that segregation still exists. Whether it’s racial, ethnic, sexual, or gender oriented it’s still there. Women still compete with the glass ceiling; ethnic minorities still struggle to make themselves “worthy” in a whites-only world; poor still fight with rich; and people with sexual orientations different from the norm find themselves at the business end of a social cannon packed with religious dogma, cultural idealism, and legal jargon.

It’s as though we advertise America as the place where anything can happen and dreams can come true, but then say, “Oh, you? You’re different. No, I’m sorry. Dr. King’s dreams don’t apply to you.”

Harsh, I know. And I do not presume to know what Dr. King would say or do or even think about the many social, cultural, and religious debates currently gripping our country were he still here with us. But I do know that this was the man who bravely stood before thousands of people in the nation’s capitol and called to task an America that reneged on her promise that all men (and women) should be granted the rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. This was the man who was hauled off to jail repeatedly for refusing to accept the status quo and refusing to believe that basic rights did not apply to him due to the pigmentation of the melanin in his skin. This was the man who professed freedom and justice and dreams, and regardless of what he may or may not say about the LGBT community or the fight over women’s health care or the glass ceiling in the workplace I think he would unequivocally remind us that we are all Americans and we are all humans and we are all on this journey together.

In honor of MLK Day my local paper published the full manuscript of Dr. King’s now-famous “I Have a Dream” speech delivered in the shadow of the Lincoln Memorial on the National Mall on August 28, 1963. Like most people, I’ve read it before (thank you high school history) and like most people I can recite certain sections from memory (“I have a dream that my four little 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.”) But on this reading, while I found the whole speech still timeless and poignant, there was one section in particular that jumped out at me.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

Yes, Dr. King was specifically speaking of the discrimination and segregation of blacks, particularly in the American south of the 1950’s and 60’s, but look beyond the adjectives used to describe the particular people involved in a particular situation at a particular time. The message is timeless and goes beyond non-violent protest and civil disobedience. He makes the meaning clear: We cannot walk alone. We are all bound up in this together, for better or for worse, in some bizarre marriage of physical proximity and cultural idealism and whether we like it or not there is no divorce. We can continue to fight, to clash against one another, to raise our fists in righteous indignation, but that won't give us forward progress. We can try to separate ourselves from the "other," but in the end this family that we live with is what we’ve got. Our well-being is all tied up together.

Many a Martin Luther King, Jr. Day is celebrated with a great emphasis on service; service in the community, service in the church, service to the downtrodden and destitute, and this is all great. By all means we should continue to live out Dr. King’s legacy of servant leadership, but I have an additional suggestion. On this Day, let’s give some service to ourselves. Let’s serve ourselves and others by tearing down some walls.

We are a people of walls. Ethnic walls, racial walls, gender difference walls, misunderstanding walls, political walls, religious walls, dogmatic walls, opinionated walls, educational walls. We build walls around our minds and—most dangerously—around our hearts. Walls do protect, but they also isolate. They do as much to keep “them” out as “us” in. But, as Dr. King said, we cannot walk alone. We cannot live inside our own little walls.

So on this Day, as we serve; as we inaugurate a President who swears to uphold the promise of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; as we remember and celebrate the life of a prophet in our time, let’s work on coming together a little bit more. Let’s tear down some walls—or at least start the demolition. Read something you wouldn’t normally agree with. Watch a video whose views you may not understand. Listen to someone with a viewpoint entirely different from your own. Internalize the dreams of a man you never met but whose presence imprinted your life anyway. Listen to freedom ring. And welcome your brothers and sisters who walk with you.

I Am

Exodus 3:13-15

¹³ Moses said to God, “Suppose I go to the Israelites and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ Then what shall I tell them?”

¹⁴ God said to Moses, “I am who I am. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: ‘I am has sent me to you.’”

¹⁵ God also said to Moses, “Say to the Israelites, ‘The Lord, the God of your fathers—the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob—has sent me to you.’ This is my name forever, the name by which I am to be remembered from generation to generation.

I should just stop checking Facebook around Christmas time. It’s not that I don’t enjoy the pictures of snow and family and presents and cookies and trees. In fact, I love all that stuff. It’s all the engagement announcements that bother me. This year especially, it seems that an inordinate number of people received or gave diamonds for Christmas. I got six updated relationship statuses in my news feed inside three weeks, and while I am genuinely happy for all my friends and their new bling, it’s the Save-the-Date! cards from the kids I babysat that really get me. I see their beaming faces, their sparkly jewelry, their overt love for one another, and—after resisting the urge to vomit—I usually say something along the lines of “Holy $#!+! There’s no way you’re old enough to get married! Are you even old enough to drive?!” This coupled with my recent discovery of gray hairs (not blonde, gray!) makes me feel old. I’m only 28. I don’t like feeling old.

I was lamenting this state of affairs to a friend who, after listening patiently to my rant, said as lovingly as she could, “It sounds like you’re not so much upset about being old as you are jealous.”

Called out. Well, no use hiding it now.

“I am jealous!” I yelled.

“Kinda sounds like you’re angry, too.”

“I am angry!”

“Scared?”

“I am scared!”

“What else?”

“Everything else. I’m hurt and I’m questioning and I’m feeling left out, but I’m also happy and I’m excited and I’m blessed and I’m super confused and I’m—I’m—I’m—I just am!”

It was at approximately this point, after rattling off a list of I am’s that a small bell rang in the back of my head. I am. I had heard this somewhere before; somewhere special. Oh right. The beginning of the story of the Exodus.

I had never really understood the whole God-as-I-Am statement, and my inner grammarian has always been bothered by the syntax of that declaration, but a few years ago while preparing a sermon for a youth service at Fortwilliam Macrory Presbyterian Church in Belfast, Northern Ireland, I realized that the God-as-I-Am idea isn't so much about nomenclature as it is about presence, a state of being.

God is. When God says, “I Am who I Am” I don’t think he means “Hello! My name is I Am” I think he means “You want to know who I am? Look around. See that sunrise? That’s me. See that mountain vista? That’s me. Hear that music? That’s me. Sense that friendship? That’s me. See that _____? Hear that _____? Sense that _____? That’s all me. I Am all that.” It wasn't until my little tirade, however, that I realized that God also says, “Feel that emotion? That’s me, too.” God is in the sunrise as much as he is in the appreciation of the sunrise. God is. God is everything we see, think, hear, and feel. Good, bad, and ugly, he is all of it.

It’s easy to comprehend that God is happiness or joy or compassion; those are positive emotions. But surely God can’t be negative emotions? In things like jealousy and anger? Actually, yes, I think he can be and is. I felt really apprehensive about the thought that when I admit, “I am jealous!” that God is in that jealousy until I remembered that throughout the Old Testament God says, “I am a jealous God.”

Our God is a jealous God. Our God gets angry. Our God gets upset. Our God gets frustrated. I think we forget this. I know I do. Yes, jealousy and anger and sadness can consume in a terrible way if they are allowed too, but they can also be powerful catalysts for change. (See also: Jesus driving the money changers out of the temple.) I think we forget that sometimes it’s okay to be jealous or angry or sad or upset. Somehow we get caught up in the idea that our faith is all rainbows and butterflies and that if we just trust Jesus then we’ll be happy all the time. If we reside in the Spirit, then we’ll never be lonely or upset or frustrated or anything other than blissfully content with life and we’ll all ride around on purple unicorns.

I call b.s.

Jesus never said anything about being happy all the time; in fact I’m pretty sure he said the road of discipleship would be hard and dangerous and fraught with difficulty. But he also promised to be there on the road with us. He went before and he comes after and he walks along beside. Because he’s been there and he is there. God is with us the whole way, in the jealousy, the anger, the pain, the frustration, the joy, the sorrow, the happiness, the confusion, the stillness, the I-just-don’t-know. After all, God is. He said so himself, “I Am.”

It’s easy to look around and wonder where God is. I used to think that anger or sadness or frustration or pain was the absence of God’s presence; that somehow because of these things I was left alone. Then I realized—and I’m still working on living this—that not only is that crap theology since God himself said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you,” but it also assumes that God doesn't care. It forgets the fact that God has already said, “I Am. I Am all that. I Am in all that.” God cares deeply, not only about our spirits and bodies, but about our emotions, too. Anger and sadness and frustration and pain aren't necessarily the absence of God; in fact, I believe that most of the time God is angry and sad and frustrated and hurt right along with us. Because God is.

So, yeah, I may be a lot of things. Like jealous and angry and happy and excited and confused and frustrated and blessed and totally out to lunch. And I may get angry at Facebook and yell at the mailman for delivering Save-the-Date! cards. But God is and he is right there with me. Because in spite of all the things I am and all the things I’m not, when it comes down to it, there’s one “I am…” that’s the most important for me.

I am a child of God.