Madam President, I thank Senator Brown for including me on this reading. It is a tremendous honor. I will continue. When I was suddenly catapulted into the leadership of the bus protest in Montgomery, Alabama, a few years ago, I felt we…
Madam President, I thank Senator Brown for including me on this reading. It is a tremendous honor. I will continue.
When I was suddenly catapulted into the leadership of the
bus protest in Montgomery, Alabama, a few years ago, I felt
we would be supported by the white church. I felt that the
white ministers, priests and rabbis of the South would be
among our strongest allies.
Instead, some have been outright opponents, refusing to
understand the freedom movement and misrepresenting its
leaders; all too many others have been more cautious than
courageous and have remained silent behind the anesthetizing
security of stained glass windows. In spite of my shattered
dreams, I came to Birmingham with the hope that the white
religious leadership of this community would see the justice
of our cause and, with deep moral concern, would serve as the
channel through which our just grievances could reach the
power structure. I had hoped that each of you would
understand. But again I have been disappointed.
I have heard numerous southern religious leaders admonish
their worshipers to comply with a desegregation decision
because it is the law, but I have longed to hear white
ministers declare: ``Follow this decree because integration
is morally right and because the Negro is your brother.'' In
the midst of blatant injustices inflicted upon the Negro, I
have watched white churchmen stand on the sideline and mouth
pious irrelevancies and sanctimonious trivialities. In the
midst of a mighty struggle to rid our nation of racial and
economic injustice, I have heard many ministers say: ``Those
are social issues, with which the gospel has no real
concern.'' And I have watched many churches commit themselves
to a completely other worldly religion which makes a strange,
un-Biblical distinction between body and soul, between the
sacred and the secular.
I have traveled the length and breadth of Alabama,
Mississippi and all the other southern states. On sweltering
summer days and crisp autumn mornings I have looked at the
South's beautiful churches with their lofty spires pointing
heavenward. I have beheld the impressive outlines of her
massive religious education buildings. Over and over I have
found myself asking: ``What kind of people worship here? Who
is their God? Where were their voices when the lips of
Governor Barnett dripped with words of interposition and
nullification? Where were they when Governor Wallace gave a
clarion call for defiance and hatred? Where were their voices
of support when bruised and weary Negro men and women decided
to rise from the dark dungeons of complacency to the bright
hills of creative protest?''
Yes, these questions are still in my mind. In deep
disappointment I have wept over the laxity of the church. But
be assured that my tears have been tears of love. There can
be no deep disappointment where there is not deep love. Yes,
I love the church. How could I do otherwise? I am in the
rather unique position of being the son, the grandson and the
great grandson of preachers. Yes, I see the church as the
body of Christ. But, oh! How we have blemished and scarred
that body through social neglect and through fear of being
nonconformists.
There was a time when the church was very powerful--in the
time when the early Christians rejoiced at being deemed
worthy to suffer for what they believed. In those days the
church was not merely a thermometer that recorded the ideas
and principles of popular opinion; it was a thermostat that
transformed the mores of society. Whenever the early
Christians entered a town, the people in power became
disturbed and immediately sought to convict the Christians
for being ``disturbers of the peace'' and ``outside
agitators.''
But the Christians pressed on, in the conviction that they
were ``a colony of Heaven,'' called to obey God rather than
Man. Small in number, they were big in commitment. They were
too God-intoxicated to be ``astronomically intimidated.'' By
their effort and example they brought an end to such ancient
evils as infanticide and gladiatorial contests. Things are
different now. So often the contemporary church is a weak,
ineffectual voice with an uncertain sound. So often it is an
arch defender of the status quo. Far from being disturbed by
the presence of the church, the power structure of the
average community is consoled by the church's silent--and
often even vocal--sanction of things as they are.
But the judgment of God is upon the church as never before.
If today's church does not recapture the sacrificial spirit
of the early church, it will lose its authenticity, forfeit
the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant
social club with no meaning for the twentieth century. Every
day I meet young people whose disappointment with the church
has turned into outright disgust.
Perhaps I have once again been too optimistic. Is organized
religion too inextricably bound to the status quo to save our
nation and the world? Perhaps I must turn my faith to the
inner spiritual church, the church within the church, as the
true ekklesia and the hope of the world. But again I am
thankful to God that some noble souls from the ranks of
organized religion have broken loose from the paralyzing
chains of conformity and joined us as active partners in the
struggle for freedom. They have left their secure
congregations and walked the streets of Albany, Georgia, with
us. They have gone down the highways of the South on tortuous
rides for freedom.
Yes, they have gone to jail with us. Some have been
dismissed from their churches, have lost the support of their
bishops and fellow ministers. But they have acted in the
faith that right defeated is stronger than evil triumphant.
Their witness has been the spiritual salt that has preserved
the true meaning of the gospel in these troubled times.
They have carved a tunnel of hope through the dark mountain
of disappointment. I hope the church as a whole will meet the
challenge of this decisive hour. But even if the
church does not come to the aid of justice, I have no despair
about the future. I have no fear about the outcome of our
struggle in Birmingham, even if our motives at present are
misunderstood. We will reach the goal of freedom in
Birmingham and all over the nation, because the goal of
America is freedom.