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…
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 archdefender 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 are at present misunderstood. We will reach the
goal of freedom in Birmingham and all over the nation,
because the goal of America is freedom.