Dr. Y brought a DVD of the speech into class and the guys sat spellbound as Dr. King, in the classic rhythmic pacing of a black, Baptist preacher over and over slightly raised his voice each time he uttered “I have a dream”. Remember, this is a class made up predominantly by African-American males, yet I was the only one in the room who had ever read the speech before or ever seen Dr. King speak before.
“Let freedom ring”, Dr. King said over and over and the guys leaned forward as he recited the words from the Old Testament prophet Isaiah and the patriotic American song “My Country tis of Thee”. That evening I was telling DC about the guys’ reaction. I told him how choked up I get every time I read Dr. King’s words because he spoke with moral clarity; he spoke with Godly truth.
DC told me an astounding thing. “I was at that speech. My grandmother took me. We walked the ten blocks from her house and I was standing way up the hill near the Washington Monument.”
I sat quietly as DC told me he stood there with his grandmother clutching his hand tightly so he wouldn’t get lost in the crowd.
“We couldn’t see him. We were so far back. But all along the sides were huge speakers and the crowd was completely quiet when Dr. King spoke. I remember when he got to the end and he began raising his voice saying ‘Free at last, Free at last, thank God Almighty free at last’, I looked at my grandma and she was crying. I said ‘grandma why you sad?’ she said, ‘I’m not sad. Your great grandparents [her grandparents] were slaves and they prayed every day they’d hear those words.’”
DC has told me a great many stories in the time I’ve known him. He’s let me know he was, by his own words, a “knucklehead” who was violent and out of control for years. I’ve also gotten to know a beautiful, peaceful man, one who is loved by his parents, his wife and his children.
Once before DC told me something that really stuck in my mind. He came back from a visit with his parents, both in their eighties, who make the drive down from Northern Virginia every two months. His dad made an off the cuff remark about his mom not getting to bed early enough the previous night so they could get an early start for the visit.
“I finished praying about you and your mom was still running around the kitchen. I had to say ‘come on woman, we need to sleep’.” DC stopped, stunned and asked “Pops, you prayed about me?” His father is not a deeply religious man – at least to outward appearances. “Every day since 1972”, his father said. “I know the Lord will answer and deliver you.”
This week I spent a good deal of time thinking about faith, dreams and hope. I thought about those things on a personal level and a corporate level: where am I, where are we, as a people of supposed faith, headed? I had my “Good Friday” moment last week, a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach of abandonment, betrayal and rejection, the feeling – a minister friend wrote me – “when darkness is our only companion” and there seems to be no remedy.
At the lowest, darkest moment I ended up reading Chapter 38 from the Book of Job. Funny how devotions tend to pop up at the most opportune time. In that chapter, in the whirlwind, God finally speaks to Job. He finally had enough of Job’s questions about “His way” that He fires back. “Who are you to question my ways?” God asks. “Did you help put the earth on its plane? Did you fix Orion in the sky? Do you control the tides, the wind?”
God, I realized was the Great Debater. He knew the answer to every question He threw at Job. And, more importantly, Job knew as well.
Dreams. A few weeks ago, Ms. Marie Dean died. Her obituary stated she was a tireless advocate for Virginia’s death row inmates. When her death was announced the “old heads” here had a smile for Miss Marie: DC, Saleem, Ty, Kicks, all down more than thirty years, all remember this tiny woman coming into “the walls” (the Virginia penitentiary in Richmond, since torn down) and advocating for the prisoners. Three husbands left her over her tireless work. Her children ignored her. Still, she continued to find lawyers to challenge capital sentences. Each day she worked because she believed in her core the parable statement from Jesus, “when I was in prison, you visited me.” She believed no man was beyond redemption, no inmate deserved to be executed.
And she was not alone. The old heads told me about Sister Irene, a petite catholic nun from Richmond and Bishop Sullivan, the Catholic Bishop of Richmond who worked during their tenures as advocates for prison reform. They believed it was their Christian duty to push for reconciliation, not incarceration.
Dreams. I don’t understand on an emotional level why me ex-wife divorced me. I understand it on an intellectual level. It makes perfect sense. It was logical, rational, a no brainer. But, it’s not what you do when you profess to love someone. I don’t know why friends abandoned me. I don’t know why the judge decided to be so harsh with me. I have every legitimate, logical reason to feel self pity and believe I was treated unjustly.
But, I have dreams. And, dreams don’t die. What I took from God’s discussion with Job is simply this. God’s telling Job “you don’t know what I know. So, you have a choice. You can roll over and quit or you can trust Me.” Job realized God was right. The funny thing is God already knew what Job was going to do. He knew it beforehand because He was willing to let Satan do his worst to Job. God, it seems has more faith in us than we have in ourselves.
Tornados ripped through the Southeast this past week. Watching the news the other night I was struck by a middle aged African-American woman standing in front of what used to be her home. There was nothing but rubble, yet she had climbed out from between sofa cushions, virtually unscathed. She said as the house began to explode around her, she was prepared to die but “God had another plan for me. Others were called, but I was spared in His infinite wisdom.”
Dreams. Many nights as I’ve fallen asleep these past few weeks I’ve just wondered why God wouldn’t let me sleep permanently. I just didn’t feel I was built strongly enough to do day in and day out what I faced. “Who are you going to trust?” But I have dreams. I realized the past few days as I’ve slowly fought myself back to equilibrium, that that is precisely what those vague concepts like justice, mercy, compassion, forgiveness and love are built on. They are built on dreams.
Dr. King saw a country torn apart by racial injustice but he had a dream that in God’s way and in His day, justice would prevail. Ms. Dean, Sister Irene, Bishop Sullivan dreamed of changing the prison system to be more humane, more merciful, more Christ-like.
Dreams, I concluded this week are what our faith is built on. They remind us to trust in the Lord with all our hearts as the Proverb tells us, even when our friends and family hurt us and our circumstances overwhelm us. Dreams keep us free. Dreams give us hope. Dreams can connect us to God’s way.
His grandmother died while he was in prison. But, she knew he’d get out someday. Even on his worst days, his grandmother believed in her dream that her grandson would live righteously and one day would be free.
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