On this day, what tallness of spirit, what hope-filled gaze, sweeps across the countenance of our nation. There is a cosmic call echoing between heart and heaven, time and eternity, reality and imagination. Across our land, the magical mist of a memory, the divine breath of a heroic legacy, reenlists battalions of wearied strides, buckled backs, and tear smeared cheeks to once again be keepers of a deferred dream.
What manner of man, what texture of personality keeps a deferred dream? A dream doused in the stench of slaves imprinted in the slush of human waste. A dream buried alive in the shadows of liberty's heavenly torch. A dream shunned by the founding fathers, silenced by callous congregations, scorned by social sensibilities, shortened by economic enterprise, and shelved by lousy laws - a deferred dream, which seems to better serve if we would let it go gentle into that good night.
How, in such pathetic haste, we surrender deferred dreams. We sacrifice its soul for political expediency. We compromise its core for economic practicality. We nip it and tuck it; snip it and pluck it; compress it and adapt it; disguise it and downsize it until the dream is not only deferred but an ideological crypt for dead leaders and not an ageless charge to be proclaimed to the living. But thank God, Martin King learned how to keep singing the Lord's song in a strange land while bouncing on mama Alberta King's lap, while humming "Yes, Jesus Loves Me" at Ebenezer Baptist Church, while studying under Benjamin Elijah Mays at Morehouse College. It was the dignifying love of the black family, the spiritual nurture of the black church, and the academic freedom of the black college that taught Martin King to sing the Lord's song in the strange land of Jim Crow segregation, the Vietnam War, J. Edgar Hoover, Governor George Wallace, the Ku Klux Klan, burning crosses, church bombings, racial slurs, death threats, cowardly clergy, and faulty orthodox theology.
Ashamedly, many leaders today won't sing the Lord's song if it won't win elections, won't make friends, won't increase memberships, won't sell books, won't fill offering plates, or won't be easy. Thank God for Martin King who would not stop singing the Lord's song in a strange land. But how did Martin King do it? Many will sing the Lord's song only while surrounded by frescos and stained glass. Many will sing the Lord's song as long as the sun flings her blessed locks against the lofty blues. Many will sing the Lord's song only if popularized by political parties, economic agendas, or social style. Singing the Lord's song is easy at home but how do you sing the Lord's song in a strange land? A land made strange by poverty. A land made strange by inequality. A land made strange by bigotry. Income disparity strange. Police brutality strange. Moral ambiguity strange. Animal cruelty strange. Military sovereignty strange. Imperial presidency strange. Racial hostility strange. Environmental cruelty strange - How do we sing the Lord's song in a strange land?
At the onset, we should realize the Lord's song is not meant to enclose us in what King called "sincere ignorance or conscientious stupidity," comforting us in "Kum Ba Yahs" as the "strange" world crackles in the searing desert of inhumanity. Secondly, we must realize, as Martin King did, singing the Lord's song reveals not the strangeness of the land, but the strangeness of the one who sings the Lord's song. You have to be "strange" to persevere when all hope seems lost. You have to be "strange" to meet physical force with soul force. You have to be "strange" to love your very worst enemies. You have to be "strange" to see the "somebodyness" in nobodies. You have to be "strange" to challenge unjust legislation. (Are you strange?) Martin King wrote in Strength to Love, "Success, recognition and conformity are the bywords of the modern world where everyone seems to crave the anesthetizing security of being identified with the majority." Martin King, not concerned about "fitting in," was a figure who did not mind being considered "strange".
Finally, when we realize we are "strange," then who better to sing the Lord's song in a "strange" land than "strange" people, who are constantly bombarded by the absurd crosswinds of life? Who better to sing "His Eye is On the Sparrow" than a forgotten outcast? Who better to sing "Keep Yo' Hand on a de Plow, Hold On" than a weary spirit? Who better to sing "Take My Hand, Precious Lord" than an aching soul? Who better to sing "The Lord Will Make a Way Somehow" than a disappointed heart? Who better to sing "We Shall Overcome" than a burdened shoulder? The Lord's song is tailored made for "strange" lands.
So how do you sing the Lord's song in a strange land? Well beloved, like Martin King, you sing it loudly until it shakes oppressive structures to ruins, you sing it bravely until corporate giants tremble in fear, and you sing it continually until heartless ears are deafened by its resonance. Sing the Lord's song in a strange land until Alexander Pope's hope springs eternal in the human breast, until Immanuel Kant's reason condemns war and makes peace an absolute duty, until Emerson's freedom finds every poor and virtuous race, until all dine at the table of brotherhood, until all poverty and inequity molest no more, until justice rolls down like water and righteousness like a mighty stream. Keep on singing, keep on singing, keep on!
