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Recently, Rosa Parks was again in the news. You might remember her as the quiet, unassuming, middle-aged black woman with tired feet whose gentle protest on a bus in 1955 helped spark the Civil Rights Movement. This nationally-known figure had been living alone, in poor health, in near poverty, in inner-city Detroit. At age 82, a crack addict broke into her apartment. Rosa Parks was beaten and robbed.

Her situation seemed a sad commentary on the state of black people in America. In the forty years since her protest on a Montgomery, Alabama, bus, things have changed for African-Americans. But they haven't changed enough. One black American in three still lives below the poverty level. Blacks are many times more likely to become the victims of violence than whites. In fact, homicide is the most frequent cause of death for young African-American men. Blacks, representing only eleven percent of the population, now make up over fifty percent of the prisoners in our jails and prisons. Infant mortality rates for black babies are as high as those for some countries in the Third World. Black babies are fourteen times more likely to be born with AIDS. The discrepancies are clear.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., said, "I have a dream, that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: we hold these truths to be self-evident; that all men are created equal." Clearly, his vision of equality for all remains a dream. It is not yet a fact.

I know that his reputation has been tarnished some over the years. Still, in spite of his all-too-human failings, Martin Luther King, Jr., remains, to me at least, a great American and an authentic prophet. He fulfills the three characteristics of a prophet written of in Isaiah 49. In this passage, the writer points out that God's prophet is called, commissioned, and comforted. I see evidence of all three of these things in the life of Dr. King.

Verse one of this passage indicates that the authentic prophet is called: "Before I was born, the Lord chose me, and appointed me to be his servant." Like the prophet, Martin felt a definite sense of call. "ML," as his family called him, was a brilliant student. He had gone off to Morehouse College in Atlanta at age fifteen. But in his third year, he was still undecided about what profession to pursue. His father, a Baptist minister, wanted Martin to follow him into the ministry. But Martin had been leaning toward either medicine or law. At age seventeen, he experienced a definite call to the ministry. Martin began to pursue this with all his considerable talent and strength. He graduated with honors from Morehouse College at age nineteen. He then went on to attend Crozer Theological Seminary in Chester, Pennsylvania, where he was voted Outstanding Student, receiving straight As all three years. Finally, he completed a Ph.D. at Boston University. He did it all by age 26.

When he graduated, King was offered professorships at two universities and deanship of a small college. He could have had a secure and comfortable teaching career in the North. But instead, in response to his call, he accepted a position as pastor of the 300-member Dexter Avenue Baptist Church in Montgomery, Alabama. Montgomery, you might remember, had been the capital of the Confederacy. It was the deepest Deep South. The Kings' first child, Yolanda, was born while they lived in a run-down parsonage in the ghetto. Martin and Coretta Scott King could have gone almost anywhere. Coretta herself was an accomplished musician with a graduate degree from the New England Conservatory of Music and a promising career. They could have escaped segregation. But they consciously chose to live among their people in response to Martin's call.

But according to Isaiah 49, the servant is not only called; he or she is also commissioned. In our passage, the Lord speaks to the prophet and commands him to do two things. In verse 9, the prophet is appointed to restore the people of his nation, Israel. But later in the same verse, the prophet's mission is expanded to being a "light" to the nations, a light to all people, so that "all the world might be saved." Like the prophet written of in Isaiah, Martin Luther King, Jr.'s, commission unfolded in two parts.

As he began his ministry in Alabama, King was primarily concerned with the plight of black Americans. His earliest challenge was to oppose the discrimination black people experienced on the busses. In the 1950s busses in the South were divided into two sections. Blacks paid their fare in the front of the bus, got off, walked along the curbside, and re-entered through a separate door at the back.

Often the white bus drivers were abusive. Some thought it was funny to drive off after the black passengers had paid their fare but before they could re-board. Sometimes black passengers were threatened with guns. If the busses were crowded, black riders were obligated to give up their seats to whites.

The giving up of their seats is what Rosa Parks protested in 1955. Her feet were tired, and she refused to ride standing up for a young white man. It wasn't even that she wouldn't give up her seat. There were plenty of seats. But the custom was that if even one white person were seated in the black section, all the black passengers were expected to stand. Mrs. Parks simply didn't see why she needed to stand when there were plenty of seats. She was arrested and ordered to pay a fine.

King and other black leaders in Montgomery thought the incident was an outrage. They organized a black boycott of the busses. It was the first large-scale boycott organized in the American South and went on for over a year. In the end, the boycotters won.

Having discovered first-hand the power of nonviolent resistance, King went on to organize freedom marches, boycotts, and lunch counter sit-ins throughout the South. His efforts over ten years were remarkably effective in stirring the conscience of this nation. They prompted the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

King's first concern was for his own people. But like the prophet in Isaiah, King also became a "light" to the nations. His growing international reputation became apparent when he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1964. He was only 35, the youngest person ever to win that award. In his espousal of non-violent resistance, Martin Luther King, Jr., offered the world an alternative to militarism, terrorism, and war. His principles influenced leaders of the freedom movement in South Africa and the organizers of Solidarity in Poland. The champion of the African-Americans became a light to the world.

The prophet is called. The prophet is commissioned. The prophet is also comforted. In Isaiah, the prophet's discouragement is clear when he writes, "I have worked, but how hopeless it is! I have used up my strength, but have accomplished nothing" (49:4 TEV). Like the prophet, King was no stranger to discouragement. His non-violent resistance cost him a lot.

King was jailed 39 times. Over the years, he and his family received hundreds of death threats, including forty by phone in a single day. Twice his home was bombed, once while his wife and infant daughter were in it. He was clubbed several times on freedom marches. Another time he was stabbed in the chest.

Martin lived almost his entire adult life under the threat of assassination. He began to speak of his own impending death as early as 1955. On the night before he was gunned down in Memphis, King said: "I don't know what will happen now. But it really doesn't matter. Because I've been to the mountaintop. I won't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And he's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over and seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you, but I want you to know that we as a people will get to the Promised Land." The next day, April 4, 1968, Martin Luther King, Jr., scholar, preacher, prophet, Nobel Peace Prize winner, father of four young children, was shot to death. He was only 39.

Of course King got discouraged. He said in one sermon, "I must admit that at times I have felt I could no longer bear such a heavy burden, and have been tempted to retreat to a more quiet and serene life. But, every time such a temptation appeared, something came to strengthen my determination. I have learned now that the Master's burden is light ... In the midst of dangers, I have felt an inner calm. In the midst of lonely days and dreary nights I have heard an inner voice saying, 'Lo, I will be with you.' When the chains of fear and the manacles of frustration have all but stymied my efforts, I have felt the power of God transforming the fatigue of despair into the buoyancy of hope." He concludes, "I am convinced that the universe is under the control of a loving purpose ... behind the harsh appearance of the world there is a benign power."1

Like the authentic prophet, Martin Luther King, Jr., was called, commissioned, and comforted. He never felt that God had abandoned him, even in the midst of mental anguish and physical pain.

I think we do well to set aside a day to remember the example of this American. But just as important as remembering this one man, is remembering that his work is not yet done, and his dream not yet complete.

Only when every Rosa Parks, black or white, is safe and secure in her old age, only when every child, black or white, has hope for the future, only when the hungry are fed and the homeless sheltered and the naked clothed, only when wars and violence cease throughout the earth will we be allowed to celebrate Martin Luther King, Jr., Day completely.

God still needs prophets like Dr. King. God calls us. God gives us specific tasks. God stands by us in our weakness. God laid God's hand on Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., to serve God. Perhaps God will lay God's hand on you -- or me.


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1.
Martin Luther King, Jr., Strength To Love (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1986), pp. 152-153.






Martin Luther King, Jr., Day


Privilege And Prejudice

1 Corinthians 12:7-13


In 1988, Peggy McIntosh, an administrator at Wellesley College Center for Research on Women, published an essay on white privilege. McIntosh compared the circumstances of her life to those of her African-American colleagues in the same building and line of work. After some deep reflection, and analysis of unearned advantages and disadvantages, she began to see that, as a white academic, she was born with what she calls "an invisible package of unearned assets ..." which she calls "white privilege."

McIntosh describes "white privilege" as "an invisible, weightless knapsack of special provisions, maps, passports, codebooks, visas, clothes, tools and blank checks of unearned assets; which I could count on cashing in on every day, but about which I was 'meant' to remain oblivious."

I have spoken to Peggy McIntosh several times. She asked me to make it clear to you that she compared herself only to African-American women she knew and that her list of unearned advantage is autobiographical. She reminds us that having race or gender or sex or religious privilege does not have anything to do with whether or not you are a nice person. We shouldn't feel defensive about or attacked by this analysis.

Let's make this "invisible knapsack" visible (come down out of pulpit to floor level, bearing knapsack). These are some of the unearned privileges McIntosh found in her bag:

She writes:

I can, if I wish, arrange to be in the company of people of my race most of the time.

If I should need to move, I can be pretty sure of renting or purchasing housing in an area which I can afford and in which I would want to live.

I can be pretty sure that my neighbors in such a location will be neutral or pleasant to me.

I can go shopping alone most of the time, pretty well assured that I will not be followed or harassed.

I can turn on the television or open to the front page of the paper and see people of my race widely represented.

I can be sure that my children will be given curricular materials that testify to the existence of their race.

I can talk with my mouth full and not have people put this down to my color.

I can swear, or dress in secondhand clothes, or not answer letters without having people attribute these choices to the bad morals, the poverty or the illiteracy of my race.

I can do well in a challenging situation without being called a credit to my race.

I am never asked to speak for all the people of my racial group.

I can be pretty sure that if I ask to talk to "the person in charge," I will be facing a person of my race.

If a traffic cop pulls me over or if the IRS audits my tax return, I can be sure I haven't been singled out because of my race.

I can easily buy posters, postcards, picture books, greeting cards, dolls, toys, and children's magazines featuring people of my race.

I am not made acutely aware that my shape, bearing, or body odor will be taken as a reflection on my race.

I can take a job with an affirmative action employer without having co-workers on the job suspect that I got it because of my race.

I can choose blemish cover or bandages in "flesh" color and have them more or less match my skin.1


Those are some of the contents Peggy McIntosh found in her invisible knapsack. I wonder if you folks carry around such a knapsack. I believe I do.

I grew up in a small town where (at least for me) race was never an issue. There were a few Jewish families and Asian-American families in Hollis, New Hampshire, in the 1950s and '60s. In the spring and fall, Hispanic farm workers were "imported" by the large growers to pick their crops. But, of course, they didn't stay. There were no African-American students in our local high school. None. When I went to college, people of color made up only a tiny percentage of the student body.

Like many white Baby Boomers, I benefited from my parents' accumulated assets. A study found that not only do middle-class blacks today earn only seventy percent of the income of middle-class whites, they also possess only fifteen percent of the accumulated wealth.2

Robert Kerry said, "To be white in America is not to have to think about it." My whole life long, I've had the luxury of not having had to think about racial issues, unless I wanted to. So I do think I carry around an invisible knapsack of white privilege. It's stuffed with advantages I haven't earned, but can take for granted.

So what? Is that a sin? Does privilege equal prejudice? Not necessarily. After all, I didn't choose to be born white. As Peggy McIntosh said to me, "People who are white benefit from white special privileges whether we're prejudiced or not. It doesn't have to do with whether or not we're nice people. It has to do with having doors opened for us."

But does unearned privilege make me less sensitive to the concerns of people of color? Am I, given my background, more likely to see racial issues as "no big deal," to wonder what all the "fuss" is about, to be less concerned than I should be about racial justice? Probably yes.

Peggy McIntosh's essay calls me to soul-searching and self-examination. It suggests that racism might be subtler, and more pervasive, than it seems. That racism is more than hate crimes; more than defacing synagogues, as our Cape synagogue has been defaced twice in the past two years; more than creating a hate-filled, Ku Klux Klan website, or posting despicable posters on telephone poles in Hyannis. It suggests that racism can be found in "nice people" like me.

It suggests to me that just accepting the status quo may be a subtle form of racism. That it might be racism to carry around my invisible knapsack, and never dump it out and see what's inside. That it might be racism not to care "Is this fair?," not to speak up, not to speak out about my unearned advantage.

Martin Luther King, Jr., wrote, "The greatest tragedy ... (is) not the strident clamor of the bad people, but the appalling silence of the good people."3

He wrote, "It is appalling that the most segregated hour of Christian America is eleven o'clock on Sunday morning, the same hour when many are standing to sing 'In Christ There is No East or West.' "4 He wrote, "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere."5

Thirty-five years ago he wrote, in "Letter from Birmingham City Jail":

I have been so greatly disappointed with the white Church and its leadership ... here we are moving toward the exit of the twentieth century with a religious community largely adjusted to the status quo, standing as a tail light behind other community agencies rather than a headlight leading men to higher levels of justice ... If the Church of today does not recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early Church, it will lose its authentic ring ... and be dismissed as an irrelevant social club....6


The prophet's voice, King's voice, still rings, and stings today. Have we in the white church become too comfortable, too complacent with our invisible knapsacks? Are we a headlight or a taillight working for racial justice? Are our hearts open, or have we grown deaf to the cries of our sisters and brothers?

Another prophet, W. E. B. DuBois, from Western Massachusetts, stated in 1900 that "the problem of the twentieth century is the problem of the color line." Will racism be "the problem" of the twenty-first century as well? Will you and I and this church be part of the problem, or part of the solution?

These are some of the questions I ask myself on Martin Luther King, Jr., Sunday, near the beginning of a new year, at the edge of a new millennium. There are questions for us in our worship bulletins:


´
What do you think about the "invisible knapsack of white privilege"?

´
If you have a knapsack, what's in yours? Can you illustrate?

´
What can we, as individuals and as a church, do to combat racism and prejudice?

´
Are there any other thoughts or experiences you would care to share?


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1.aUsed by permission. All quotes from "White Privilege and Male Privilege: a Personal Account of Coming to See Correspondence through Work in Women's Studies," published by Wellesley College Centers for Women, or its excerpt, "White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack," Peace and Freedom magazine, July/August, 1989. For permission to excerpt or quote, reprint must be obtained from Peggy McIntosh, Wellesley Centers for Women, Wellesley, Massachusetts 02481. Telephone 781-283-2522, FAX 781-283-2504.

2.aMelvin L. Oliver and Thomas N. Shapiro, Black Wealth, White Wealth (London: Routledge Press, 1997), p. 7.

3.aMartin Luther King, Jr., Stride Toward Freedom (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1958), p. 202.

4.aIbid., p. 207.

5.aIbid., p. 199.

6.aMartin Luther King, Jr., "Letter From Birmingham City Jail" printed in American Friends Service Committee booklet, 1963, pp. 11-12.