Hope in what Cannot Be Seen

"In hope we are saved. Now if we hope for what we see, that is not hope. But if hope for what we do not see, we wait for it patiently. And in this way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness..."

I've been reading this week the third volume in Taylor Branch's series, America in the King Years. This volume begins in 1965 with the events surrounding the civil rights march from Selma to Brimingham. The characters are larger than life. MLK, LBJ, Hoover, Wallace. But the supporting players are just as amazing to me. James Bevell, John Lewis, John Doar, Bill Moyers, James Katzenbach. It's simply a stunning story.

The first attempt to march out of Selma occurred on my 5th birthday. It was an ugly scene as local law enforcement used tear gas and night sticks on pacifist marchers. I know that this sounds kind of silly, but the fact that this started on my birthday made it somehow more impacting. I've though a lot about how my life has intersected with history, or more accurately, how my life has just gone on while momentous things were happening around me. What would it be life to be a part of something so courageous and ... righteous.

I've been struck by many things in the story. The pictures of LBJ are stunning to me. He was a mercurial figure, shackled by depression and self-doubt, but full of political smarts and rare courage at times. His legacy in Viet Nam is certainly tragic, but his resolve with regard to civil rights is awe inspiring in places. I'm particularly struck by the power of his speeches. LBJ said it before he believed it. He talked himself into brave places through his public rhetoric. Bill Moyers and others deserve a lot of credit here. They gave him language larger than his legislative agenda or the politically possible.

Which leads me to my second observation. The civil rights leaders, like King, believed in things they could not see. They were constantly conflicted internally. They stumbled into successful strategies and failed in many of their endeavors. The only thing they clung to, for the most part, was their commitment to non-violence. And this was a spiritual commitment for most of them. It's easy to criticize religion for its historical abuses. It's one of the biggest obstacles to belief for me in many ways. But this is one of those places where there should be some credit.

King's concrete pictures of the future were not the result of strategic planning. There was no historical inevitability here, i.e. one event leading inexorably toward another. King's belief in the long of arc of justice was due more to the prophetic pictures of God's in-breaking future. James Bevell, Ralph Abernathy, Andrew Young, and other leaders kept hope alive, amazingly, with direct and unembarrassed appeals to Scripture. And while there were many Southern religious leaders who actively opposed the movement, the Southerners that did cross race lines were Christian. And the marchers from the Northern cities were overwhelmingly clergy. Seminary students, theology faculty, rabbis, priests and nuns marched with King and risked their lives. In fact, national support for the marchers coalesced around the beating death of a Northern clergy, James Reeb, by the KKK.

These men were not exceptional in many ways. They had feet of clay--petty jealousies, glory seeking, womanizing. There was plenty that could be seen that spoke of failure. But hope is always about what cannot be seen.

I've been influenced in many ways by Michael Welker's work on the Holy Spirit. His work is exhaustive with regard to the biblical witness. And overwhelmingly the work of the Spirit in Scripture, according to Welker, creates a new public, overcomes human disorientation, breaks down barriers despite the failing of human actors. The Spirit in Scripture is less a source of inner, personal tranquility, and more a public agent of justice and love. I have thought often of Welker's characterization as I read Branch's work.

I want some of this in my life. I don't want to only preach sermons or teach classes or write and grade papers. I want to be a part of something that hopes beyond hope.

Dylan on a Sunday

I've been reading Taylor Branch's book, Pillar of Fire: America in the King Years. It's the second volume of three. I read the first one, Parting the Waters, two years ago and have been eagerly waiting a break in course reading that would allow me to get into volume two.

It's stunning reading, revolving around the civil rights movement. The information about the big figures, Martin Luther King, Lyndon Johnson, J Edgar Hoover, Malcolm X, is all fascinating. But more stunning are the stories of lesser known figures who put their lives on the line for a new future. Bob Moses is a new hero of mine. He went to Mississippi when no one else would and over time made an amazing difference. His is a story of leaven and mustard seed. Small beginnings, amazing results. And I was struck by his leadership style, never pushing, always allowing local leadership to emerge, never seeking the limelight. I am so thankful that Taylor Branch has dedicated so much space to him.

Dylan shows up in this volume. He went to Mississippi in 1963 and sang for civil rights. These were his Woodie Guthrie years: Blowin in the Wind, Masters of War, The Times They are a Changin. He was a movement man, something he seems to run away from in his autobiography. I had all my Dylan songs on shuffle this morning and was struck with jarring force by hearing The Times They are a Changin right up against Things Have Changed, a song off the more recent, Modern Times. I like both songs and Things Have Changed is one of my recent favorites. The lyrics are genius. The refrain is "People are crazy and times are strange, I'm locked in tight, I'm out of range, I used to care, but things have changed." I used to care, but things have changed.

I don't know if Dylan's measuring the distance between The Times They are a Changin and Things Have Changed. But I know if I want a song about Iraq or some other social issue, I'm much more likely to get that from Springsteen or Ben Harper than I am Dylan. Everyone has commented on this. It's a hardly a new observation. When Dylan plugged in, so did his themes over time. He's relevant, but in a different way. He moves me, but not to social awareness.

1968 was a memorable year for me. I remember the King and Kennedy assassinations. They devastated me. I went to hear Eugene McCarthy speak with my Dad on the University of Oregon campus and wanted him to be president, promising to end the war. At eight years of age, my world was dominated by the Dallas Cowboys, civil rights, and the Viet Nam war. And I cared passionately about that kind of stuff until Reagan got a second term. Reading about Bob Moses and others has made me wonder what happened to that kind of passion. "People are crazy and times are strange, I'm locked in tight, I'm out of range, I used to care, but things have changed."

This is loss for me, not just a different phase of life. Obama's election has kindled new stuff in me, and I know people who work on the front line of suffering who have brought tears to my eyes, and my son is challenging my aquisitive life. I hope its not too late for me. I can feel the passion stirring again. Bob, sing me a song.