Those of you who have been here for a while may remember that about 10 years ago I participated in a program put on by the National Park Service commemorating the 50th anniversary of Bloody Sunday, and the ensuing successful voting rights march from Selma to Montgomery.

I was one of about 150 people from around the country who retraced that five-day, 54-mile march, starting and stopping each day on the road that the courageous Civil Rights foot soldiers had followed a half century earlier.

Part of my preparation for this pilgrimage was to write a litany that I could pray before we began each day. I posted it on a group Facebook page for others in the group to read if they were interested.

One reply was swift. How dare I post something religious like that? This was not about religion, and if I was religious I should keep it to myself.

I have to confess that I enjoyed watching that responder squirm when our first stop in this journey was at Brown’s Chapel, the church where the original marchers gathered 50 years earlier, and where they had fled for safety when their first peaceful attempt to cross the Edmund Pettus Bridge was met with horrific violence from white law enforcement officers.

That morning 10 years ago we heard from some of the men and women who fled in fear for their lives that day. To a person they talked about how the Black Church was at the heart of the Civil Rights movement, and how their faith had sustained them in those dangerous days, and sustained them still. 

Just as God was with Moses leading the Hebrew people out of slavery in Egypt, God was with those who struggled to loose the bonds of oppression 50 years ago.

Faith and the church had everything to do with it.

This weekend we remember the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., who God called to be a modern-day Moses, to lead his people to freedom from oppression. He was not on the bridge that Bloody Sunday, but he was there at the head of the line a  few days later, staring down the white Christian supremacists as the marchers successfully crossed the bridge and began the long trek to Montgomery.

A few moments ago we heard part of one of his most famous writings — the Letter from the Birmingham Jail. 

King wrote this letter from prison on Easter weekend 1963. He had been arrested for leading protests over segregation in Birmingham. That week seven of Birmingham’s most prominent mainline religious leaders — including the Episcopal bishop — had taken out a full-page ad in the local newspaper condemning the protests.

These white men — and they were all white and all men — were considered moderates. They agreed that segregation was wrong, but they believed that time would take care of the issue, a privileged, condescending, and paternalistic view.

The part of King’s response we heard today — and I urge you to read the entire letter — deals with his disappointment over white churches and synagogues’ lack of support. He had thought white priests, pastors, and rabbis would be some of the movement’s strongest allies. But time and time again he was disappointed.

“In the midst of blatant injustices inflicted upon the Negro, I have watched white churches stand on the sidelines and merely mouth pious irrelevancies and sanctimonious trivialities,” he wrote. 

“In the midst of a mighty struggle to rid our nation of racial and economic injustice, I have heard so many ministers say, ‘Those are social issues which the gospel has nothing to do with.'”

The gospel has nothing to do with it! Faith and politics should not mix. Those are always the words of ones who profit from maintaining the status quo.

We still hear those words today from those who believe the church has no place advocating for justice, offering hospitality to the stranger, welcoming the marginalized and outcast, working for equality for all God’s people.

The words King wrote more than six decades ago still all too often ring true.

“The contemporary church is so often a weak, ineffectual voice with  an uncertain sound,” he said. “It is so often the arch supporter 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 often vocal sanction of things as they are.”

That temptation to cozy up to power, to support and bless the status quo, to align ourselves with the influential, is a perennial temptation for the church. While we are here worshipping this morning there is a prayer service in Washington DC with tickets that cost $100,000 a person to  pray with the president elect. 

That is an extreme situation, but temptation is not limited to any one particular church or political party.  

But that is not the way of Jesus. 

Back to 10 years ago and that retracing of the Voting Rights March — for five days we walked on holy ground — from Brown’s Chapel in Selma; across the Edmund Pettus Bridge; down the long, lonely stretch of Highway  80; and finally to the steps of the Alabama State Capitol.

The Holy Spirit was a palpable presence among us for those 54 miles following the steps of the brave foot soldiers and martyrs from half a century earlier.

Every day that week our leader, National Park Ranger Tim Sinclair, a man of deep faith, knowledge, and integrity, asked us a question. 

What is your Selma?

What is your Selma? What grabs hold of  you and demands that you fight for justice or care for those on the margins? 

What is it that you are willing to stand up for against the forces of evil?

What is your ultimate concern and passion? What gives your life meaning?

I think those are questions we all need to ponder — both as individuals and a congregation.

I’ve thought about my friend Tim and his question the past few weeks. I’m not sure about the details or where the journey may lead, but I do know that it’s not to give in to depression and despair, not to sit on the sidelines and wring our hands. 

We are called to follow the example of a God who cares first and foremost about the most vulnerable in society, who has no patience with bigotry of any kind, who breaks down walls of hate, who stands up to evil, and fights for the dignity of all people.

This is not a God of the sidelines; this is a God always working for justice.

That is always a Christian’s call, of course. But there are times when we need to be reminded of that call, times when we need to be open to where the Spirit is leading us to do God’s work, even if the path is frightening and unclear. 

That is our Selma. And our faith has everything to do with it.

Pin It on Pinterest