On the Road Home
The crowd was divided. The man before them spoke with such power as they had never before heard. They were drawn to his words like water in the desert. But doubt sucked them dry.
After all, he is one of us, a simple man. His family lives up the road. Has he forgotten where he comes from? How dare he thrust himself up above the rest? We know what to expect from our own.
We are a knowing people. We trust our categories. Certainty robs us of vision. We who already know don’t see. We stop listening. Faith, for us, becomes a curious phenomenon. Like crutches hanging from church walls, faith belongs to an older time. Whom do I really trust?
The king had sinned. He had vaunted his own military strength and did not trust God. Punishment was felt by all the people of the land. In the midst of plague, the king begged forgiveness for his sin.
For years, Dr. Martin Luther King lived with fear. He was a hated
man, whom many wanted out of the way. Each time he said good-by
to those he loved might be the last. But King could not remain silent.
He was troubled by a vision that must be put into words. He could
not go home. But he never stopped searching for a community that
moves beyond the color line, a people that seek healing. Leaders
who beg forgiveness.
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