Where Are the Dreamers?
A sermon by the Rev. Traci Blackmon | Martin Luther King, Jr. Sunday, January 14, 2018

Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my Strength and my Redeemer. In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.

Good morning, All Saints!

I am indeed grateful for the opportunity to share and worship with you, grateful to my brother and my friend, Mike Kinman, for the invitation to share in your worship—and definitely grateful that that invitation came in January. I am from St. Louis, Missouri, where the temperatures are below freezing right now. I got lots of looks at the airport when I arrived in my heavy coat, but I am grateful that it is not needed here. I am indeed glad to be among you.

It may appear at first glance that the readings you heard are not connected at all, that the story of Samuel’s call and the words from Dr. Martin Luther King and the story of beginning discipleship have nothing at all in common. But I invite you to look a little closer. For Samuel, the child of Hannah and Elkanah, called out of obscurity, brought forth by many prayers and faith, weaned by a mother who would not stop believing, and then placed in the Temple to learn, a Temple that had long ago stopped hearing regularly from God. And there he is called.

And in this reading from Martin Luther King, who challenges us who still gather in such temples today “behind our stained glass windows” to not fool ourselves into thinking that, because we gather here, we somehow are always hearing from God.

And then, finally, that call to discipleship. I have my own translation of that verse that says, “What good could come out of Nazareth?” It’s the TDB version, Traci deVon Blackmon. What he’s really asking is, “Is there anything good in the hood?” A question that we often hear asked these days. And the answer is still “Yes!”

A few months ago, my church took part in a community celebration honoring the life of St. Louis’s own Sister Antona Ebo. You may or may not be familiar with Sister Ebo. She died in November of last year. She was a Catholic nun of the Franciscan Sisters of Mary order and a long-time Freedom Fighter and activist for justice. She was among the small group of Catholic sisters from her order who joined the masses on Edmund Pettis Bridge on Bloody Sunday in Selma, Alabama, in 1965. She and five of her sisters are the subject of a PBS documentary, “Sisters of Selma, Bearing Witness for Change.” To honor her memory, I listened with some friends to recorded speeches from her past engagements. In one of those speeches Sister Ebo reflected on the anxiety and heightened awareness she felt as they prepared to join those who would walk across Edmund Pettis Bridge that Sunday.

She talked about the nervousness and the preparations that had been made to secure as best as possible the safety of the marchers. She talked about protocols that had been established should there be arrests. I was particularly struck by a conversation I had with Sister Ebo while visiting her in the nursing home, where she shared with me the guilt that she had often felt because there was a young Jewish activist who had been assigned to her for that march. His job was simply to stand in front of any bullets headed her way. As she articulated her internal dis-ease with the knowledge that, although she was there with other sisters of her order, should there be arrests, she would indeed be left alone because she was the only Black nun. Even her caging would be segregated from those she shared the cause.

And yet, she made the decision to go because Sister Ebo bought into the collective dream of the Sixties that became enfleshed in the prayerful wails of Doctor Prathia Hall —who first uttered the phrase, “I have a Dream”—and the proclamations of the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King, and the public witness of those who dared to place their bodies on the line because they could envision a world where the value of every human being is honored and sacred.

It was controversial for these six nuns to leave St. Louis and march against injustice in Selma. Selma was much like St. Louis, trapped in an oppressive narrative of state-sanctioned dehumanization. Selma also had inequitable pay systems and unjust labor laws. Selma also had punitive police presence in an attempt to silence protest. Selma also had silent churches and outspoken young organizers who refused to back down. It was dangerous for everyone who gathered in Selma that day to march against the racial hatred that had been growing so long that its roots were hard to unearth. And yet, when violence and hatred rise up, it is necessary that perseverance and love show up. When hatred is all around, when violence is the language of the day, when laws lack compassion and churches lose their way, then we who believe in freedom, we who are tired of being sick and tired, and, yes, we who believe in a God of justice must ask ourselves, where have all the prophets gone?

In that same spirit, Sister Ebo asked the question in her presentation almost fifty-two years after Bloody Sunday and fifty years after the assassination of Doctor King. She asked the question after women’s rights and after voting rights and after civil rights and after marriage equality, after seeing a Black man in the White House, “Where have all the dreamers gone?”

And these questions are connected because prophetic resistance is only possible for those who can still dream, those who can imagine beyond the conflict that you see, those with the courage to speak love in the face of hate. To envision peace in the midst of war, unity without the need for uniformity, justice in the midst of it all. Where have all of our dreamers gone?

The Bible is filled with dreamers. Hebrew scripture teaches us that God often communicated with God’s prophets through dreams. Vision and direction often came through dreams, and these dreams provided wisdom and courage and hope. In the Biblical narrative, Joseph was a dreamer, and Deborah was a dreamer; Solomon was a dreamer, and David was a dreamer. “But where are our dreamers today?” Sister Ebo asked. Where have all of our dreamers gone?

Not dreamers as in those who see images in their sleep but dreamers as in those who envision a better world while they are awake! Stay #WOKE! That’s what the young people would say.

We live with a legacy of dreamers, and we like to call their names. Prathia Hall was a dreamer. Do you know who Prathia Hall is? Prathia Hall is a woman who was called to preach before men said we could preach. Her father was the pastor of a Baptist church. And the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King, early in his ministry, came to that church as the Movement was just beginning. Prathia’s father asked her to do the opening prayer, and in that prayer Prathia began a refrain, “I have a dream.” “I have a dream,” she said, and would continue with what she was dreaming.

Now, please don’t understand me as accusing Martin Luther King of plagiarism. That is not the point, for Doctor Martin Luther King often gave the credit to Prathia Hall for inspiring him with that phrase. But, as with so many things, as we continue to tell the stories, we forget where the stories began. So, as a woman who preaches, I call Reverend Doctor Prathia Hall’s name.

Prathia Hall was a dreamer, and Malcolm X and Martin Luther King and Rabbi Heschel and Medgar Evers were dreamers. Fanny Lou Hamer and Ella Baker were dreamers. Diane Nash, and Frankie Freeman, an attorney from St. Louis, Missouri, and Percy Green, who scaled the Arch that we’re known for, and Kathryn Dunham —they were all dreamers. Sister Ebo was a dreamer. The Freedom Movement of the South was seeded and sustained by the dreams of young people who dared to imagine a world where they could freely be, a world beyond the orchestrated imaginings of White supremacy. Where have all the dreamers gone?

It may not happen overnight, but, when dreamers rise up, oppressive systems do fall. When dreamers rise up, racist legislation is overturned. When dreamers rise up, the sacredness of Creation is honored, and the earth can cease to groan. When dreamers rise up, people receive equitable wages for their labor. When dreamers rise up!

Friends, I believe that there are some dreamers gathered at All Saints this morning. I believe dreamers are rising up all over this country, dreamers across the spectrum of age and gender and sexuality and race and culture and faith. Dreamers who can see more than what’s in front of them. Dreamers who know that there is a better way. Dreamers are rising up still in Ferguson. Dreamers are rising in Baltimore. Dreamers are rising in New York. Dreamers are rising in D.C. Dreamers are rising in California. Dreamers are rising at All Saints. Dreamers who have the courage to see a different reality. Dreamers who will not be defined by the names that they are called. Dreamers who will not be deterred by toxic Tweets and “Fake News.” Dreamers who will not stop coming. Dreamers who will believe in their own greatness, even when others doubt that it is possible. Dreamers who believe that there is a better way.

There may be those who cannot see right now. There may be those who call us names that don’t belong to us: “rioters,” “thugs,” “criminals,” “illegal aliens,” “unpatriotic,” and some words that I won’t say from this sacred desk. They may declare that we descend from horrible places, and we will not honor their offerings. They come thinking that hateful rhetoric and hateful laws will make us shrink. They come thinking that militarized police forces will make us shrink. They come thinking the misapplication of scripture will make us shrink. And don’t misunderstand me when I say “they come;” I don’t mean they come as individuals. I know you think I’m talking about one person, but can I just tell you something? I am a student of the Word, and the Word tells me, in one of my favorite stories—and probably one of your favorite stories too—the story of David and Goliath.

Now, isn’t it funny that however often we tell that story, we imagine that we’re David? Nobody ever thinks that they’re Goliath. Isn’t it funny how that thing works? And it would be easy in our political situation and in our political climate to attribute to ourselves the position of David and to make someone else Goliath. But there is a little verse in that story that is not often lifted up, but it is my favorite one. It says that he “came out from among the Philistines.”

Yes, think about that. Goliath came out from among the Philistines. Goliath didn’t come from nowhere. Goliath didn’t emerge to be the leader, to be the front man, to be the giant all by himself. The Bible says that Goliath “came out from among the Philistines.” So, when I say “they,” I mean “they.” Because I am not talking about an individual that’s coming. They come as systems; they come as movements. And we will miss the moment if all you’re worried about is Goliath with your David as yourself.

I also don’t mean to imply that they have not always been; more aptly, I mean they “come out.” Our present Administration is exposing once again this nation’s racist roots. But they didn’t grow the roots; they are exposing the roots. And they come with weapons of hatred and division they have used for generations. But we who believe in freedom, we come in the name of love. We come in the name of justice. We come in the name of equality. We come with dreams of a better world, and we will not stop coming! [The congregation gives her a standing ovation.]

Listen to me. We may have missed the first call, but Samuel lets us know that God will keep calling. You might not have made it the first time, but fret not: Samuel lets us know that you will get another chance. And where there is hatred, we will come wielding love. And where there is violence, we will come wielding peace. And where there is dehumanization, we will come to reclaim the divine. And where there is vitriol, we will come planting prayer. We cannot hate because others hate. We cannot defile because others defile. What are the weapons of justice? They are love; they are compassion; they are healing; they are unity without the requirement of uniformity.

Can you see beyond this moment? Where are our dreamers? Can you see the world of your dreams? Can you imagine taking what you are creating here at All Saints and replicating it all over this nation? You see, I believe we celebrate victory too soon. We get behind our stained-glass windows, and we throw the party too soon. That’s why I like the story of David and Goliath, not because he knocked him down with a smooth stone, but he didn’t stop until he cut the head off of that thing.

As a little girl from Birmingham, Alabama, I can remember standing in the streets of downtown Birmingham and watching the Klan parade pass by. I didn’t stand with fear, because I was surrounded by those who loved me. They looked foolish then, and they look foolish now. We made it through that because we dreamed. And as integration came, we celebrated. And as political offices came, we celebrated. Every time we get a little movement, we celebrate. And joy is a good thing, but we must not relent! We must not stop dreaming until injustice is defeated by love. What I am trying to say is, this time we’re going to cut the head of that thing.

Where are the dreamers? Where are the dreamers! Where are the dreamers! [Shouts of, “Right here!” come from the congregation.] We are the ones that God is calling. Speak Lord, for your servants are listening.
Amen. [The congregation gives her a long and loud standing ovation.]