Reading
“But a Samaritan while traveling came upon him, and when he saw him he was moved with compassion. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, treating them with oil and wine. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him.”
Luke 10:33-34 (NRSV)
Reflection
Over the past few days, I’ve been reflecting on the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., especially those from his final speech titled, “I’ve Been to the Mountaintop.” On April 3, 1968, he spoke in Memphis, Tennessee, supporting the city’s sanitation workers on strike.
In his speech he says:
“As you know, if I were standing at the beginning of time, with the possibility of general and panoramic view of the whole human history up to now, and the Almighty said to me, ‘Martin Luther King, which age would you like to live in?’…Strangely enough, I would turn to the Almighty, and say, ‘If you allow me to live just a few years in the second half of the twentieth century, I will be happy.’ Now that’s a strange statement to make, because the world is all messed up. The nation is sick. Trouble is in the land. Confusion all around. That’s a strange statement. But I know, somehow, that only when it is dark enough, can you see the stars. And I see God working in this period of the twentieth century in a way that men, in some strange way, are responding — something is happening in our world. The masses of people are rising up. And wherever they are assembled today, whether they are in Johannesburg, South Africa; Nairobi, Kenya; Accra, Ghana; New York City; Atlanta, Georgia; Jackson, Mississippi; or Memphis, Tennessee — the cry is always the same — ‘We want to be free.'”
Every time I read those words, I feel a deep sting. It takes incredible spiritual maturity to witness so much suffering around you and still be content to stay present in that moment. Too often, I hear people longing for “the good old days.” Rarely do I hear optimism for the future ahead of us.
Our world is still broken. Our nation, our state, our community—we ourselves—are broken. With news streaming every minute of every day, we don’t have to search far to see injustice. It’s easy to grow numb to it all. Yet, by living in this moment, we are given a sacred opportunity to be the light of Christ that our world so desperately needs.
In this speech, Dr. King calls listeners (and us today) to develop a “dangerous unselfishness.” The Good Samaritan embodied this dangerous unselfishness: instead of asking what it might cost him to stop, he asked what it would cost if he didn’t. What if we began asking ourselves the same question? What would be the cost if I do not help?
Dr. King concluded his life’s final speech with these words:
“Well, I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountaintop. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. 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 I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I’m happy, tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”
The very next day, he was assassinated, ushering in more darkness, yet also a renewed determination to continue his work. It is, as he said, only when it is dark enough that we can see the stars.
May we each spend time this week sitting with the discomfort of that darkness, so that we might also see the light of hope and the promise of God shining through it.
Prayer
God of Justice and Light,
I give you thanks that in a world darkened by division and pain, your hope shines. Forgive me for the times that I have considered the cost of my own pride over the needs of others. Give me the courage to live faithfully in this moment, to choose compassion over comfort, and to act with a dangerous unselfishness that loves our neighbors as ourselves. May your light guide me to the mountaintop, so that I may truly realize your glory. Amen.
