COMMENTARY: Remembering the Death of Martin Luther King

c. 2003 Religion News Service (Samuel K. Atchison is an ordained minister and has worked as a policy analyst and social worker to the homeless. He currently is a prison chaplain in Trenton, N.J., and a fellow of the George H. Gallup International Institute in Princeton, N.J.) (UNDATED) On the evening of April 4, 1968, […]

c. 2003 Religion News Service

(Samuel K. Atchison is an ordained minister and has worked as a policy analyst and social worker to the homeless. He currently is a prison chaplain in Trenton, N.J., and a fellow of the George H. Gallup International Institute in Princeton, N.J.)

(UNDATED) On the evening of April 4, 1968, as my siblings and I were in the kitchen of our home celebrating our brother’s ninth birthday, we suddenly heard our mother cry from the downstairs rec room, “Oh no, he died.”


Thus did my family learn of the death of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.

For African-Americans of a certain age, the impact of King’s assassination was similar to that of President John Kennedy or, more recently, the events of 9/11: We remember exactly where we were when we heard the news.

So powerful was King’s impact on the black church and the community it serves that he remains the standard against which all black preachers are measured. Thus, as we approach the 35th anniversary of King’s assassination _ and the litany of retrospectives it will bring _ it is useful to examine not only the times and conditions that produced him, but also the reasons he remains relevant today. For like all true prophets, King’s is a transcendent voice, echoing the heart of the eternal God.

Born in Atlanta on the eve of the Great Depression in 1929, King was, as he later put it, “the son, grandson and great-grandson of preachers.” As such, he was but the latest scion of a tradition of proud, independent thinkers whose source of income was not directly dependent upon the white power structure.

Indeed, Atlanta, like many Southern cities, boasted a relatively small but prosperous black professional class that included educators, clergymen, morticians, a few doctors and lawyers, and a smattering of entrepreneurs and craftsmen. But, though his family was considered middle-class in status-conscious black Atlanta, and though Atlanta was considered a progressive city by Southern standards, King and his family were nonetheless subjected to many of the indignities endured by most blacks in the South.

The irony of having such proud accomplishments forced within a context of legal subjugation was not lost on King. As he pursued his education _ first in Atlanta, then in graduate schools in the North _ he became increasingly attracted to the social criticisms of pastor-theologians like Walter Rauschenbusch and Reinhold Niebuhr. At the same time, he was becoming fascinated with the teachings of the late Indian leader Mohandas Gandhi, who advocated creating social change through nonviolent resistance.

The net effect was an approach to ministry that, while rejecting biblical literalism _ he questioned the bodily resurrection of Jesus, for example _ nonetheless sought to place the cultural critiques of the social gospel and the personal discipline of passive resistance within a pastoral framework.


In later years this enabled him to chide the nation for failing to “live out the true meaning of its creed,” while at the same time imploring his followers to live above reproach. Like Moses of old, he was demanding his people be set free from bondage, while simultaneously preparing the people for the responsibilities of freedom.

Ironically, it is the pursuit of discipline and responsibility that some are finding lacking in the church. For example, in 1993, scholars Lawrence Mamiya and C. Eric Lincoln noted that approximately 90 percent of converts to Islam were African-American males. Writing that year in the Yearbook of American and Canadian Churches, they argued, “It is already clear that in Islam the historic black church denominations will be faced with a far more serious and more powerful competitor for the souls of black folk than the white churches ever were.”

Of particular concern among those who convert to Islam is the feeling that the black church and its leaders no longer provide the knowledge and discipline black males need to survive in America. Many believe the church has become too feminine in its makeup and ministerial approach, and thus has nothing to say to black men.

In sum, to paraphrase King, many churches are no longer deemed to have “a relevant ministry.”

For black pastors, many of whom seek to be compared favorably with King, the lessons provided by King’s ministry should prove instructive. For King understood that to truly serve one’s flock, it was necessary to both teach the sheep _ including those who wander away _ and represent their needs before the larger community. Too many pastors claim to speak for their flocks without taking time to understand the needs of their people.

As Malcolm X once suggested, how can you claim to represent the people when you don’t spend any time with the people?


DEA END ATCHISON

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