He Had A Dream So We Could Have A Chance
What did he see through that window, this strange, brave black man? Smooth southern sun kissed skin, a broad nose and full lips — all so hated throughout so much of history. Doesn't he know that one person can't change the world?
Doesn't he know that he could be killed? Doesn't he care that he'll leave little black children and a black wife with no better chance at life than he has?
Yes, I'm sure he knew. It was written on water fountains and on the sides of busses. It was written on lunch counters and in the fangs of the dogs that tore mercilessly and on command at the guts of black men and women, boys and girls in the street. It was written on the school house door.
And there's more. He saw the eyes of the black people. The fear. The sadness. The hopelessness. The eyes that said, "I'm not worthy and therefore, neither are my children. Where is the hope? Where is the chance? Where is the reason to get up in the morning?"
But wait. Look again. Look at his eyes. He saw something else. He saw hope. How he could possibly have done so is beyond my ability to explain. Perhaps He saw God, as no one before had seen Him, or has ever seen Him since.
Perhaps he saw you. Perhaps he saw me. Yes, that's it. That's what he saw. He saw you and me and all the things we could do in this world if only given a chance.
He had a dream so we could have a chance. Lord, help us not to squander it. Amen.