True Story [Independence Day - Deuteronomy 10:17-21]
The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson
Deuteronomy 10:17-21
True Story
I have a family story,
as do you. I suspect mine is neither
better nor worse than your own. Because my
family story, like all family stories, is one of riches and poverty. It is a story of both sorrow and beauty, of
shame and pride, of love and pain. I, at
times, embrace this rugged history; and then, just as intensely, try to distance
myself from the most dismal of its chapters.
But what I cannot deny is that the story is mine; it marks my soul in
the best and worst ways. It shapes me
even as I hope to shape its destiny into something of which my children and my
children’s children can be proud.
There is always a
temptation to tell an edited version of our stories, to hide away the darkest and
most devastating chapters. But the power
of a family story is found in our willingness to tell it as a true story – as painful
and, at times, as embarrassing as that might be. And
then allow that honesty, that vulnerability, to grow into a dream for a better
and more promising future.
That is the shape of
the Hebrew scriptures. Those sacred
texts tell both the story of the Exodus and the Exile; they preserve a tale of
love and pain, beauty and sorrow, miracle and misery. They celebrate a people of faith who are constantly
plagued by infidelity. But at its best,
that ancient story, told with unflinching honesty, is the reason the nation
strives for a better future, one established on the pillars of justice and
peace.
When Moses stood
before the people, at the threshold of their promised future, and addressed
them, an address we call Deuteronomy, he had this tension in mind. As their prophetic leader, he helped his
people remember their story. Their past
was both miracle and misery; it was slavery and liberation. Moses challenged them to remember both, to
hold onto the whole story, the true story, so that the memory of their misery would
make them merciful, and the remembrance of the miracles would give them hope in
times of despair.
The power of a family
story is found in our willingness to tell it as a true story. And then
allow that honesty, that vulnerability, to grow into a dream for a better and
more promising future. That applies not
only to the tribes that give birth to us, but to the nations that make and mold
us as well.
Our nation is being
challenged in this present time to tell our true stories. To talk about even the chapters we have long
skipped over. It is painful and
difficult because like all true stories, ours is a complex history of both sorrow
and beauty, of shame and pride, of love and pain. It is story of slavery and liberation, of
freedom and oppression. It is a story
that will fill your eyes with tears – sometimes tears of joy, sometimes tears
of anguish. History, when done well, is
both the reason we celebrate and the reason we repent. And the thing that compels us, as the author
of Hebrews puts it, to “desire a better country.” Not a different country, mind you, but a
better version, a more heavenly version, of the one that has borne us, of the
one we hold in our hearts, of the nation we love.
In 1963, Martin Luther
King, Jr. delivered his now-famous “I Have a Dream Speech” from the steps of
the Lincoln Memorial. In that speech blessed
Martin challenged his nation to commit to a future better than its past, to
keep the promises that were written into her DNA, the guarantee that every
person, regardless of race, gender, socio-economic status, or any other
distinction, had the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. He spoke to a nation whose story was one of
both beauty and sorrow, a nation that filled too many chapters with tales of
oppression but still carried the promise and possibility of freedom in its
bones.
He declared, “Now is the time to make real the
promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate
valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to
lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of
brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's
children.”[1]
Like Moses on the threshold of the future, blessed Martin dared
to dream of a promised land, a promised future; he dared to dream of an America
that looked more like the Kingdom come. He
dreamed this beautiful, scandalous dream, a dream of racial justice and radical
equality, less than a century after the horrors of slavery. He dreamed his dream just decades after the
Tulsa Massacre. He dreamed his dream
under the yoke of Jim Crow and in the shadow of the lynching tree. He dreamed of a more heavenly country even as
the hellish scent of burnt crosses still polluted the air.
And though this holy vision caused this dreamer to be murdered
by one of his fellow citizens, others still dare to dream his dream decades
later. We have to. Because while the moral arc of the universe
bends toward justice, and progress has been made, the dream has not yet fully come
true. And so that means, in a nation as
divided as our own, in which the vestiges of white supremacy and racism still
smolder, the dream remains courageous, the hope still heroic.
I know that those who dare to dream, those who desire a more
heavenly future for our nation, those who challenge this country to live by our
holiest ideals are often criticized, sometimes even invited to leave. But our progress as a nation has always been powered
by the prophets, by the dreamers, by those with big hearts and big ideas. It is our responsibility to love our land
enough to want it to better.
As a nation our past is checkered, our family diverse, our
politics contentious. But while our story
is complex, it is also ours. We cannot
rewrite the pain of the past, but we can muster enough courage to tell our
story as a true story, to be honest about our flaws and about our promise. We cannot rewrite the pain of the past, but we
can build a future steeped in the ideals of justice, freedom, and peace.
This is a dream that can come true. Yes, we will at times fall short. But we have to try – for the prophets of the
past and for those who will carry on this American dream in the future.
The story of this
nation shapes us; and so how we tell it matters. May our flaws make us merciful; may our triumphs
give us hope in moments of doubt and despair; may our past give way to a
brighter, more heavenly, future; may our truth set us free – free to dream
dreams. The future of this nation is in
our hands. One day our part, this
chapter, will be the old story someone tells.
I hope when they tell that story we are remembered as the Christians, the
citizens, the ones who shaped the destiny of our nation into something of which
our children and our children’s children are very proud.
Comments
Post a Comment