Well, first of all, I think I should say something about my vestments. You know, I can’t figure out how to wear a fancy dress like Fr. Dibble has on, on top of this contraption (a leg cast), so it’s not safe. But I realized that the bishop might be annoyed if I’m not wearing clerics of some sort, so I got this sweatshirt that says “Priest” so there won’t be any mistake and I thought the Superman logo was kind of appropriate. If anybody asks me why I don’t have vestments on, I’ll say, “I haven’t been able to find a phone booth anymore. Everyone has cell phones.” 

For the first fifteen years I served as a priest, I served in parishes and lived in parishes in the city of Oakland, and during that time, February was always a big deal. In fact, it still is. Just ask Fr. Aiden at St. Columba’s. February is a big deal because since 1926, the month of February has been designated in our country as “Black History Month.” Now, while almost none of our own parishioners are of African-American descent, in some ways, it’s even more important that the struggles and the dreams that  those of black and African-American descent have been through be remembered and celebrated by people who believe, by people who are Americans, even though our backgrounds and origins are quite different. The values and the dreams have to do with personal freedom and real equality and human rights, and those values and those dreams are enshrined in our Bible. They’re also enshrined in the Constitution, but at the same time, it’s a struggle to safeguard them and put them into practice even though we say we believe in them. It’s difficult because of the human condition. 

Part of the human condition is what Catholics for a long time have described as original sin, that, among other things, we tend for some reason to want to belittle and discriminate against people who are different from us. Today, it may not be African-Americans at all. It may be Muslims; it may be Arabs; it may be recently arrived immigrants. But if we forget the struggles and dreams of the past, we may not recognize or honor the struggles and dreams that are going on right now that are so important. So I want to share a little history with you in the form of a prayer. Part of the prayer is that we are going to say, “We together,” and your response is, “We carry on the dream.” Let’s try that. So together, “We carry on the dream.” 

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator, with certain inalienable rights. Among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness....

I can only say that there is not a man living who wishes more sincerely than I do to see a plan adopted for the abolition of slavery.”

We remember George Washington, and together, “We carry on the dream”

Creator God, you told us that without vision, the people will perish. We call on these visionaries, these dreamers, who made important commitments and struggled against the sin of slavery and of racism in our country. We remember the scourge of slavery and together, “We carry on the dream.”

“The rights of human nature are deeply wounded by this infamous practice of slavery.”

We remember Thomas Jefferson, and together, “We carry on the dream.”

“I have borne thirteen children and seen most all sold off into slavery, and when I cried out with a mother’s grief, none but Jesus heard, and aren’t I a woman? That man says women can’t have as much rights as a man because Christ wasn’t a woman. Where did your Christ come from? From God and a woman. Man had nothing to do with him.”

We remember Sojourner Truth, and together, “We carry on the dream.”

“I had reasoned this out in my mind, there was one of two things I had a right to. Liberty or death. If I could not have one, I would have the other, for no man shall take me alive.”

We remember Harriet Tubman, and together, “We carry on the dream.”

“I would unite with anyone to do right, and with nobody to do wrong.”

We remember Frederick Douglass, and together, “We carry on the dream.”

“I have no idea submitting tamely to injustice inflicted either on me or on the slave. I will oppose it with all the moral powers with which I am endowed.”

We remember Lucretia Mott, and together, “We carry on the dream.”

“As I would not be a slave, so I would not be a master. This expresses my idea of democracy. Whatever differs from this to the extent of the difference, is no democracy.”

We remember Abraham Lincoln, and together, “We carry on the dream.”

Slavery was gone and defeated as early as 1864, but racism was, and is, deeply rooted. The phrase “separate but equal” really meant, in practice, always separate but never equal, and so there were the Jim Crow laws. We remember the sin of the Jim Crow laws, and together, “We carry on the dream.”

Well, there is a long path yet to be followed, a long path ahead: integration of the military under Harry Truman, integration of the schools and colleges under the Earl Warren Court, the Civil Rights Movement with Martin Luther King. Before all that, way back in 1939, there was a signal event, which helped us see what remained to be done and hinted at what was coming in the future. Marian Anderson was one of the greatest singers of her time, a coloratura. The Daughters of the American Revolution handled Constitution Hall, the largest hall in Washington, which holds about four or five thousand. She was invited to speak there. When the Daughters of the American Revolution found out she was black, it was cancelled. Eleanor Roosevelt and Franklin Roosevelt had an idea. They said, “Let’s have a concert anyway,” and the concert took place on Easter Sunday, 1939, with 75,000 people present. We have a newsreel from that day. (Marian Anderson, before the Lincoln Memorial and in the presence of 75,000 people, sings “My Country ‘tis of Thee.”)

Let the rain come and wash away the ancient grudges, the bitter hatreds held and nurtured over generations. Let the rain wash away the memories of the hurt, the neglect. Let the sun come out and fill the sky with rainbows. Let the warmth of the sun heal us wherever we are broken. Let it burn away the fog so that we can see each other clearly, so that we can see beyond labels, beyond accents, gender or skin color. Let the warmth and brightness of the sun melt our selfishness so that we can share the joys and feel the sorrows of our neighbors. Let the light of the sun be so strong that we will see all people as our neighbors. Amen.

-rpb