Atlanta was all decked out. It was a great and grand birthday party, and the celebration lasted for more than a week. The first national holiday honoring Martin Luther King Jr. became an event I would not soon forget.
My friend Tim McDonald, of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, invited me to come to Atlanta for the party. My excitement began to rise as we drove along famous Auburn Avenue, lined with festive flags.
Our first stop was the SCLC headquarters and the little office that was Martin's during the heat of the civil rights struggle. The offices are still small, and the struggle continues. The week I was there the Winn Dixie supermarket chain relented, under growing pressure from an SCLC-led economic boycott, and agreed to remove all South African products from its stores in the 11 southern states where it operates. Joseph Lowery, president of the SCLC, made the glad announcement at a press conference and then led all those assembled in a chorus of "Happy Birthday, dear Martin. Happy Birthday to you!" The victory celebration that night seemed a most fitting way to remember SCLC's founder.
A few blocks down Auburn, at a place called "Beautiful," you can get some of the best food in Atlanta--or anywhere else for that matter. The chicken, ribs, and vegetables are all wonderful, and don't miss the peach cobbler.
Just steps away stands historic Ebenezer Baptist Church where both Martin Luther King Jr. and his father held forth before the nation. I had been to Ebenezer only once before but feel that its pulpit and its people have nurtured me for years. Thursday night I was to preach at Ebenezer in the King Celebration Service of Rededication to Peace and Justice.
Never was I more nervous before a sermon or more excited. The service was a real joy. The three gospel choirs showed me what heaven will be like, and the packed church of black and white faces convinced me that the dream that we all came to recommit ourselves to was still alive and well.
Sharon Austin, associate minister of Ebenezer, told me afterward that she was intimidated too the first time she preached at Ebenezer. "But after you see the paint peeling off the walls and feel the warmth of the people here, you just relax and be yourself." She was right.
NEXT DOOR TO Ebenezer is the Martin Luther King Jr. Center for Nonviolent Social Change. The center was the dream of Coretta Scott King, and her indomitable spirit has made it what it is today.
One day while Tim and I were at the King Center, someone grabbed him for a quick meeting. (It was really quite comforting to spend those days with someone whose schedule is as terrible as my own.) While Tim was occupied, I wandered off around the King Center and came upon the exhibition hall.
A whole wall was covered with photographs and words that together tell the story of the life of Martin Luther King Jr. The display was truly impressive, and I found myself almost entranced as I walked slowly along the huge wall taking in the pictures and reading again the familiar narrative.
All of a sudden, I was surrounded by a whole pack of young schoolchildren. Apparently, they were one of the many groups of kids touring the King Center during this special week. They were filled with excitement, and it looked as though they had gotten ahead of their teacher, who was nowhere to be seen.
Soon I was engulfed by their enthusiasm and chatter, though they seemed almost oblivious to my presence, being so caught up in what they were seeing on the wall. They were all black children, and their young faces were aglow with joy and pride.
"Oh look, there's Rosa Parks!" exclaimed a little girl. "And over here, why that's Ralph Abernathy," said a boy with a proud look of recognition. Another girl smiled, "Look at little Yolanda when she was a baby. Wasn't she a pretty thing? And doesn't Mrs. King look beautiful!" "Hey, come over here," said another child. "It says here that these pictures come from the Selma March." "I know about that," replied another. "Me, too," one of them answered back.
These were just little children, no more than 6, 7, or 8 years old. Yet they knew the story. They acted as though it was their story. You could see that it was.
Their teacher finally showed up to lead them on and away. I just stood next to the wall alone again with tears in my eyes.
It worked, Martin. It got through. They're just little children, and they understand. It didn't end. It didn't fail. It's still going on. It's still alive. It's alive in them.
Look at their faces. Look into their eyes. Listen to their excitement. They know the story. They've made it theirs-now. Through them--and through all of us--the story will go on. Smile, Martin, and Happy Birthday.
Jim Wallis is editor-in-chief of Sojourners.
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