I’m appreciative of all these things, and I know we can’t (or can we?) all be the radical, prophetic agents of change that MLK was (and is). But at the same time, I can’t help but feel a bit hypocritical about affirming King’s legacy while remaining complacent about the very evils he lived (and died) to confront. It seems to me that these annual celebrations and remembrances– while nice and necessary on some level– are also part of a perfunctory charade that actually works to nullify the very spirit of revolutionary activism that defined MLK. 

I suppose most (all?) holidays are like this to a degree- they cheapen the values they were meant observe, they get commodified in a consumptive culture of reductionistic mass media, and they end up the shallow afterthought of a society largely preoccupied with meaningless amusement. But especially for Christians, the MLK holiday seems particularly egregious in this regard.

I’m reminded of King’s famous Letter from Birmingham Jail, in which he delivers this oft-quoted passage:

I am cognizant of the interrelatedness of all communities and states… Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly.

But what remains most striking to me about this letter is the scathing critique King levels at the church for its supposed Call for Unity, an attempt to appeal to “moderation and reason” in the struggle for justice and civil rights. The church (and most established institutions, for that matter) almost always reacts to “agitators” like King with a label of “extremism” and a refrain of pragmatism. And this was King’s response (it’s long-ish, but well worth reading):

I have been so greatly disappointed with the white Church and its leadership. Of course there are some notable exceptions…But despite these notable exceptions I must honestly reiterate that I have been disappointed with the Church. I do not say that as one of those negative critics who can always find something wrong with the Church. I say it as a minister of the gospel, who loves the Church; who was nurtured in its bosom; who has been sustained by its spiritual blessings and who will remain true to it as long as the cord of life shall lengthen…

In deep disappointment, I have wept over the laxity of the church. But be assured that my tears have been tears of love. There can be no deep disappointment where there is not deep love. Yes, I love the Church; I love her sacred walls. How could I do otherwise? I am in the rather unique position of being the son, the grandson, and the great-grandson of preachers. Yes, I see the Church as the body of Christ. But, oh! How we have blemished and scarred that body through social neglect and fear of being nonconformist.

There was a time when the Church was very powerful. It was during that period when the early Christians rejoiced when they were deemed worthy to suffer for what they believed. In those days the Church was not merely a thermometer that recorded the ideas and principles of popular opinion; it was a thermostat that transformed the mores of society. Wherever the early Christians entered a town the power structure got disturbed and immediately sought to convict them for being “disturbers of the peace” and “outside agitators.” But they went on with the conviction that they were “a colony of heaven” and had to obey God rather than man. They were small in number but big in commitment. They were too God-intoxicated to be “astronomically intimidated.” They brought an end to such ancient evils as infanticide and gladiatorial contest.

Things are different now. The contemporary Church is so often a weak, ineffectual voice with an uncertain sound. It is so often the arch-supporter of the status quo. Far from being disturbed by the presence of the Church, the power structure of the average community is consoled by the Church’s silent and often vocal sanction of things as they are.

But the judgment of God is upon the Church as never before. If the Church of today does not recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early Church, it will lose its authentic ring, forfeit the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant social club with no meaning for the twentieth century. I am meeting young people every day whose disappointment with the Church has risen to outright disgust.

Maybe again I have been too optimistic. Is organized religion too inextricably bound to the status quo to save our nation and the world?

I don’t know how to respond to King’s critique except to say that– very sadly– not much has changed since he penned these words of deep wisdom. I want to take MLK seriously, but I’m swimming in a sea of momentarily inspirational sound bites. I want to truly recognize that “we are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality tied in a single garment of destiny,” and live accordingly. Most of all, I want to remember MLK in such a way that transforms my everyday praxis, and the praxis of my faith community that is seeking to march on in King’s footsteps.

Well, I finally got around to watching the acclaimed series The Wire, and just a few episodes in, I was hooked. For years, various friends have been telling me that I would love the show, and they were right. I don’t think it’s a stretch at all to call it one of the (if not the) greatest television series ever made.

What makes it so great, you ask? Well, not any one thing in particular- it is a combination of factors that drive the show’s unique depth and narrative quality. Moral complexity, urban realism, and a multi-layered literary structure work together to construct a visceral picture of the American city in all of its power and pathos. Flawed characters navigate impossibly compromised urban institutions and vacillate between embracing corruption and changing the system. Want to see complex ethical situations portrayed with nuance and creativity? This is your show.

Most importantly, as a quasi-cultural-conoisseur of many things urban, The Wire continues to remind me (via John R. Short’s The Urban Order) that “our cities… are a mirror of our societies, a part of our economy, an element of our environments. But above all else they are a measure of our ability to live with each other. When we examine our cities, we examine ourselves“ (Short 1996:5).

The best part of my late discovery of this bit of television genius is that I get to call it (at least loosely) “research.” A friend and colleague invited me to guest lecture at his UW CHID class in the spring, titled “Race, Education, and Poverty: The Wire.” That reminds me- I have work to do… I still have three seasons left to watch!

Regardless, another year has come and gone, and 2012 is now upon us. I hope the Mayans were wrong, I hope the presidential election is over quickly, and I hope Harold Camping hides under a rock for a while. Happy New Year!

I think what it boils down to is my [unfortunate] inability to turn off the consumer-critique that often accompanies my observation of almost all North American “holidays,” an inner-monologue that tends to preoccupy my thoughts in the absence of my usual work. So while I should be working toward being fully present with my family, I can’t help but feel a little angsty about how shallow and self-centered Christmas seems to be.

In the midst of the gluttonous meals, needless consumption of retail goods, and hurried schedule from one thing to the next– all in the name of “celebration”– it is difficult to know how Christmas can, by any means, take on the significance that it is supposed to. A Christian understanding of Christmas, in spite of its pagan roots and syncretistic tendencies, is a holy day of remembering that God has begun the work of reconciling the world to God’s self– and that God’s grand mission of restoring his broken creation is initiated in a most unexpected way: by God showing up in solidarity with our humanity.

This foundational tenet of Christianity (“God with us”) should not be sentimentalized by the theological equivalent of “holiday cheer;” rather, it should compel us to reflect and act on the reality that we have been commissioned into a world of violence and poverty. We cannot celebrate without remembering those who suffer, and we cannot remember without making their pain present among us. In short, Christmas is a time for compassion over consumption, for suffering with, not spending on.

And so this is Christmas for weak and for strong,
The rich and the poor ones, the road is so long.

And so happy Christmas for black and for white
For the yellow and red ones let’s stop all the fights.

A very merry Christmas and a happy New Year
Let’s hope it’s a good one without any fear.

And so this is Christmas and what have we done
Another year over, a new one just begun.

War is over if you want it, war is over now.

Peace to you and yours.

“Undun,” a new concept album from The Roots, tells the story of “Redford Stephens,” an urban archetype of the disenfranchised black male. Redford is “neither victim nor hero,” but he represents the life and experience of many for whom Advent, in its traditional sense, has little meaning.

Hip hop–at its best–opens a window into the lives of those whose waiting is not a seasonal celebration marked by candle lighting and nativity scenes. Rather, their waiting is a more desperate, melancholy acceptance of having to choose between lesser evils.

Homicide or suicide
Heads or Tails
Some think life is a living hell
Some live life just living well
I live life trying to tip the scale
My Way, my way

Yo, I’m always early
I never take off cause I got a job
Rob Peter to pay Paul
Now I realize it’s the winner that takes all
Do what I gotta do because I can’t take loss
Picture me living life as if I’m some animal
That consumes its own dreams like I’m a cannibal
I won’t accept failure unless it’s mechanical
But still the alcohol mixed with the botanical
I guess I be referred to the owners manual full of loaners
Full of all the homeless throwaways and the stoners
Soldiers of the streets with 8th grade diplomas
And the world awaiting their shoulders as a bonus
Look, let he without sin live without sin
Until then, I’ll be doing dirty jobs like swamp men
Counting the faces of those that might have been
It’s like living that life but I won’t live that life again

It is for these that Jesus was born into the gutter. The Christ arrives not in dignity and power, but in weakness, “born between urine and feces.” This entrance into frail, fleshly existence is the essence of “God with us.“

So as the church remembers and anticipates its Savior yet again this Advent, may its celebration never eclipse its missional responsibility to remember in a such a way as to identify with those who are waiting–on the corner, in the gutter, invisible–for a light to dawn on their dark existence in the here and now.