A Kitchen Table Calling

In her great, recent work titled Team of Rivals, Doris Kearns Goodwin paints a glowing portrait of her subject, Abraham Lincoln. Lately the book has attracted a large national audience as President Elect Obama has been observed creating with inspiration his own "team of rivals" for his cabinet.

Lincoln is described in Team as a man of relentless ambition. In a letter written to the folks of Sangamon County during his first-ever campaign Lincoln wrote, "Every man is said to have his peculiar ambition. ...I can say for one that I have no other ambition so great as that of being truly esteemed of my fellow men, by rendering myself worthy of their esteem. How far I shall succeed in gratifying this ambition, is yet to be developed." Sadly the youthful Lincoln wondered if he had missed his moment, he "worried that 'the field of glory' had been harvested by the founding fathers, that nothing had been left for his generation but modest ambitions." Despite that dour outlook, his ambition to make something of himself carried him. Once, while in a severe depression that left Lincoln bedridden and others wondering if he should perish, he was able to muster on, for "I had done nothing to make any human being remember that I have lived."

Of course the history of the 1850's and '60's had different ideas for the politician. That old fear of Old Abe's was proven unfounded as that ambition would catapult him to the nation's highest office. In the midst of America's darkest hour, marked by Blue and Grey and Black, he would claim for his own the light of America's greatest achievement.

In August of 1963, Martin Luther King stood in the literal and figurative shadow of Lincoln's esteem to deliver his epic I have a Dream speech. With the soaring granite memorial to the Great Emancipator behind him, Dr. King's soaring eloquence spoke of a legacy and a dream, of a past and a future, of undeniable ideals left unfulfilled. Though the echoes of Lincoln reverberated in King's magisterial speech, the journey King took to reach that pinnacle could not have been more unlike Lincoln's. Where Lincoln was driven to great heights, King was called.

Martin Luther King Jr's desire had always been to simply preach just as his father and grandfather had done in Georgia. It was in his genes. While in his early twenties, the younger Martin moved to the North to attend seminary, met the beautiful Coretta, and was soon married. Only a dissertation short of graduation, an opportunity came to hold his own pulpit in Alabama and given the "stodgy wealth" of the Dexter Avenue Baptist congregation, he figured there would be a number of nice fringe benefits to go along with the gig. He took the job and quickly settled into writing sermons and church budgets.

Of course the history of the 1950's and '60's had different ideas for the preacher. That comfortable, promising career of young Martin vanished in the midst of another dark hour marked by tear gas, gunfire and German Shepherds. But it was through that fiery trial that Martin Luther King Jr. would be catapulted to heights of his own, and in so doing he ushered in the light of America's new morning. The daybreak of equality was cracking through the darkness of history.

All sunrises begin in the dark of night and it was no different for King. While leading the Montgomery bus boycott in 1956 -- a responsibility he accepted reluctantly -- the weight of death threats and the fear of what could happen to his infant daughter and wife shoved King to the cliff of capitulation. It was still early in the movement, but he frankly had enough and the comforts of preaching to a well-clad and receptive audience each Sunday at Dexter Ave. was alluring. Unable to sleep, he arose, poured some coffee, and sat at his kitchen table running through a mental Rolodex of options. King described what happened that night:

"And I sat at that table thinking about that little girl and thinking about the fact that she could be taken away from me any minute. And I started thinking about a dedicated, devoted and loyal wife, who was over there asleep. … And I got to the point that I couldn't take it anymore. I was weak. … And I discovered then that religion had to become real to me, and I had to know God for myself. And I bowed down over that cup of coffee. I never will forget it. … I prayed a prayer, and I prayed out loud that night. I said, "Lord, I'm down here trying to do what's right. I think I'm right. I think the cause that we represent is right. But Lord, I must confess that I'm weak now. I'm faltering. I'm losing my courage." … And it seemed at that moment that I could hear an inner voice saying to me, "Martin Luther, stand up for righteousness. Stand up for justice. Stand up for truth. And lo I will be with you, even until the end of the world." … I heard the voice of Jesus saying still to fight on. He promised never to leave me, never to leave me alone. No never alone. No never alone. He promised never to leave me, never to leave me alone."

King's rise to greatness would not be a Lincolnian quest to live a life worthy of history's esteem. Rather, as darkness swirled about him, it would be a still small voice that jarred him into accepting his new reality. In the coming years, as despair would creep in, it would be that call of God that compelled him to deny himself and take up the cross of someone larger than himself. It would be an anchor through the storms of the civil rights movement that not only held him firm, but changed the nation as well.

Today, if you visit the Rosa Parks Institute in Montgomery, there is a sizable display in the museum to the "kitchen table" moment in Martin Luther King's life. Gazing upon it, one is confronted with how simple and serene it looks. It is not a grand stage or platform from which momentous events are launched. Absent are the trappings of power, prestige or office. It is a humble place. It is quiet.

But from the solitude of that little room came big things. Over a cooling cup of coffee, at a little kitchen table, a theological template for political action had been born. The voice of redemption was heard. America owes a debt of gratitude to the Call young Martin heard that night and to the courage he showed to follow it's voice.