Today is the official day of remembering and celebrating the life of Martin Luther King. A lot of government offices are closed, as well as some business, in honor of the man who actively-but-passively made a difference in the civil rights movement in the United States.

I have never celebrated or even observed the day. I have had my reasons, although they might not be what you think.

I grew up on the so-called wrong side of the tracks, surrounded on three sides by solidly “colored” neighborhoods (as they were called in the ’50s and early ’60s). On the fourth side was U.S. 41, one of the two major highways that intersected Terre Haute. On the “right side” of 41 were all the “right” folks: Anglos, Jews, Syrians, Germans, and whatever other nationalities blended in undetectably.

My early boyhood adventures took me through these “blighted” areas of my hometown. There was a park on the eastern banks of the Wabash River and, to get to my personal wilderness-that-needed-to-be explored, I wandered through several blocks of exclusively black homes and businesses. I never gave it a second thought, although I now know that my father (a closet racist) was horribly embarrassed by where we lived. I thought it was cool.

Some of my first friends were dark-skinned – I never thought of them that way: to me they were just James and Reggie and Mike. It wasn’t until I was older that I was able to pick up on the racial – or racist – differences. Oh, I knew they had darker skin than me, but so what? That didn’t matter much to a ten-year-old back then, kinda like Tom and Huck and Jim one state and one river to the west.

But when I left the neighborhood and ventured across the invisible line of segregation that was known as Hwy 41, no one paid any attention to me. I was like a spy behind the lines, seeing how other people lived. I soon realized that James and Reggie and Mike did get noticed, though. They paid a price for the color of their skin.

It was, perhaps, because of my early years of seeing dark-skinned people out of my windows that I chose decades ago not to observe or celebrate MLK day. I didn’t feel entitled to observe it: after all, I’m not dark-skinned. I didn’t spend the time suffering from a God-given, God-chosen skin color that made me an easily recognizable target for others. Martin Luther King didn’t do anything for me, although he did do an enormous amount for some of my early (and later) friends. I’m glad about that.

King pushed racism to the front burner of America’s attention and refused to let it or himself be pushed back. Along with other heroes like Rosa Parks and Medgar Evers, he took the first important steps in making it OK to be dark-skinned. Covert, institutionalized, and insidious segregation and discrimination didn’t end because of him, but it was revealed as our country’s dirty laundry. Now we can talk about it; before him, we didn’t so much.

But, as I said, I didn’t observe the day, and didn’t out of respect for those who did suffer. (I also don’t participate in any observances for survivors of the Holocaust: in my mind, to do so would be to cheapen the price the true victims paid.) This is their day, not mine; I will work today, as usual, but am hoping that my dark-skinned neighbors will stay home and enjoy this time. They (or their ancestors) earned it; I (or my ancestors) didn’t.

I know some of us light-skinned people don’t observe the day for racist reasons and, by not observing it myself, I am in danger of being grouped together with them. I can’t do anything about that other than to remind others that just because two people do the same thing, it doesn’t necessarily mean they’re doing the same thing.

(I am somewhat saddened, too, by what seems to be an undoing of Dr. King’s work. The dark-skinned community seems to be drifting back into a segregated mentality once again, but with a difference. This time they’re doing it by labeling themselves as anything other than American or Christian or Muslim or whatever other non-observable appellation they might choose to set themselves apart from others. In so doing, I fear, they are duplicating and subtly justifying the segregationist mentality that light-skinned people foisted upon them for centuries. It is an ironic tragedy.)

This year, though, I think I will observe MLK day. I’ll still work, but I think I’ll spend some more time (in addition to this post) in considering Dr. King as a fellow believer in Jesus Christ. He was a righteous man who made a difference during his lifetime.

But, someone might say, what about his immorality? How can you approve of or celebrate the life of a man who gave himself over to fleshly appetites?

Good question. How do we look upon someone who was guilty of seduction, rape, and murder? I’m referring here, of course, not to Dr. King but to King David. We still think he was a pretty amazing God-follower, don’t we? And why does Jn 8 and a woman caught in adultery keep coming to mind? Don’t trouble me with the textual questions about this passage: the principle taught in it is true even if there is some question about the authenticity of the section itself.

So Dr. King was flawed. So what? I’m not going to celebrate or observe that part of his life. I’m going to remember that he made a difference for a whole lot of people – America’s own version of the Samaritans – and set an example for me to follow. Like John Knox did, or Martin Luther, Jonathan Edwards.

But, you might say, those light-skinned people made a difference spiritually and theologically while Dr. King’s contribution was social. To which I ask, how do you separate the two so easily? How do you divorce spirituality and theology from daily living and how we treat others?

So today I’ll remember the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King. A Christian, a man created in God’s image, and someone I fully expect and truly hope to meet one day in heaven.


2 Cor 1:13