Possibilities Bigger Than Self

I think my aunt might have thought it a bit odd that when given a choice to see composer Edvard Grieg’s music studio or gravesite, I immediately chose the gravesite. Yes, I would have liked to have seen the small cabin where Grieg sat on a manuscript of Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony so that he would be tall enough to reach the piano keys, but I knew that I had hundreds of students who wouldn’t care where Grieg sat to compose—they would care about how Grieg died and where he was buried. It never fails. My students always want to know how someone died and where he/she is buried. And so I went to Grieg’s gravesite (which incidentally is carved into the side of a mountain) and took an absurd amount of pictures. Sure enough, my students loved them!

You may not be surprised to know, then, that when doing our music textbook lessons that focus on Martin Luther King, Jr., my students always want to know if Martin Luther King, Jr. is dead, how he died, who killed him, and/or where he is buried. The questions have become so predictable that I work their answers into my lessons and am fully prepared to project an image of MLK, Jr.’s and Coretta Scott King’s gravestone when asked. What I didn’t expect this year, though, was a question about how Martin Luther King, Sr. died.

[“Why were you talking about Martin Luther King, Sr.?” you might ask. “Because in another unexpected question twist, a student asked why we always say junior when talking about MLK, Jr.” Therein started a discussion on names that captivated the class so much that no attempt at redirecting to music worked. I finally gave up and spent the rest of the class period answering questions about naming protocol and listening to name stories.]

It turns out that Martin Luther King, Sr. died from a heart attack. He actually lived longer than both of his sons and his wife. While it is common knowledge that MLK, Jr. was assassinated, it is less common knowledge that Alfred Daniel Williams King (King Sr.’s youngest son) tragically drowned, and that King Sr.’s wife, Alberta W. King, was even more tragically murdered. Just after playing a song on the organ during a morning worship service, Alberta King was shot by a gunman who had dropped out of college and declared all Christians the enemy. He walked into Ebenezer Church that day to kill King, Sr., but instead he killed King’s wife and a church deacon. I didn’t tell my students these details. I was a bit too sad after reading their truths. I simply told them that MLK, Jr.’s dad had a heart attack. If he hadn’t lived at least ten years after his wife’s murder, then I would have made an argument that he died solely of a broken heart.

After dinner tonight, I spent over an hour reading more about MLK, Sr. (who indeed changed his name from Michael Luther to Martin Luther to be connected to theologian Martin Luther), Alfred King, and Alberta King. I eventually stumbled upon the King Institute of Stanford University’s website (https://kinginstitute.stanford.edu/) and read letters that MLK, Jr. had written to his parents, letters of recommendation for MLK, Jr. to attend seminary, and some of MLK, Jr.’s lesser known writings. I had to make myself stop reading so that I’d have time to write this post.

Friends, I know that MLK, Jr. was not a perfect man. I know that he was not the only voice or face of the Civil Rights Movement and I know that he himself believed this much. But learning more about him and his family tonight has allowed me to paint a more complete picture of a man and a movement whose voice still speak prophetic and challenging words today.

Sometimes I feel like the writer of Ecclesiastes and find myself in hopeless despair that nothing under the sun has changed. Reading the news articles of Alberta King’s brutal murder was like reading the news articles of today. The man who killed her even told a friend that his name would be all over the newspapers in a couple of weeks. And the senseless beatings of innocent men and women are still taking place. I watched the news in horror tonight as a reporter told of an 18-year-old special needs student who had been kidnapped and terrorized by four of his peers and was now having trouble communicating. The mocking and physical abuse had been streamed on Facebook.

And yet I smiled as I watched my Kindergarten students happily sing and dance together today. They couldn’t care less that their skin colors were different and they had no trouble welcoming everyone into their impromptu circle of happiness. And I inwardly said a prayer of thanks as I hugged my little multi-cultural band of students who come to say good morning each day. And I felt so grateful to be part of one of MLK, Jr.’s greatest wishes…

At the end of his famous “I Have A Dream” speech, MLK boldly declares, “…until one day, when all of God’s children, black men and white, will join hands in singing the old African American Spiritual ‘Free at last, Free at last, Thank God almighty I’m free at last.’”

“Free At Last” is one of my students’ favorite songs. Not only are they fascinated by the fact that Martin Luther King, Jr. had its words put on his gravestone, but they also really like the song and loudly sing it whenever it is played. Younger, older, richer, poorer, black, white, brown, yellow, or red (as a student actually called himself yesterday)—my students beautifully live MLK, Jr.’s dream every time they sing together.

And you know what? It wasn’t just MLK, Jr.’s dream. It was his father’s, and his mother’s, and his brother’s, and his sister’s. Because MLK, Jr. wasn’t an isolated man. He was part of a family. He was part of a church. He was part of a community. He was part of possibilities so much bigger than himself. And you are, too, friend. You are, too.