Democracy is one of the core values of Unitarian Universalism, embodied in our fifth Principle: Unitarian Universalist congregations affirm and promote the right of conscience and the use of the democratic process within our congregations and in society at large. Since today is the day that citizens of 22 states exercise their right to vote in the Presidential Primary elections, I bring you an essay printed in the January issue of Quest, the newsletter of the Church of the Larger Fellowship, written by the Rev. David E. Bumbaugh, Professor of Ministry at Meadville Lombard Theological School and Minister Emeritus of the Unitarian Church in Summit, New Jersey. Rev. Bumbaugh recalls his experience with the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. that helped him to realize that “we are not required to succeed, or even to be right; we are required to serve the truth as we understand it.”

Enjoy, and don’t forget to vote.

Cherish the Dream

by Rev. David E. Bumbaugh

I suppose that every American of my generation has a “how Dr. King shaped my life” story. Here is mine. I had graduated from seminary in 1964 with a clear idea of the focus and shape my ministry would take. I spent my time reading and reflecting, and crafting sermons which shared the result of that effort with my congregation. Inevitably, in those times, much of my reflection focused on the enormous social issues which confronted the nation— racism, war, poverty. I regarded it as my job to enlarge their sense of responsibility and compassion as people experienced deep and disturbing challenges and changes. But in no sense could I have been considered an activist. Indeed, one of my colleagues, only half kidding, suggested that I was running a spiritual filling station— rounding people up once a week, pumping them full of the holy gas and then, tires and fluid levels checked, sending them out to confront the world, while I stayed home and kept the restrooms clean.

Then came the day that Martin Luther King sent out his invitation to the clergy to come to Selma, Alabama, to help with the drive for voting rights. Now, I knew about the invitation, but I did not for a moment believe he meant me. I had grown up in a community in which we had been carefully taught to avoid attracting attention to ourselves. We had been taught that even when the sign on the door said, “welcome” or “enter,” it probably did not mean us. It never occurred to me that an invitation to the clergy to come to Selma meant me, too. I did not go.

(Read on … )