A Knock at Midnight
Which of you who has a friend will go to him at midnight
and say to him, "Friend, lend me three loaves; for a friend
of mine has arrived on a journey, and I have nothing to set
before him"?
Luke 11:5-6, rsv
Although this parable is concerned with the power of persistent
prayer, it may also serve as a basis for our thought concerning
many contemporary problems and the role of the church in grappling
with them. It is midnight in the parable; it is also midnight in
our world, and the darkness is so deep that we can hardly see which
way to turn.
It is midnight within the social order. On the international horizon
nations are engaged in a colossal and bitter contest for supremacy.
Two world wars have been fought within a generation, and the clouds
of another war are dangerously low. Man now has atomic and nuclear
weapons that could within seconds completely destroy the major cities
of the world. Yet the arms race continues and nuclear tests still
explode in the atmosphere, with the grim prospect that the very
air we breathe will be poisoned by radioactive fallout. Will these
circumstances and weapons bring the annihilation of the human race?
When confronted by midnight in the social order we have in the
past turned to science for help. And little wonder! On so many occasions
science has saved us. When we were in the midnight of physical limitation
and material inconvenience, science lifted us to the bright morning
of physical and material comfort. When we were in the midnight of
crippling ignorance and superstition, science brought us to the
daybreak of the free and open mind. When we were in the midnight
of dread plagues and diseases, science, through surgery, sanitation,
and the wonder drugs, ushered in the bright day of physical health,
thereby prolonging our lives and making for greater security and
physical well-being. How naturally we turn to science in a day when
the problems of the world are so ghastly and ominous.
But alas! science cannot now rescue us, for even the scientist
is lost in the terrible midnight of our age. Indeed, science gave
us the very instruments that threaten to bring universal suicide.
So modern man faces a dreary and frightening midnight in the social
order.
This midnight in man’s external collective is paralleled by
midnight in his internal individual life. It is midnight within
the psychological order. Everywhere paralyzing fears harrow people
by day and haunt them by night. Deep clouds of anxiety and depression
are suspended in our mental skies. More people are emotionally disturbed
today than at any other time of human history. The psychopathic
wards of our hospitals are crowded, and the most popular psychologists
today are the psychoanalysts. Bestsellers in psychology are books
such as Man Against Himself, The Neurotic Personality
of Our Times, and Modern Man in Search of a Soul. Bestsellers
in religion are such books as Peace of Mind and Peace
of Soul. The popular clergyman preaches soothing sermons on
"How to Be Happy" and "How to Relax." Some have
been tempted to revise Jesus’ command to read, "Go ye
into all the world, keep your blood pressure down, and, lo, I will
make you a well-adjusted personality." All of this is indicative
that it is midnight within the inner lives of men and women.
It is also midnight within the moral order. At midnight colours
lose their distinctiveness and become a sullen shade of grey. Moral
principles have lost their distinctiveness. For modern man, absolute
right and wrong are a matter of what the majority is doing. Right
and wrong are relative to likes and dislikes and the customs of
a particular community. We have unconsciously applied Einstein’s
theory of relativity, which properly described the physical universe,
to the moral and ethical realm.
Midnight is the hour when men desperately seek to obey the eleventh
commandment, "Thou shalt not get caught." According to
the ethic of midnight, the cardinal sin is to be caught and the
cardinal virtue is to get by. It is all right to lie, but one must
lie with real finesse. It is all right to steal, if one is so dignified
that, if caught, the charge becomes embezzlement, not robbery. It
is permissible even to hate, if one so dresses his hating in the
garments of love that hating appears to be loving. The Darwinian
concept of the survival of the fittest has been substituted by a
philosophy of the survival of the slickest. This mentality has brought
a tragic breakdown of moral standards, and the midnight of moral
degeneration deepens.
As in the parable, so in our world today, the deep darkness of
midnight is interrupted by the sound of a knock. On the door of
the church millions of people knock. In this country the roll of
church members is longer than ever before. More than one hundred
and fifteen million people are at least paper members of some church
or synagogue. This represents an increase of 100 per cent since
1929, although the population has increased by only 31 per cent.
Visitors to Soviet Russia, whose official policy is atheistic,
report that the churches in that nation not only are crowded, but
that attendance continues to grow. Harrison Salisbury, in an article
in The New York Times, states that Communist officials are
disturbed that so many young people express a growing interest in
the church and religion. After forty years of the most vigorous
efforts to suppress religion, the hierarchy of the Communist party
now faces the inescapable fact that millions of people are knocking
on the door of the church.
This numerical growth should not be overemphasized. We must not
be tempted to confuse spiritual power and large numbers. Jumboism,
as someone has called it, is an utterly fallacious standard for
measuring positive power. An increase in quantity does not automatically
bring an increase in quality. A larger membership does not necessarily
represent a correspondingly increased commitment to Christ. Almost
always the creative, dedicated minority has made the world better.
But although a numerical growth in church membership does not necessarily
reflect a concomitant increase in ethical commitment, millions of
people do feel that the church provides an answer to the deep confusion
that encompasses their lives. It is still the one familiar landmark
where the weary traveller by midnight comes. It is the one house
which stands where it has always stood, the house to which the man
travelling at midnight either comes or refuses to come. Some decide
not to come. But the many who come and knock are desperately seeking
a little bread to tide them over.
The traveller asks for three loaves of bread. He wants the bread
of faith. In a generation of so many colossal disappointments, men
have lost faith in God, faith in man, and faith in the future. Many
feel as did William Wilberforce, who in 1801 said, "I dare
not marry—the future is so unsettled," or as did William
Pitt, who in 1806 said, "There is scarcely anything round us
but ruin and despair." In the midst of staggering disillusionment,
many cry for the bread of faith.
There is also a deep longing for the bread of hope. In the early
years of this century many people did not hunger for this bread.
The days of the first telephones, automobiles, and aeroplanes gave
them a radiant optimism. They worshipped at the shrine of inevitable
progress. They believed that every new scientific achievement lifted
man to higher levels of perfection. But then a series of tragic
developments, revealing the selfishness and corruption of man, illustrated
with frightening clarity the truth of Lord Acton’s dictum,
"Power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely."
This awful discovery led to one of the most colossal breakdowns
of optimism in history. For so many people, young and old, the light
of hope went out, and they roamed wearily in the dark chambers of
pessimism. Many concluded that life has no meaning. Some agreed
with the philosopher Schopenhauer that life is an endless pain with
a painful end, and that life is a tragicomedy played over and over
again with only slight changes in costume and scenery. Others cried
out with Shakespeare’s Macbeth that life
is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
But even in the inevitable moments when all
seems hopeless, men know that without hope they cannot really live,
and in agonizing desperation they cry for the bread of hope.
And there is the deep longing for the bread of love. Everybody
wishes to love and be loved. He who feels that he is not loved feels
that he does not count. Much has happened in the modern world to
make men feel that they do not belong. Living in a world which has
become oppressively impersonal, many of us have come to feel that
we are little more than numbers. Ralph Borsodi in an arresting picture
of a world wherein numbers have replaced persons writes that the
modern mother is often maternity case No. 8434 and her child, after
being fingerprinted and footprinted, becomes No. 8003, and that
a funeral in a large city is an event in Parlour B with Class B
flowers and decorations at which Preacher No. 14 officiates and
Musician No. 84 sings Selection No. 174. Bewildered by this tendency
to reduce man to a card in a vast index, man desperately searches
for the bread of love.
When the man in the parable knocked on his friend’s door and
asked for the three loaves of bread, he received the impatient retort,
"Do not bother me; the door is now shut, and my children are
with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything." How
often have men experienced a similar disappointment when at midnight
they knock on the door of the church. Millions of Africans, patiently
knocking on the door of the Christian church where they seek the
bread of social justice, have either been altogether ignored or
told to wait until later, which almost always means never. Millions
of American Negroes, starving for the want of the bread of freedom,
have knocked again and again on the door of so-called white churches,
but they have usually been greeted by a cold indifference or a blatant
hypocrisy. Even the white religious leaders, who have a heartfelt
desire to open the door and provide the bread, are often more cautious
than courageous and more prone to follow the expedient than the
ethical path. One of the shameful tragedies of history is that the
very institution which should remove man from the midnight of racial
segregation participates in creating and perpetuating the midnight.
In the terrible midnight of war men have knocked on the door of
the church to ask for the bread of peace, but the church has often
disappointed them. What more pathetically reveals the irrelevancy
of the church in present-day world affairs than its witness regarding
war? In a world gone mad with arms buildups, chauvinistic passions,
and imperialistic exploitation, the church has either endorsed these
activities or remained appallingly silent. During the last two world
wars, national churches even functioned as the ready lackeys of
the state, sprinkling holy water upon the battleships and joining
the mighty armies in singing, "Praise the Lord and pass the
ammunition." A weary world, pleading desperately for peace,
has often found the church morally sanctioning war.
And those who have gone to the church to seek the bread of economic
justice have been left in the frustrating midnight of economic privation.
In many instances the church has so aligned itself with the privileged
classes and so defended the status quo that it has been unwilling
to answer the knock at midnight. The Greek Church in Russia allied
itself with the status quo and became so inextricably bound to the
despotic czarist regime that it became impossible to be rid of the
corrupt political and social system without being rid of the church.
Such is the fate of every ecclesiastical organization that allies
itself with things-as-they-are.
The church must be reminded that it is not the master or the servant
of the state, but rather the conscience of the state. It must be
the guide and the critic of the state, and never its tool. If the
church does not recapture its prophetic zeal, it will become an
irrelevant social club without moral or spiritual authority. If
the church does not participate actively in the struggle for peace
and for economic and racial justice, it will forfeit the loyalty
of millions and cause men everywhere to say that it has atrophied
its will. But if the church will free itself from the shackles of
a deadening status quo, and, recovering its great historic mission,
will speak and act fearlessly and insistently in terms of justice
and peace, it will enkindle the imagination of mankind and fire
the souls of men, imbuing them with a glowing and ardent love for
truth, justice, and peace. Men far and near will know the church
as a great fellowship of love that provides light and bread for
lonely travellers at midnight.
While speaking of the laxity of the church, I must not overlook
the fact that the so-called Negro church has also left men disappointed
at midnight. I say so-called Negro church because ideally there
can be no Negro or white church. It is to their everlasting shame
that white Christians developed a system of racial segregation within
the church, and inflicted so many indignities upon its Negro worshippers
that they had to organize their own churches.
Two types of Negro churches have failed to provide bread. One burns
with emotionalism, and the other freezes with classism. The former,
reducing worship to entertainment, places more emphasis on volume
than on content and confuses spirituality with muscularity. The
danger in such a church is that the members may have more religion
in their hands and feet than in their hearts and souls. At midnight
this type of church has neither the vitality nor the relevant gospel
to feed hungry souls.
The other type of Negro church that feeds no midnight traveller
has developed a class system and boasts of its dignity, its membership
of professional people, and its exclusiveness. In such a church
the worship service is cold and meaningless, the music dull and
uninspiring, and the sermon little more than a homily on current
events. If the pastor says too much about Jesus Christ, the members
feel that he is robbing the pulpit of dignity. If the choir sings
a Negro spiritual, the members claim an affront to their class status.
This type of church tragically fails to recognize that worship at
its best is a social experience in which people from all levels
of life come together to affirm their oneness and unity under God.
At midnight men are altogether ignored because of their limited
education, or they are given bread that has been hardened by the
winter of morbid class consciousness.
In the parable we notice that after the man’s initial disappointment,
he continued to knock on his friend’s door. Because of his
importunity—his persistence—he finally persuaded his friend
to open the door. Many men continue to knock on the door of the
church at midnight, even after the church has so bitterly disappointed
them, because they know the bread of life is there. The church today
is challenged to proclaim God’s Son, Jesus Christ, to be the
hope of men in all of their complex personal and social problems.
Many will continue to come in quest of answers to life’s problems.
Many young people who knock on the door are perplexed by the uncertainties
of life, confused by daily disappointments, and disillusioned by
the ambiguities of history. Some who come have been taken from their
schools and careers and cast in the role of soldiers. We must provide
them with the fresh bread of hope and imbue them with the conviction
that God has the power to bring good out of evil. Some who come
are tortured by a nagging guilt resulting from their wandering in
the midnight of ethical relativism and their surrender to the doctrine
of self-expression. We must lead them to Christ who will offer them
the fresh bread of forgiveness. Some who knock are tormented by
the fear of death as they move toward the evening of life. We must
provide them with the bread of faith in immortality, so that they
may realize that this earthly life is merely an embryonic prelude
to a new awakening.
Midnight is a confusing hour when it is difficult to be faithful.
The most inspiring word that the church must speak is that no midnight
long remains. The weary traveller by midnight who asks for bread
is really seeking the dawn. Our eternal message of hope is that
dawn will come. Our slave foreparents realized this. They were never
unmindful of the fact of midnight, for always there was the rawhide
whip of the overseer and the auction block where families were torn
asunder to remind them of its reality. When they thought of the
agonizing darkness of midnight, they sang:
Oh, nobody knows de trouble I’ve seen,
Glory Hallelujah!
Sometimes I’m up, sometimes I’m down,
Oh, yes, Lord,
Sometimes I’m almost to de groun’,
Oh, yes, Lord,
Oh, nobody knows de trouble I’ve seen,
Glory Hallelujah!
Encompassed by a staggering midnight but believing that morning
would come, they sang:
I’m so glad trouble don’t last alway.
O my Lord, O my Lord, what shall I do?
Their positive belief in the dawn was the growing edge of hope
that kept the slaves faithful amid the most barren and tragic circumstances.
Faith in the dawn arises from the faith that God is good and just.
When one believes this, he knows that the contradictions of life
are neither final nor ultimate. He can walk through the dark night
with the radiant conviction that all things work together for good
for those that love God. Even the most starless midnight may herald
the dawn of some great fulfillment.
At the beginning of the bus boycott in Montgomery, Alabama, we
set up a voluntary car pool to get the people to and from their
jobs. For eleven long months our car pool functioned extraordinarily
well. Then Mayor Gayle introduced a resolution instructing the city’s
legal department to file such proceedings as it might deem proper
to stop the operation of the car pool or any transportation system
growing out of the bus boycott. A hearing was set for Tuesday, November
13, 1956.
At our regular weekly mass meeting, scheduled the night before
the hearing, I had the responsibility of warning the people that
the car pool would probably be enjoined. I knew that they had willingly
suffered for nearly twelve months, but could we now ask them to
walk back and forth to their jobs? And if not, would we be forced
to admit that the protest had failed? For the first time I almost
shrank from appearing before them.
When the evening came, I mustered sufficient courage to tell them
the truth. I tried, however, to conclude on a note of hope. "We
have moved all of these months," I said, "in the daring
faith that God is with us in our struggle. The many experiences
of days gone by have vindicated that faith in a marvellous way.
Tonight we must believe that a way will be made out of no way."
Yet I could feel the cold breeze of pessimism pass over the audience.
The night was darker than a thousand midnights. The light of hope
was about to fade and the lamp of faith to flicker.
A few hours later, before Judge Carter, the city argued that we
were operating a "private enterprise" without a franchise.
Our lawyers argued brilliantly that the car pool was a voluntary
"share-a-ride" plan provided without profit as a service
by Negro churches. It became obvious that Judge Carter would rule
in favour of the city.
At noon, during a brief recess, I noticed an unusual commotion
in the courtroom. Mayor Gayle was called to the back room. Several
reporters moved excitedly in and out of the room. Momentarily a
reporter came to the table where, as chief defendent, I sat with
the lawyers. "Here is the decision that you have been waiting
for," he said. "Read this release."
In anxiety and hope, I read these words: "The United States
Supreme Court today unanimously ruled bus segregation unconstitutional
in Montgomery, Alabama." My heart throbbed with an inexpressible
joy. The darkest hour of our struggle had become the first hour
of victory. Someone shouted from the back of the courtroom, "God
Almighty has spoken from Washington."
The dawn will come. Disappointment, sorrow, and despair are born
at midnight, but morning follows. "Weeping may endure for a
night," says the Psalmist, "but joy cometh in the morning."
This faith adjourns the assemblies of hopelessness and brings new
light into the dark chambers of pessimism.
Published in Strength to Love in 1963
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