by Neville deAngelou

I grew up in earshot of Billy Graham, his voice a constant presence. His was a message of hope.

Great news! It all turns out wonderful in the end. All bills paid; all accounts cleared; God gathers us up into heaven. And hope is excellently rewarded.

However, it doesn't turn out so good for the devils and demons and their henchmen and wenches. First, Armageddon!

Ooops. Ouch. Yah-hooo!

Through the brilliance of technology the bull-horned voices of Handsome John and Marvelous Martin also reached me. They topped me up with another kind of hope.

Hope, you see, is hope. Yes, hope is hope is hope; yet all hopes are not the same hope. And that indeed is a good thing.

Handsome John - John Fitzgerald Kennedy, that is - topped me full of hope for a more exciting time on earth, a day full of grander things and smarter people. He underscored, rather framed for me, some of what my mother was teaching me: how to stall foreclosure on lay-away hope.

Be the instrument of peace. Reach for the moon. Give my best to friend, foe, and country. And soon, hope will be brilliantly rewarded.

This is a shining hope. It is a hope built on an understanding that all of us are God's children created in God's image, equipped with the capacity to reach beyond the confines of now, to stretch beyond the limits of self and lift our brothers and sisters from the trenches so that they too can stand tall with the unsoiled. Top that!

A bullet silenced John. He bled and died. Hope thrived inspite of clatttering voices - but not all hope. And I am not satisfied.

Marvelous Martin - Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., that is - topped me full of the hope for peace and justice, with the hope of freedom, with the hope that all of God's children, blacks and whites, jews and gentiles, humans of every stripe and hue will be able to sit together at the table of brotherhood and share the fruits of abundance. He underscored, rather framed for me, some of what my mother was teaching me: how to lay claim on hope's promisory note.

Cash the check. Measure your neighbor, your brother, your sister, your friend, not by the color of the skin but by the content of the character. Don't acceed to the greed of any master nor descend for the crumbs off his platter. Stand at the Bank of Justice, stand at the Bank of Freedom, have check in hand, and say to the bankteller, my soul is not for sale and my spirt is high, I've come to cash my check. Today.

This is a marvelous hope. It is a hope set in due dignity. It is an impatient hope. It is a confident hope. It is a hope set in the conviction that now is the time for all God's children, black men and white men, jews and gentiles, humans of every stripe and hue to rise up and skake off the chains that buckle the knees. Now is the time, for tomorrow is never promised, tomorrow is never good enough for a check being deposited today! Interest accrues.

A bullet silenced Martin. He bled and died. Hope thrived inspite of clatttering voices - but not all hope. And I am not satisfied.

Yes. These men are dead but not gone, shut-up but not silenced, obituarized but not obliterated. Their powerful presence roams this earth like the guardian angels of hope, like the mighty archangels of a promise God bankrolled. And not they alone!

Look up. Look out. Can you not see them spawning? Can you not feel their warming presence - heated in spiritual ecstacy? I do. And I can hear as well the rattling rage of gathering demons. Fear not; I know their lot too. Great news!

Continued

by Neville de Angelou ©
from Exploring The Man!
Contact Neville de Angleou

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more; it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing

William Shakespeare: Macbeth