President Obama is possibly better known for his second book, The Audacity of Hope than for his first book, first published in 1995, before he was elected as Senator from Illinois, Dreams from My Father [New York: Three Rivers Press, 1995, 2004].
It is a moving and inspiring read, especially because as the reader, I know this man will one day become President of the United States, whereas Barry Obama when he wrote it did not know that. Clearly he is a young man on the way up, as he describes the unique and formative experiences which shaped his character.
Those who spread the rumor that Obama is Muslim, not Christian, have evidently not read the book, or simply decided to traffic in falsehood. Deep into his Chicago years (Chapter 14) Obama recounts his experience in hearing Rev. Jeremiah Wright. In fact, it was Wright who used the now famous phrase, “the audacity of hope!” in a sermon which Obama recounts hearing, and reflects upon in some detail.
“And in that single note—hope!—I heard something else; at the foot of that cross, inside the thousands of churches across the city, I imagined the stories of David and Goliath, Moses and Pharaoh, the Christians in the lion’s den, Ezekiel’s field of dry bones. Those stories—of survival, and freedom, and hope—became our story; my story; the blood that had spilled was our blood, the tears our tears; until this black church, on this bright day, seemed once more a vessel carrying the story of a people into future generations and into a larger world. Our trials and triumphs became at once unique and universal, black and more than black; in chronicling our journey, the stories and songs gave us a means to reclaim memories that we didn’t need to feel shamed about, memories more accessible than those of ancient Egypt, memories that all people might study and cherish—and with which we could start to rebuild.”
The President understands the audacity of claiming ancient Jewish stories and making them black stories of power, pride and longing for respect and freedom? But does Mr. Obama also understand, where he says, “Our trials and triumphs became at once unique and universal, black and more than black,” that African-Americans have no copyright on trials and triumphs, the struggles to overcome prejudices and oppressions, and the righteous labor to achieve justice and civil rights?
I re-read the words from my own experience and place in this world, where, “we” and “us” and “our” have a different point of reference:
” . . . Those stories—of survival, and freedom, and hope—became our lesbian and gay story; my story; the blood that had spilled was our blood, the tears our tears; until this gay church, on this bright day, seemed once more a vessel carrying the story of a people into future generations and into a larger world. Our trials and triumphs became at once unique and universal, gay and more than gay; in chronicling our journey, the stories and songs gave us a means to reclaim memories that we didn’t need to feel shamed about, memories more accessible than those of ancient Egypt, memories that all people might study and cherish—and with which we could start to rebuild.”
The Obama administration is off to a slow start in its support for LGBT justice issues. Yesterday’s meeting with movement leaders at the White House, on the 40th anniversary of Stonewall, was supposed to be an important signal. I have yet to see much mainstream news coverage that made note of it. But we need to keep reminding Mr. Obama of our own audacity of hope.
—Pastor Dan Hooper, Los Angeles