Article
Comment
Race
4 min read

In search of Martin Luther King

Wanting to put flesh on the bones of a much-fabled tale, Ian Hamlin begins a journey in search of his hero.

Ian Hamlin has been the minister of a Baptist church since 1994. He previously worked in financial services.

A street mural of Martin Luther King quoting him.
An MLK commemorative mura.

Stories define us. Especially genesis stories, stories of formation, of how things began.  Because beginnings often harbour within them all the seeds of future growth, defining so much of what’s to come, size, shape, colour, character even, and, what’s true of the natural world, is also, so often, true for our own life journeys. 

As I embark upon a particular journey, in many ways the centrepiece of my three-month sabbatical break from my life in Christian ministry, I find myself reflecting on a bigger, longer, greater journey that has, consciously and unconsciously, shaped a good deal of that whole life. 

I’m writing these words on a train, from Boston, Massachusetts to Washington DC, eight hours through a variety of weather, landscapes, and a whole variety of provincial, and city stations, some of them famous, others vaguely familiar, still more completely unknown.  I’m off in search of flesh on the bones of a story, a much-fabled tale, of a man and his life.   

I came across a book, a thin tome and looking pretty sorry for itself, clearly already well thumbed.  I started to read it and quickly became transfixed. 

But first, more of mine. I grew up, the youngest of four children, in a pretty traditional working-class family in Bristol that, by virtue, of my parents owning their own home and my two older brothers having gone to university at the end of the 60’s, now found itself, contrasted starkly with all of my Aunties and Uncles, knocking on the door of middle-class comfort.   

By the early 80’s however, as I was preparing to leave school, that all looked, and felt, a little different. Not having acquired sufficient spiritual credits to attend the city’s church school, and with my brother’s academies having long since migrated to the private sector, I’d meandered my way through the local comprehensive, with enough wisdom to avoid most of the outcomes for which it was renowned, but not enough application to really supersede them all. What I did learn though, was a strong sense of justice, together with a certain perplexity as to why this wasn’t more universally shared and even, in some cases its absence appearing to be celebrated.   

In our playing fields and its environs there was a pretty regular flow of what today would be called ‘racially aggravated incidents’. I vividly recall one boy in my year having his legs nastily broken. What I also remember though, was the daily ritual of being handed a National Front promotional leaflet at the school gate. Difference begetting antagonism, spawning violence and demanding retribution, seemed to be the story, I hated it, and instinctively railed against it.        

My response was hardly dynamic or revolutionary. I think I went on a march or two, I remember buying a mug once, yes, I was that sort of kid, oh, and I put a poster on my wall. Again, a fairly generic image, probably bought from Athena, of a man, half a generation older than me and a whole world away. A man, on a platform, speaking, and some of the words he spoke, super-imposed over the top of him, ‘I have a dream …’   

A short while later, at a friend’s house, I came across a book, a thin tome and looking pretty sorry for itself, clearly already well thumbed.  I started to read it and quickly became transfixed, it was more speeches from this same man, yet these were different, they spoke more about motivation than outcomes, about the passionate ‘Why’ of action, more than the ‘How’ of achieving meaningful change. It was ‘Strength to Love’, a book or sermons for, I discovered this man was not a politician but a preacher.  

To cut a long story short, this encounter, these thoughts, along with a few others, caused me to translate my hitherto rather semi-detached relationship with my local Baptist Church into something more committed. Within eight years I was in London, training for ministry, and I‘ve now been in Church leadership for 30 years.  

For stories, rooted in truth, throw a spotlight on those lived, core beliefs, out of which glorious, effective, fulfilled lives develop. 

And so, our stories intertwine, mine and Martin Luther King’s, oddly, unexpectedly, yet profoundly, and so I find myself on a train, to DC, and then on to Atlanta, Montgomery, Birmingham, to dig more into his story, to discover more of my own.     

Because stories not only define us, they fuel us. Idealism is all well and good, but where does it come from, and how might it be sustained? Inspiration, is often illusive, a fiery necessity for a purposeful effective life, in any sphere, but it needs a source, something in which to be rooted.  A craving for justice, an attraction towards generous love, a passion for human fulfilment, and a whole host of other things, all seem like good and obvious things, in and of themselves, but why? And, given they are frequently costly and hard fought, from where might the motivation come to make the necessary sacrifices?  Martin Luther King did what he did because he believed what he believed, given that, it seemed obvious, inevitable, for him to act, whatever the cost. The Apostle Paul encouraged the first generation of Christian believers, living challenging lives at the heart of the empire, in Rome, to tell stories; ‘How can they hear unless someone tells them?’ he reasoned, and then, with a flourish, ‘How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!’ 

It seems we need preachers, storytellers, more than we do politicians.  For stories, rooted in truth, throw a spotlight on those lived, core beliefs, out of which glorious, effective, fulfilled lives develop.  With that knowledge in mind, I’m off on my journey, to experience tales, old and new, and see what they do to me, I’ll let you know what I discover.  

Article
Community
Creed
Sin
3 min read

In the city of broken windows

Our fractures become fractal, breaking bigger and bigger windows.

Jamie is Associate Minister at Holy Trinity Clapham, London.

a multi-paned window mural shows people while amid it are broken window panes.
A broken window mural, Ellis Island Immigrant Hospital.
Rhododendrites, CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons.

We weren't expecting a knock on the door from our next-door neighbour on New Year's Day. It was pouring with rain, and said rain was pouring into the boot of our car, with the window smashed. Thanks for letting us know. Annoying, inconvenient and expensive. But just how expensive is a smashed window? 

The 'broken windows theory', that visible signs of crime, antisocial behaviour and civil disorder begets more serious crimes, was introduced American sociologists James Q. Wilson and George Kelling: 

'Social psychologists and police officers tend to agree that if a window in a building is broken and is left unrepaired, all the rest of the windows will soon be broken. This is as true in nice neighborhoods as in rundown ones. Window-breaking does not necessarily occur on a large scale because some areas are inhabited by determined window-breakers whereas others are populated by window-lovers; rather, one un-repaired broken window is a signal that no one cares, and so breaking more windows costs nothing. (It has always been fun.)' 

This is not an academic theory. Where I live in London, i took the local council 1,315 days to replace a local resident's broken window. The sense of decay extends beyond borders, with fewer than half the residents thinking they live on clean streets, with rubbish and weeds gone unchecked. It is also one of the worst boroughs in London for varying types of crime, and over the past few years often being the worst. It's hard not to think the little things and the big things are linked. In other news, the now-resigned CEO of the council has pleaded guilty to drink-driving, failing to stop after a car crash and driving without insurance, and not guilty to possession of cocaine. 

Our problems in society all found their greenhouses somewhere inside of us.

Crime is on the move. As homes have become more difficult to burgle, crime has been pushed out onto the streets with shoplifting and bike theft. The Economist recently reported that 'stolen bikes and e-bikes have also become the getaway vehicle of choice for thieves, according to the Merseyside police. In one way or another, some 80 per cent of acquisitive crime in Liverpool involves a nicked bike.' It's going to be fascinating to see the wider impact, but simply by stopping suspicious riders and marking thousands of bikes across Liverpool, reported thefts have fallen by 46 per cent between July 2023 and July 2024 compared with the previous year. 

These problems can't be solved by overstretched police or the council. Everyone's responsible so no one's to blame. Practical implementations of the broken windows theory have not been without controversy. But for those of us who live in urban environments, to look out from our homes is to see a city of broken windows. The impact is more than weeds 'uprooting' pavements: it's an uprooted society. Correlation and causation might be blurred, but that's the point. In Christianity, sin is understood as having a polluting effect. Just as fossil fuels in China will pollute the atmosphere for someone in Scotland, sin is not hermetically sealed. Our problems in society all found their greenhouses somewhere inside of us. 

Jesus said 'what comes out of you is what makes you 'unclean'. For from within, out of your hearts, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, greed, malice, deceit, lewdness, envy, slander, arrogance and folly. All these evils come from inside and they make you 'unclean'.' They pollute our lives. And they pollute the world around us. 

The Christian church, much like many institutions, is reckoning with prioritising competency at the expense of character. Little sins are not so little when they permeate and promote a culture where certain sins are permissible. Our fractures become fractal, breaking bigger and bigger windows. 

All this sounds pretty bleak and Dickensian when of course there's always another city to see: full of life, vibrancy and joy. But we'd be wilfully ignorant to ignore the disorder of broken windows and broken lives all around us. It might overwhelm us, or our eyes might glaze over as we see those broken windows. But we'd do well not to ignore the broken windows within us too. For our sake, and the sake of our streets.