Until Justice Rolls Down... WADE IN THE WATER

At the height of the summer of 1963, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. delivered his famous “I Have a Dream.” 

Nearly 200,000 people—Black and white—traveled by plane, train, bus, car and on foot to take part in the March on Washington. They gathered on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, remembering that in the century prior, President Lincoln had begun the work of ending 250 years of American slavery with his Emancipation Proclamation. 

On that day, the crowd gathered to listen to a new generation still yearning for freedom. For slavery’s afterlives—the embedding of white supremacy into American culture, economy, and law—remained very much alive. 

Speakers from nearly every segment of society came to demand a better world — labor leaders, clergy, actors, and singers. But the standout was the young, charismatic leader of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference.

This year, as I reread Martin’s inspired words, the part that captured my attention was not the Dream.

The Dream I believe we all share. That dream of a peaceful, loving, multicultural America.

No, this year, it was the line inspired by the words of the prophet Amos that gripped me. 

"We will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream."

Here, Martin is speaking directly to the white majority—the primary opposition to the Civil Rights Bill that President John F. Kennedy had finally introduced to Congress after months of relentless pressure.

He spoke to the extremists who rejected all progress, and to the moderates who resisted doing more. For it was these sympathetic communities who often complained that Black Americans were asking for too much change, too quickly.

He warned them:

“To those who hope that the colored Americans needed to blow off steam and will now be content, will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual.

There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the colored citizen is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating “for white only.”

We cannot be satisfied as long as a colored person in Mississippi cannot vote and a colored person in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote.

No, we are not satisfied and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.”

Martin’s call for justice was not new—it was ancient, flowing from the same stream of hope that runs through Scripture, from Moses to Amos and Jesus himself. 

When King cried out for justice to roll down like waters, he was standing in a long line of witnesses who believed that God hears the cries of those in bondage and acts to set people free. That same promise of deliverance meets us again in today’s Gospel.

Today’s story brings us back to familiar ground—the scene we visited last week of John baptizing at the Jordan River. 

In this account, we do not actually witness Jesus’ baptism. We don’t see the heavens open or the Spirit descending like a dove. Instead, we hear about those events the next day, as John the Baptizer testifies to what he has already seen.

The text tells us, “The next day John  saw Jesus coming toward him and declared, ‘Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!’”

This image of Jesus as the Lamb of God reaches deep into the heart of our faith story. It comes from the ancient tradition of Passover, born out of the Exodus. In that story, the people of Israel, living under slavery, were instructed to sacrifice a lamb and mark their doors with its blood. Those who followed God’s command were passed over by death and, in time, led out of bondage into freedom.

Liberation theologian Gustavo Gutiérrez once wrote that “the work of Christ is presented simultaneously as liberation from sin and all its consequences: greed, injustice, hatred.” This liberation, he says, fulfills the promises of the prophets and creates a new chosen people—one that now includes all humanity.

So when John calls Jesus the Lamb of God, he is proclaiming that God is still in the business of deliverance. God hears the cries of the oppressed and God is making a way where there seems to be no way.

Just as God delivered Israel through the Red Sea and brought them toward a new land, John’s baptism points to a new act of deliverance that Jesus will accomplish through his Spirit.

Later, this same scene repeats. 

This time, John is standing with two of his own disciples. He sees Jesus pass by and says, just as before, “Look—here is the Lamb of God!”

John’s disciples hear him. And so they leave him to follow this man Jesus. 

When Jesus notices that he is being followed, he turns around, asking, “What do you want?” 

They respond, “Where are you staying?”

And instead of instructing these men to go home, Jesus invites them: “Come and see.”

Come and see. With those words, Jesus begins his ministry—with an invitation to discover truth for themselves. John modeled a ministry of witness and truth-telling. Now Jesus invites his first disciples to walk in that same light.

Faithful witnesses seek the truth and testify to the truth, in a world marked by what John calls “the sin of the world.” To follow Jesus is to confront darkness—both in our own hearts and in the world around us.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. understood this clearly. He knew that individuals must have a conversion of the heart—to see the moral light and give up their unjust ways—but he also understood that groups form us as individuals. And groups were often more immoral than individuals. That is why faithful witness must challenge not only personal prejudice, but unjust systems: like Jim Crow segregation, like our cruel immigration system, like our culture of normalized bigotry and violence.

For we live in darkness when these injustices are upheld, covered up, or normalized.

As followers of Jesus, we are called to be faithful witnesses. To speak into that darkness—to the oppressed and the oppressor, to the powerful and the powerless. And we are called to announce the coming of light, new life, and salvation in the One who has come to take away the sin of the world.

We must invite others to come and see the truth for themselves. 

And sometimes, faithful witness begins simply by learning to see.

To come and see the truth of our history.

To come and see what injustice has and is being done in our name—and to learn of the movements of courage and hope that have grown in response. 

That invitation to “come and see” is not only spiritual. It is also historical and communal. We cannot confront the sin of the world if we refuse to look honestly at the world as it is.

One place that invites our nation to learn this truth is the National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington, D.C.

The museum tells the country’s painful history—from the Transatlantic slave trade and the long fight for emancipation, through Jim Crow, the terror of the Ku Klux Klan, and the struggle for civil rights, redlining, the war on drugs, and public divestment from Black communities. Visitors also learn about the ongoing threats to Black life and flourishing—inadequate healthcare, economic injustice, and police brutality. 

The journey through the museum is emotionally heavy. Many could leave feeling disheartened by the cycle of injustice, incremental progress, and reactionary backlash that characterized Black life in this country. 

That is why curators designed the Contemplation Court—the last room. 

The Contemplation Court at the Smithsonian's National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington, D.C. Picture Credit—Jason Flakes, Smithsonian Magazine.

At the center stands a massive fountain, with water pouring down as if from the skies. Around the pool, marble benches beckon. It’s a space designed to invite visitors to pause, to take in the sounds of rushing water, to reflect on what they have seen. On the back wall, are the words of that famous passage from Amos, spoken anew by Martin Luther King.  

"We will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream."

It’s a reminder of the progress we have seen since Martin’s time. It is also a reminder of how far we have yet to go. 

For today, we also cannot be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters. 

I think not only of the harm our African American siblings continue to face, but also the cruelty being done to our immigrant siblings. 

The ICE raids in Chicago, Los Angeles, and now Minneapolis have been a shock to the conscious of this nation. As long as our leaders continue to cover up the truth and gaslight the American people about what we all saw with our eyes… There will be neither rest nor tranquility in this country.  

There will be no rest or tranquility in this country until our immigrant neighbors are granted their basic rights and full human dignity. Waves of protest will continue to crash against the conscience of this country until the bright dawn of justice arrives.

We cannot be satisfied as long as parents live in fear of a knock at the door in the middle of the night. And as long as children go to school, wondering if their parents will be there at pick up. 

We cannot be satisfied as long as hardworking people are seized from their jobs and communities, treated as criminals instead of their neighbors. And as long as families are torn apart without mercy or due process.

We can never be satisfied as long as immigrants are forced to hide in the shadows, afraid to seek medical care, afraid to worship, afraid to live openly and freely.

And we cannot be satisfied as long as the laws of this land value paperwork over people, and borders over basic compassion.

No—until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream, we cannot, we will not be content.

And yet, even as we refuse to be satisfied with injustice, we must also learn how to be sustained for the long road ahead. Every movement for justice needs both holy impatience and holy sustenance. The Civil Rights movement understood this well. 

Originally, Martin had prepared a short speech for the March on Washington, reciting the sufferings of African Americans in their long struggle for freedom and equality. 

It was just as he was about to sit down when, from the crowd, the gospel singer, Mahalia Jackson, called out, “Tell them about your dream, Martin! Tell them about the dream!” 

She knew that the people needed that vision of hope. They needed something to sustain them for the long road ahead. 

Encouraged by shouts from the audience, Martin kept going. The result would galvanize the nation, inspiring generations to come to live out the dream that Martin envisioned. 

“I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed. We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, that one day right down in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!”

As it turns out, sometimes a little prodding from those in the pews is just what a preacher needs. 

So friends, this is our calling. 

To refuse to be satisfied with a world that wounds God’s children.

To speak the truth with love.

To stand with those pushed to the margins.

And at the same time, to tend to our weary souls so that we have strength for the journey.

Jesus still turns to us today and says, “Come and see.” 

Come and see the truth. 

Come and see the possibility of a new way.

We are invited to be witnesses—to the light that shines in the darkness, to the justice that God is still bringing into the world, and to the dream that refuses to die.

May we be people who hunger for righteousness, who work for justice, and who never lose hope… Until that promised day when justice will roll down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream!

This sermon was preached by Rev. Delaney Piper on 1.18.25.