Three years ago, on a backpacking trip in the red rock canyon country in Utah, sleeping on the ground next to a creek, under a blanket of the most brilliant stars, I had this dream:

     I am younger, perhaps 11 or 12.  Somehow, I meet Martin Luther King Jr.  Then, I decide that I want to ask him to speak at my middle school graduation.  The adults around me think this is a terrible idea, but I march right up to his house and ring the bell.  His son answers and isn=t going to let me in, but then I hear Martin say to let me in, and when I ask him to speak at my graduation, he says, Ayes, of course I will!@ and puts it in his calendar.

     I don=t pretend to know what this dream means, even now-

     is it meant to draw my attention to the idealism, the dreams of my 11 year old, middle school self?  That girl, chubby, awkward, posed on the edge of the enormous change of puberty and adolescence?

     I was 11 and in middle school in 1968, when the country too was in enormous upheaval.  That was also the April that Dr. King was killed.

     That girl that I was, was growing up in a deeply segregated Texas town.  She was sensitive to injustice, and she was looking for something worth devoting her life to.  I was too young to fully understand the Civil Rights movement, but I got it enough to be stirred by Martin Luther King, what he had done and how he had done it- his way of non-violence and love.  I wanted to participate in that.

    But the part of the dream that made me weep, that morning in the canyon as I told my friends about it, and the part that moves me even now, is the feeling of having been visited, somehow, by Martin Luther King- that that great soul somehow welcomed an unimportant and awkward 11 year old girl, saying yes, of course I will, yes.  It is as if the dream itself is that Ayes@, that gift.

     Of course, many dreamworkers (including me) would say that every character in the dream is part of the dreamer- the 11 year old, the dismissive adults, the son who doesn=t want to let me in, and the Martin Luther King of me.  But that too has a mysterious, almost numinous aspect: as if there is in me, in all of us, a wiser, great-souled part, a godly presence, that is ready to bless, inspire and empower our hope to make a difference, and to give our gift.

     These passages, and this day, are full of dreams and visions, aren=t they?  They are touched with awe and divine mystery.

     In today=s gospel reading, Jesus greets and recognizes Nathaniel, in whom there is no guile.  He promises him a vision of angels ascending and descending on the Son of Man- a perception of the communion of heaven and earth in Jesus= own life and ministry.

     But I am even more drawn to the call of Samuel, which we read about in our first lesson today.  In this remarkable story, the young boy- perhaps middle school age- is serving in the temple under his mentor, the old priest Eli.  Lying in the temple at night he hears a voice he thinks is his teacher calling him- ASamuel, Samuel!@  Three times he hears it, and three times he runs to Eli saying Ahere I am!@

   The third time, Eli, who hasn=t called the boy, realizes; Ait is the Lord.@  He tells Samuel, Asay to him, >Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.@

   What a poignant scene!  This young boy has no idea what is happening.  He is completely unprepared for the mysterious, wondrous, holy voice, speaking in the dark of the temple.  And the word he must give is not an easy one.  It is a challenge to his own courage, for he must speak judgement on Eli=s family.  With fear and trembling, he meets the challenge, and his vocation as a prophet is born.

     This is a time of dreams, of listening, and of course of enormous change in our church, and in our nation.

     The vestry is literally at the pivotal moment of calling a new rector.  So many dreams come together in this person that most of us do not know yet- dreams and intuitions and hopes about what a parish and priest can be and do together, even as Holy Apostles faces daunting financial challenges and seeks to continue our strong witness to hospitality, justice and inclusion.  It is a time for listening, both together and individually, and for trusting that indeed the Spirit is speaking, perhaps in the most unexpected ways.

     And in our country, this weekend when we honor the legacy of Dr. King is also the beginning of the festivities surrounding our new president=s inauguration.  So many dreams are bound up in the presidency of Barack Obama: the breaking of racial barriers, our hope for an America that does not torture, that offers meaningful, useful work for all its citizens in a vibrant economy, that is a force for good in the broader world and offers leadership in sustainability and caring for the earth.  Already we see that the road is bumpy, hard, winding; and we are reminded that no president can do everything.  But already the vision is thrilling, and we are each challenged to find our courage, to do our own part.

     We would not honor Dr. King if we did not acknowledge the difficulty of this dream and vocation.  It involves speaking the truth when it would be easier to remain silent, confronting power, being willing to go way out of our comfort zone.  It is haunted by our national nightmares- the middle passage, the brutality of slavery, lynching, segregation, lingering violence, inequality and racism, so often experienced  in grinding poverty and despair.  And also (although by no means equal in their devastation), we need to name the guilt, shame, and sense of helpless complicity that many of us white folks feel in confronting our racial heritage.  But on this day we call on all those who have brought us to a moment of new hope and remarkable breakthrough; we call on Dr. King, and all the ancestors, saints and martyrs, who by their labors and prayers and example help and challenge us to find out what we can be and do together.

     I do not know what Martin Luther King would have said at my middle school graduation.  But of course we do know what he said about his dream at the March on Washington 45 years ago.  Listen again to some of those well known lines, perhaps translating for the full inclusion of women, LGBT folk, people of other faiths-and imagining the ringing oratory which I cannot hope to match:

   AI have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, sons of former slaves and sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brother hood.

     I have a dream that one day, even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

     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 the content of their character.  I have a dream today!...

     I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places shall be made plain, and the crooked places shall be made straight and the glory of the Lord will be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.

     This is our hope.  This is the faith that I go back to the South with.

     With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope.  With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brother hood.

     With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day...

     So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.

     Let freedom ring from the might mountains of New York.

     Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

     Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

     Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

     But not only that.

     Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

     Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.

     Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi, from every mountainside, let freedom ring.

     And when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and hamlet, from every state and city, we will be able to speedup that day when all of God=s children- black...and white...., Jews and Gentiles, Catholics and Protestants- will be able to join hands and to sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, AFree at last, free at last,; thank God Almighty, we are free at last.@