A hero to worship…

We mostly do NOT believe the words of Jesus when He said, “And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.”  Individually and collectively we tend to hide ourselves and others from the truth.  We would prefer, oftentimes, to believe the lie.  It seems, in our eyes, so much easier.  For instance, it’s easier to turn a blind eye toward the facts about many of our leadership heros.  We only want to see them in the brightest and most positive of lights.  The truth is often much different.

I’ve just finished another read about one of my heros, Martin Luther King.  This one is titled, Hellhound on his trail, and was authored by one of my favorites, Hampton Sides.  This guy tells a great story and does his homework.  Here’s one piece of information from the book that you might have missed in all your previous reads about Martin.  According to Hampton and his research, MLK spent his last night alive in the arms of one of his many mistresses,  Georgia Davis.  She was staying at the same Lorraine Motel, in fact, and just a few doors down.

Coretta Scott King would come to know this truth.  Her response was other worldly, at least to me.  She would face Georgia directly according to Hampton.  Page 265 second paragraph reads as follows:

“Probably the most noteworthy of the callers at 234 Sunset that afternoon was Senator Georgia Davis, who had driven to Atlanta with A.D. King’s lover, Lucretia Ward, in Ward’s baby blue convertible Cadillac.  ‘I didn’t want to face Coretta,’ Davis said, but AD thought a ritual of meeting and forgiveness was necessary for everyone’s healing.  They walked dolorously through the house until they found Coretta.  Davis took her hand and simply said, ‘I’m sorry.’

Coretta silently nodded, casting a beatific expression that was impossible to read.  Davis knew she shouldn’t be there – it was excruciatingly awkward moment.  ‘Sorry for what?’ Davis later wrote, analyzing her own apology.  ‘I was sorry she had lost her husband; I was sorry the world had lost a savior; and, on some level, I think I was apologizing for my relationship with her husband.’  She regretted hurting Coretta, but, she said, ‘ I have never regretted being there with him.  I would come whenever he called, and go wherever he wanted.'”

The most awful death is the death of betrayal. God help me to never deliver such a stench and God help me to forgive, if ever such a bitter smell be forced upon me.

God help us all, seems appropriate.

God help us, is the truth.

Why do we look for a hero to worship?

Why don’t we naturally run toward the truth?

Why do we feel the slightest cut as if we’ve been betrayed, and deliver a betraying blow to another with nary a notice?

Why don’t we learn from history?

Why?