Ebenezer Baptist Church: The Pulpit's Enduring Heart

Lyrics

You remember, don't you?
The dust motes dancing in the Sunday light.
The worn spot on the hardwood, right there.
Before the names were carved in stone.
Just the wood, and the hope.

October, 1914.
407 Auburn Avenue.
The scent of fresh-cut pine and plaster.
Reverend Williams' voice, laying the first stone of a sermon.
You were more than a building then.
You were a body, breathing.
Your bones were the beams, held up by hands that worked six days and gave you the seventh.
Your skin was the brick, warmed by a Georgia sun.

They talk about the pulpit, the famous thunder from the lectern.
But I remember your heart, the hardwood heart of the pews.
The quiet strength of the women in the kitchen, feeding a movement.
The knowing nod of the deacons at the door.
Ebenezer, you were always more than the voice.
You were the prayer whispered before the amen.

Upstairs, the solace.
Alberta Williams King at the console, her hands finding the chords for 'Precious Lord.'
A balm for the weary. A promise for the broken.
Downstairs, the strategy.
In the basement, under the floorboards of faith, the SCLC maps a new world.
Daddy King said you weren't just a church, you were a movement.
And a movement needs a quiet place to think.
To drink bitter coffee and draw lines on a map to freedom.

They talk about the pulpit, the famous thunder from the lectern.
But I remember your heart, the hardwood heart of the pews.
The quiet strength of the women in the kitchen, feeding a movement.
The knowing nod of the deacons at the door.
Ebenezer, you were always more than the voice.
You were the prayer whispered before the amen.

June 30th, 1974.
The organ was singing 'The Lord's Prayer.'
And a gunshot answered.
A crack in the stained glass of a Sunday morning.
The music stopped.
But you, you held the silence.
You held the grief of a son, a husband, a congregation.
You showed them that when the organist is slain, the song still lives in the people.

The pews are still warm.
The dust motes still dance in the light.
The pulpit is quiet now.
But I can still hear the hum.
The whisper of the prayer.
The enduring heart.