“Sorry, Ms. Rosa”

Sermon date 12.1.24

 

On a chilly evening in December …

December first of 1955 to be exact, when I was six years old, Rosa Parks sat down on a bus in Montgomery, Alabama, and refused to give up her seat to a white passenger. Which was the law at that time. She was arrested for doing so. Fined $14 dollars (about $165 today), and later bailed out of jail by civil rights leader, E.D. Nixon… joined by white friends Clifford Durr and his wife Virginia.

Her courageous act became a pivotal moment in the civil rights movement, a moment that sparked the Montgomery bus boycott and helped ignite the flames of justice that would burn through the segregated south. Rosa Parks didn’t plan to become a symbol of resistance; she was simply tired—tired of giving into a system of racial injustice, tired of the daily humiliation of segregation. Her refusal to stand that day gave rise to a new wave of activism and, for many of us, she became a hero.

But this morning, I want us to reflect on something different. Today, I want us to imagine what we might say to Rosa Parks, were she here with us now. I want to offer an apology—on behalf of our collective failures, on behalf of our society, on behalf of those who continue to perpetuate the very systems she fought so bravely against. And most of all, I want to ask: “Sorry, Ms. Rosa—can you forgive us?”

Rosa Parks’ legacy is often reduced to that one moment on the bus. But that moment is only a small piece of her lifelong education to justice. Rosa Parks was born in 1913 and she lived through a time when segregation and racial violence were the law of the land.

Long before that December day in 1955, Rosa was involved in civil rights work. She was a secretary for the NAACP, an advocate for voting rights, and a fierce opponent of racial injustice in every form. But too often, our narratives of her heroism focus only on her quiet defiance, failing to recognize the full depth of her activism. Sister Rosa received her civil disobedience training at the famous highlander folk school in Tennessee, which is still training social activists today.

It’s easy to look back and celebrate her courage. It’s harder to confront the reality that, despite her efforts and the efforts of so many others, we are still deeply entrenched in systems of racial injustice. Racism did not end with the civil rights movement. Segregation did not end with the Montgomery bus boycott. And today, we must admit that our society continues to fail those who, like Rosa, refuse to stand by in the face of injustice. One of the first things we might say in our apology is this: sorry, Ms. Rosa, for failing to fully see you. Too often, we simplify your story. We place you in a neat and tidy narrative that allows us to feel good about progress, about how far we’ve come, without acknowledging how far we still have to go. We reduce your story to a historical footnote, a moment of defiance that we can easily celebrate. But we forget that your refusal to give up your seat was only one part of a larger struggle. We forget that you were an organizer, an activist, someone who worked tirelessly to dismantle the structures of white supremacy that have governed this country for centuries. We forget that after the boycott, your life didn’t become easier. In fact, you and your family faced economic hardship, harassment, and threats to your safety. You were not the quiet, passive figure we so often imagine. You were fierce, committed, and unrelenting in your pursuit of justice.

Sorry, Ms. Rosa, for our continued silence and perhaps more painfully, we must also say: sorry, Ms. Rosa, for our continued silence in the face of injustice. If we’re honest with ourselves, we know that we have not lived up to your example. Too often, we remain silent when we should speak out. Too often, we turn away from the injustices happening in our communities, in our schools, in our criminal justice system, and on our streets.

Ms. Rosa, you showed us that quiet defiance can be powerful, but you also showed us that speaking up is essential. You showed us that justice requires more than just symbolic acts; it requires sustained, committed action. And yet, today, we find ourselves trapped in the same cycles of silence and complicity.

In 2020, when the murder of George Floyd sparked protests around the world, many of us were outraged. We took to the streets. We posted on social media. We called for change. But now, just a few years later, the energy has faded. The outrage has subsided. And the systems of injustice remain largely intact. How quickly we forget. How quickly we return to silence.

Sorry, Ms. Rosa, for not carrying your fight forward as we should.

Sorry, Ms. Rosa, for our continued injustice. Sorry, Ms. Rosa, for the continued injustice that people of color face every day in this country.

We wish we could tell you that the world is different now, that we’ve moved beyond the racism and inequality you fought against. But we know that’s not true. Our schools are still segregated. Our criminal justice system disproportionately targets black and brown people. Police violence continues to claim the lives of people of color, and racial disparities in health care, education, and economic opportunity are still staggering.

And it will be fifty years, in 2025, since you sat on that bus. Ms. Rosa, you fought for a world where every person, regardless of their skin color, would be treated with dignity and respect. But we have not yet achieved that world. And for that, we are truly sorry. We apologize for every time we’ve failed to stand up for what is right, for every time we’ve allowed injustice to continue unchecked, for every time we’ve looked the other way.

In asking for forgiveness, we must also acknowledge that apologies, while important, are not enough. Rosa Parks did not fight for empty words; she fought for real, tangible change. If we are to honor her legacy, we must be willing to do more than just say we are sorry.

We must commit ourselves to the ongoing work of justice, to dismantling the systems of racism and inequality that still permeate our society. Unitarian Universalism calls us to affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every person. It calls us to seek justice, equity, and compassion in human relations. These are not just words that we say on Sundays; they are principles we are called to live out in our daily lives. To truly apologize to Ms. Rosa, we must embody these principles in our actions.

So, what does that look like? It looks like showing up—not just when it’s convenient or when it’s trendy, but consistently, in solidarity with those who are fighting for justice. It looks like educating ourselves about the realities of systemic racism and using our privilege to advocate for change. It looks like supporting policies that address racial disparities, from criminal justice reform to economic justice. And it looks like listening to those who are most affected by injustice and following their lead. Despite all that we must apologize for, we know that there is still hope. The fight for justice is long, but it is not without victories.

The same spirit that moved Rosa Parks to remain seated in defiance of injustice lives, moves in us today. We see it in the young activists leading the charge for racial justice. We see it in the communities organizing for change. We see it in the growing recognition that we cannot be silent in the face of oppression.

“Our minds fasten on that single moment on the bus — Ms. Parks alone in that seat, clutching her purse, staring out a window, waiting to be arrested. That moment tells us something about how change happens, or doesn’t happen. We so often spend our lives as if in a fog, accepting injustice, rationalizing inequity, tolerating the intolerable. Like the bus driver, but also like the passengers on the bus, we see the way things are — children hungry in a land of plenty, entire neighborhoods ravaged by violence, families hobbled by job loss or illness — and we make excuses for inaction, and we say to ourselves, that’s not my responsibility, there’s nothing I can do. Rosa Parks tells us there’s always something we can do. “

President Obama spoke those moving and right words at the unveiling of the beautiful new statue of Ms. Rosa Parks in the united states capitol’s statuary hall — the first black woman so honored. Rosa Parks once said, “I have learned over the years that when one’s mind is made up, this diminishes fear; knowing what must be done does away with fear.” Let us be fearless in our pursuit of justice. Let us be unwavering in our commitment to equality. And let us move forward, not with shame or guilt, but with a renewed sense of purpose, knowing that the work of justice is never finished, but always ongoing.

Sorry, Ms. Rosa, for the ways we have failed you. Sorry for the ways we have failed each other. But in this apology, let us also make a promise—a promise to do better, to work harder, to be more courageous in our pursuit of justice. May we carry your spirit with us, Ms. Rosa, as we continue the fight you so bravely began. May we honor your legacy not just with words, but with action. And may we, one day, be worthy of the forgiveness that we seek.

May it Be So, Amen, Blessed Be, Ashe’.