A seven year old boy joined my line. I asked him, "What are you doing?" He said, "Marching." I asked him, "Why are you marching?" He looked up at me … - Maurice Davis

I realize that it is a dangerous practice, perhaps even subversive, to talk about brotherhood in March. It is the kind of un-American activity that could lead to a breakdown in our entire national way of life. Someone may begin to love his mother on a day other than the second Sunday in May or eat turkey on a day other than the fourth Thursday in November, or worship G-d on a day other than the Sabbath. I suppose, however, that these fears of mine are unrealistic, and I should renew my faith that we shall once again return to normalcy. I cannot recall what it was I planned to say last month. Too many events have happened too rapidly and too enormously in the past two weeks. Whatever it was that I might have said would be tonight something less than relevant. During the past week alone we sent two men into space where they guided their ship, changed their course and their orbit, circled the earth three times, and then apologized for landing 60 miles away from their target. During the past week alone we watched live television shots of the moon as Ranger 9 plunged into that increasingly abused star at the precise area planned for impact. And, during the past week, we witnessed in Alabama a scene more stirring, more filled with signs and portents for our world than any of our engineering feats of science. Last month, when the snows came, I jokingly announced that I would speak tonight on the subject, "Brotherhood Postponed." All I had in mind was the snow, but that was a month ago. Last week I announced from this pulpit that I would go to Selma, Alabama, and it was there that I witnessed the results of "Brotherhood Postponed" in a way I never before quite fully comprehended. I should like to talk to you this evening about that trip. It would make the title "Brotherhood Postponed" more accurate than I had planned for it to be.

Ladies and gentlemen, every path leads somewhere. That is what a path is all about. The path of segregation leads to lynching every time. The path of antisemitism leads to Auschwitz every time. The path of the cults leads to Jonestown — and we ignore it at our peril.

Once we stopped at the camp site several things began to occur to me. The first was that I had neither eaten nor drunk anything for more than twelve hours. I had not even sat down once in those twelve hours. My left foot had blistered painfully. And I had experienced a religious exaltation which I had never witnessed before.