Jesse Jackson once said: “I am not a perfect servant. I am a public servant doing my best against the odds. As I develop and serve, be patient. God is not finished with me yet.”
On Feb. 17, God called our brother Jesse home.
Jackson was born Oct. 8, 1941, in Greenville, S.C. He rose to prominence during the Civil Rights era, participating in demonstrations alongside Martin Luther King Jr. He fought against injustice to his last breath, and his activism spanned decades.
J. Basil Dannebohm
“Our father was a servant leader — not only to our family, but to the oppressed, the voiceless and the overlooked around the world,” the Jackson family said in a statement.
Civil Rights leader Al Sharpton said in a statement: “Rev. Jackson stood wherever dignity was under attack, from apartheid abroad to injustice at home. His voice echoed in boardrooms and in jail cells.”
On the morning of his death, I wept as I drove to St. George Orthodox Cathedral for divine liturgy. Between the tears, I prayed for the repose of Jesse’s soul.
For me, his death was personally devastating.
Like Jesse, I devoted much of my career to both ministry and public service. We likewise shared some similar neurological issues.
But the connection didn’t stop there.
Seven years ago, my flight was delayed at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. I decided to stop into one of the concourse restaurants for a bite to eat while I passed the time. There were no seats available. Just as I was turning around to leave, a gentleman tapped me on my shoulder.
“Sir,” he said. “My boss sent me over to invite you to join him at his table.”
He pointed to a table where Jesse Jackson was seated. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
As I approached, Jackson stood up, shook my hand and invited me to sit down. I remember being awestruck. I stand 5′ 11″. He was at least 6′ 3″. But for some reason he seemed much taller, dare I say larger than life.
“Although I tried to play it cool, I broke down, wept and poured my heart out to him.”
Jackson said he invited me to join him because I looked tired. He elaborated, “Not just fatigued. Like something is weighing you down.”
I had a lot on my mind that particular evening. It had nothing to do with the delayed flight, though. In fact, it was one of my darkest hours.
He invited me to eat, drink and share if I felt inclined. There was no pressure.
Although I tried to play it cool, I broke down, wept and poured my heart out to him. He listened. He didn’t judge. When I finished, he took my hands and told me everything was going to be all right. He shared some thoughts without talking down, preaching or making it feel too much like advice.
When he concluded, I felt like a heavy weight had been lifted. I believed him when he said everything would be all right.
We spent the next hour or so eating and visiting as if we were old friends. At the end of the meal, he insisted on paying. As we left, he embraced me, thanked me for joining him and sharing, again reiterating that everything would be all right.
In time, everything was indeed all right.
In the Emmaus account of Luke 24:31 we read, “Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him, and he disappeared from their sight.”
That evening at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport was an Emmaus encounter I always will cherish. I felt the presence of Christ, unconditional love and hospitality through the Christian witness of Jesse Jackson, who once said, “Never look down on anybody unless you’re helping him up.”
He helped me up. For that, I will be eternally grateful.
J. Basil Dannebohm is a writer, speaker, consultant and former Kansas state legislator. He divides his time between Washington, D.C., and Kansas. His website is www.dannebohm.com.