These past weeks have been sad and hopeful, as well as difficult and inspiring. Against the backdrop of the killing of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor and other black men and women, there has been a swelling wave of national self-appraisal and reflection, even attempts at reconciliation — all of which were a long time coming and all of which still have a long way to go.

But it is striking that there are two symbols — physical expressions of the battle against racism and brutality in this country — which have become uncommonly vivid displays of adherence to the principles of justice and liberty, embodied in the current peaceful demonstrations. Miraculously, perhaps, they are increasingly shared by police and protestors alike.

The symbols of the ‘bent knee’ and the ‘raised fist,’ now unifying expressions in protests across our nation, began with extraordinary acts of courage by athletes who could not have foreseen that their expressions of resistance would have become central in the battle against racism.

When Colin Kaepernick first sat during the national anthem prior to the SF 49ers' third preseason game in 2016 and then quietly took a knee the next week and throughout the season as a protest against racial injustice, his single act of humility and quiet protest began a movement. The idea of taking a knee came from a Green Beret friend who remembered the image of Martin Luther King Jr. taking a knee in a 1965 Civil Rights protest.

At a recent protest I attended, all of us who could, took a knee for eight minutes and 46 seconds in memory of George Floyd. It was a powerful and respectful act of mourning and determination.

We often think of prophets in Biblical literary terms, but prophesy is not limited to the lectern or the pulpit, nor is solely the provenance of academic or economic theorists. Prophesy sometimes emanates from the most unexpected venues — football fields and Olympic stadiums included. I count Colin Kaepernick as such a prophet before his time.

Other quiet and less known prophetic types with whom the world is still trying to catch up emerged back in 1968. That year was marked by the assassinations of Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. The Democratic National Convention in Chicago was held toward the end of the summer of that year in an atmosphere of rampant violence, political turbulence, and civil unrest. And the 19th Olympic Games were held in October of ’68, in Mexico City.

Those who are old enough to remember may recall a singular moment of those Olympics captured in an iconic photograph of John Carlos and Tommie Smith, who won medals in the 200-meter dash. They were extraordinary runners, but their athletic prowess became a side-bar to what happened when they stood on the pedestal for the medal ceremony.

In a precursor to the current protests, Carlos and Smith decided to use the medal ceremony and Olympic spotlight to take a stand for Black American civil rights. In a powerful symbolic gesture, they stood with their heads bowed and their black-gloved fists in the air while the national anthem played.

All attention was on them. But in the photograph was another man who history – and most people – have overlooked.

He was white. He stood motionless on the second step of the medal podium, his eyes straight ahead. His name was Peter Norman, an Australian who was not considered a potential medal winner, but who took second place that day with a time that still remains the Australian national record after 52 years.

Apparently the two American runners had asked Peter Norman if he believed in God and in human rights. “Yes,” he answered to both questions. He believed in human rights, had been in the Salvation Army, and strongly believed in God. Carlos and Smith told him that they believed what they were going to do would be far greater than any athletic feat. Peter Norman affirmed: “I’ll stand with you.”

But then Norman did something else. He pointed to the Olympic Project for Human Rights badge on the others’ chests and said, “I want one of those.”

As we know, the three went out on the field and stood on the podium, two of them shoeless with a black gloved fist in the air, all three wearing their Human Rights Badge.

When he returned home to Australia, Norman was treated like a pariah. He wasn’t allowed to be part of the Australian sprinters team again, despite having qualified more than a dozen times. He couldn’t find regular work, only occasionally working as a butcher. His family were treated as outcasts.

Peter Norman refused the one chance he was offered to save himself. In exchange for a pardon from the country that ostracized him, all he needed to do was to condemn the actions of the two Americans who had stood by his side on the Olympic pedestal. He refused.

Without his country ever having apologized for their treatment of him, Peter Norman died from a heart attack in 2006. At his funeral Tommie Smith and John Carlos were his pallbearers, sending him off as a hero.

“He paid the price with his choice. It wasn't just a simple gesture to help us, it was his fight,” explained Tommie Smith. Peter Norman was a lone soldier who chose sacrifice in the name of human rights.

Even today when it seems the fight for human rights and equality is never ending, and innocent lives are being taken, it is good to recall that Peter Norman spoke with his life and Tommie Smith and John Carlos spoke with their courage and reputations. In the matter of fighting racism, they were true and straight without deviation or vacillation. They were prophets that left us an invincible gesture of resistance to injustice and purposeful dedication to correcting the inequities in our society.

How can we know when a prophet of truth walks among us?

We know them because the platform on which they stand has room enough for all humanity without reference to color of skin, country of birth, faith espoused, or gender preferred. We know them because their only hatred is for evil and their greatest love is for the common destiny of humankind.

These are the kinds of prophets with whom we should courageously march forward together, sometimes taking a knee, sometimes with a raised fist, but always with clarity of vision of a better world.