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- A key part of a vibrant Christian life is the willingness to see others empathetically.
My grandparents enjoyed hereditary wealth from eastern Mississippi timber. They had a lovely hilltop home surrounded by fat, shiny cows. Left unsupervised one afternoon, I explored the musty basement. I found something unusual: a phone-booth-sized room with nothing but a toilet. It was years until I realized that was the bathroom for the “help.” Nancy and Eddie were the only adults my sister and cousins called by their first names. Nancy made the best fried chicken in the world and Eddie always gave me random items he found as he walked to work.
I like to let my proverbial drone fly high. I like to see where I am in relation to the world around me. I am an educated, 21st-century, American white male who has enjoyed tremendous opportunities and blessings. Two things about that: I know everyone else has not had the opportunities I have enjoyed and I have tried to enhance the lives of others in my community. But I’m not the only one who thinks this way. NW Arkansas is a wonderful place to live, filled with wonderful generous people.
But in the last several years I have noticed something. Many Americans, who have received tremendous opportunities, resources and social standing, do not think that way. They have little interest in seeing themselves from a birds-eye view. They have little interest in understanding the situation of those with different backgrounds. And that choice appears to be getting worse. It’s as though their historic place on the social pyramid has metastasized.
It is a weakness in our society when we do not try to understand one another. As a pastor in NW Arkansas for almost 20 years, I have learned about what life is like for grieving parents. I have listened to many stories from our neighbors who sleep in their cars. I have heard those from the Marshall Islands and Mexico describe their frustrations. My empathy is not perfect, but I listen. I try to understand what life is like for them. And in that process, I have made some extraordinary friends.
There is something important about how our story ends: There’s a shiny new garden. It’s noisy and festive. The creator greets everyone who enters and gently wipes tears from our faces with a holy handkerchief. Suddenly there is a hush and then cheers erupt as more arrive: people of all shapes and sizes and ethnicities and histories. We find ourselves shoulder-to-shoulder with laughing, singing people who are not white, American and used to having enough. This is a trajectory we would be wise to remember.
One sunny Mississippi morning an unusual thing happened. My sister and I got dressed for church and a strange car pulled into the driveway. A woman got out. She wore a yellow dress, white gloves and a hat with flowers. We got in her rusty Impala and drove to Greater Ebenezer Baptist Church. We were going to church with Nancy. Across the distance of race and economics and melanin lives a memory I will never forget: How Nancy was overwhelmed with pride to have two awkward, white-haired, Oklahoma kids as her guests at church. Thank you, Nancy, for such a beautiful gift.