"The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet." ~Frederick Buechner
We had occasion to pass through a neighborhood over Thanksgiving that was adorned with confederate flags and Trump support. It spurred some conversation. A well-meaning family member interjected some musings that went something like this: “What would it mean to show the love of Christ to people with confederate flags in their windows? Maybe many of them are atheists and not rich, Christian Republican racists.” Honestly, my first response was a huge eye roll toward heaven and then a visible and audible deep sigh. I do say well-meaning because I really don’t think it was meant to shame or reduce injustice. I do think it over-spiritualized a very real, very close human dilemma.
I went for a run a little later along the Alabama shoreline and began to explore why my first response was cynicism and a critical eye. There are so many reasons why I responded that way, but my thoughts on my run that day showed some clarity about myself. And I am working on building trust with myself. The last few years, I have noticed more acutely where I have abandoned or betrayed myself. And with my return home to myself comes recognizing my own front door! The words from Derek Walcott’s beautiful poem, Love After Love come to mind “Peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life.”
Some moments begin to flash past in my memory. The day I sat in my high school Government class and stood up to the bully who was relentless in his cruelty to a student who was socially awkward and had yet to graduate beyond his middle school body. The time when a girl I met in a state-wide youth choir handed over to me her pocket mirror with a razor blade tucked inside along with her heartbreaking story to go with it. She gave me her tears, her sacred story and her trust that day. She had been a victim of abuse. Stories upon stories over my lifetime came floating like logs moving down a swollen river. I have, in my own life, in my own way, been oppressed and quieted and rejected when putting my core self out into the world. Not to say I haven’t perpetrated such acts; we have all been the archer and we’ve all been the prey (Taylor Swifts words in her new song, The Archer).
Where my heart breaks wide open is where there is suffering, especially when that suffering is caused by an oppressor of some sort, whether it is an oppressive system or person or group. Bullies make me rage. There are those beautiful souls who work with perpetrators such as those involved with prison ministries. We need those who are called to love and rehabilitate the bully.
And I also know my limits. I rage when I think that there is a sex industry. I rage because there are men who are patrons to a booming business. These same men have wives and daughters and sisters and mothers.
I rage when the community I live in gets more offended at a mask mandate to keep our hospitals manageable and our people safe than they do that our downtown square hails a confederate soldier as a war hero that offends its citizens and sends a message that indeed, not all are welcome. Is this not the antithesis of southern hospitality?
I’m grateful for the question posed, though at first it felt condescending and self righteous. And I don’t know the reason for it in the first place, but it has given me the occasion to examine my response to it and what feels important to notice. I’ve recently heard the term, “Do No Harm”. While I love that statement, it speaks of what not to do. I also recently read this statement: “Love what you can, when you can, how you can.” This becomes the response to the question asked by my family member. Perhaps that person can love the perpetrator. And he can do it with more grace than I can. My gladness is relieving suffering where I find it in my little corner of the world. Perhaps I can lock arms with those who want the same thing. Perhaps you can too. Where is your deep gladness?