This writing continues a theme from the last posting: August 3, 2022, "No VIPs Here." You may wish to read that writing first, for it will provide context for this one.
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The Sage was asked, "What would you do, if you met Christ?" The Sage answered, "I've met Christ." Confused, the man asked, "When?" "Now," replied the Sage. "How's that possible?" came the reply. Said the Sage, "You're sitting here before me, aren't you?"
*Brian K. Wilcox. "Meetings with an Anonymous Sage."
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The family goes to eat out at a restaurant. Molly, a preteen, sits ignored. The adults talk about things of interest to adults. The waiter arrives. He receives orders from the adults and last comes to Molly. "And what would you like?" he asks. She says, "A hotdog and soda." Immediately, the grandmother states, "She'll take the roasted chicken dinner with carrots and mashed potatoes." Next, the father chimes in, "And she'll have milk to drink." The waiter looks back at Molly. He asks, "Would you like ketchup and mustard on your hot dog?" She answers, "Ketchup, please." Molly looks at the adults and says, "You know what? He thinks I'm real."
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Yesterday, I wrote about the wisdom of nondiscrimination, or equality. When we see another as our equal, we relate to them as real. If we act with discrimination, we diminish the other person; we see them as less than us or as negligible altogether.
Racial tolerance, for example, rather than racial inclusion, allows the other a rightful place in society without recognizing the other as an equal. The other race is still seen and treated as less real than the one acting solely out of tolerance. An aggressiveness, even passive, is acted against the ones not treated as equals. A person of different skin color is diminished by one with another skin color.
In racial intolerance, a person of another race is treated as not real at all, objectified as a thing, not recognized as a subject worthy of respect. While tolerance diminishes the other, in intolerance the person is negated - treated as a non-person, or even a nothing.
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I came up in a society known to deny equal rights to persons of African descent. Yet, as a seminary student teaching in a seminary in New Orleans, LA - one for only black students preparing for Christian ministry - a student surprised me by telling me how members of her race experienced prejudice from darker skinned toward those of lighter skin. Lighter skinned were seen to be less pure. Hence, the lighter-skinned were treated as less real, less authentic, or a step down on the racial-purity ladder. This moment was my introduction to inter-racial prejudice.
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As a young pastor aged 19, I served a rural evangelical church in the deep South, USA. A small house was situated in a field near the sanctuary. I visited to invite the occupants to worship with us, not knowing who lived there. A couple of children came to the door. They were of African descent. The parents were not present, and they invited me to return. I did, and the parents invited me in. I sat in a chair with the large family. We had a joyful time sharing. They treated me as an honored guest. The father said their little church had a small number attending, and he had thought of his family attending our congregation. I welcomed them to worship with us.
Within days, on a Sunday evening, just before worship was to begin, I was walking up to the sidewalk leading to the church. A congregational leader met me. He spoke gravely, "I just want you to know, some people are talking about you visiting that black family." I knew from his voice this was a warning.
In this all-white Southern Baptist church, in a culture where African Americans had a place and whites a place, I was being told, "I know this is a place where we talk about a Jesus who welcomed all, but, pastor, we don't welcome those who look like them." What were the people saying: "They're less real than us. They belong, but somewhere else... in their place, not our place. They can't worship with us." So, it was seen as okay to give lip service to Jesus' inclusiveness while okay to ignore it and still claim to worship him.
This confrontation shocked me, for despite coming up in a racist culture, I never thought Christians would turn anyone away from worshipping in a place many called "the House of God." We claimed the Bible was God's Word to us. But as I had witnessed it, the denomination was choosing to ignore its message of inclusive hospitality. White supremacy was not in hoods in the "house of God," and there were no burning crosses, but white elitism was present.
Yet, had not Jesus said to his fellow Jewish citizens, quoting from the prophet Isaiah, “The Scriptures declare, 'My Temple will be called a house of prayer for all nations, ...'" (Gospel of Mark 11.17, NLT)? Is that not the same as saying, "all races" and "all ethnicities" and "all genders" and "all political affiliations" and ""all sexual orientations" ...?
Jesus said in the Bible we read from at all worship meetings, "Come to me, all of you who are tired from carrying heavy loads, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke and put it on you, and learn from me, because I am gentle and humble in spirit; and you will find rest. For the yoke I will give you is easy, and the load I will put on you is light" (Gospel of Matthew 11.28-30, GNT, emphasis added). Jesus recognized the equal realness of all. He lived and spoke the vision - treating others, all others, as equals. This vision was penned beautifully in another scripture: "The Spirit and the Bride [Church] say, 'Come!' Let anyone who hears say, 'Come!' And let anyone who is thirsty come - let anyone who wishes, take the water of life free of charge" (Revelation 22.17, CJB, emphasis added). However, the family up the road, of different skin color and considering only to worship with us, the answer was, "No. Don't come. You're not permitted to meet Jesus with us."
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When in college, a janitor of the local Baptist church invited my friend and me - both ministry students - to visit his church. The church, a black congregation, was having revival meetings. We accepted the invitation. We were the only non-black present. The pastor surprised us by inviting us onto the stage. He had us sit among other ministers, and someone served us lemonade. Then, he invited us to speak to the congregation. We did, each giving a short talk about the Gospel of Jesus. What did the janitor, the pastor, and the congregation say, "Welcome, we're glad you are here among us. Let's meet Jesus together."
This congregation treated my friend and me as equals. They said by all they did, "You're real, we're real. We're one realness." I recall that night as special these decades later. I remain grateful to those people for treating me as an equal in a way that most of my race did not treat them. Yes, we were all aware of our different skin colors, yet, that did not matter. We appeared different, but we knew we were alike in heart. They treated my friend and me as Jesus treated those who came to him. In the words of our writing from yesterday, we were all Christ enjoying being with Christ.
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I leave you with a few questions. What did Molley mean by saying the waiter thought of her as real? What does it mean to treat another as real? What does it feel like when someone treats you as real? Treats you as less of worth than they esteem themselves or those who look or think like them? Have others led you to feel less than real about yourself? How might you more consciously affirm the realness of others, integrating that awareness into your daily interactions with others? How does your spiritual tradition speak of equality?
*Use of photography is allowed accompanied by credit given to Brian K. Wilcox and notation of title and place of the photograph.
*Brian's book, An Ache for Union: Poems on Oneness with God through Love, can be ordered through major online booksellers or the publisher AuthorHouse.
