My first thought was not one of kindness. I hate to admit some of the stereotypes that were in formation before I was even fully aware, but as I looked her way, I first noticed how she was different from me. In a matter of seconds, I noticed her skin color and how she was dressed, her weight and the number of children with her, and I expected the worst of her response to her misbehaving child.
Racism had snuck out the neat box I keep him in. It was as if he had been waiting, right there between the DiGiorno pizzas and Uncrustables for this moment to arrive, to gloat at the revelation of my true self.
I don't like to acknowledge that racism is a part of me. I have all these great "claim to fame" elements that surely exempt me from having to. Obviously, having black friends counts. I've got a bunch of them, actually. I have shopped at the Mexican bakery and grocery store in town. We check books about "diversity" out at the library for the kids. I love Ella Fitzgerald and John Legend and who can deny the great talent and good looks of Denzel Washington. I went on a date with a Mexican guy once. (Well technically from TX, but sometimes it's hard to tell the difference.) Oh, I even have lived as a minority in another culture -twice! And, (oh, this is practically a trump card) ... I have adopted black children AND can do their hair, by myself (ahem - twists AND cornrows)!!! That's right.
But the thing is, racism comes from a place of brokenness that we all possess. Some of us have a sense of self-importance that leads us to think about what we have and who we are as being superior. Some of us have fear of others and their ways. Some feel threatened by the differences they see and and worry someone else's culture might force unwanted change. A very few of us may even have experienced things that give us reason for legitimate resentment, if there is such a thing in God's eyes...
but the Creator of the rainbow of the sky and of skin communicates something deeply profound in the Bible. Imago Dei...means the image of God. Only human beings, in all of creation, are described as being formed in this way. What a mystery that is, and what implications for how to understand humanity.
If I am an image-bearer, I have responsibility to the one whose image I bear. And if you are an image-bearer, I have responsibility to how I treat you because of the one whose image you bear.
There is all kinds of crazy weight inherent in that belief, but the bottom line is this.
How I treat you matters, because of who I am, and because of who you are.
This all seems relevant as we remember the life of Dr. Martin Luther King during January, because at the heart of his preaching was the knowledge that injustice was relevant to the Creator of life because of what it said about those who claimed to love him and what it meant to those who were being offended against. It mattered because the life of Jesus was about being with those who were under-served, under-loved, under-represented, under-appreciated. And it mattered because the example of God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in relationship to himself, was one of unity, community, and glory!
So we all have moments like this, where Sin looks us square in the eye, and grins at his own success. At this forked juncture, we always have a choice of whether to proceed further into sin or experience redemption in the immediate. I think sin is almost always an issue of both omission and commission. By this I mean there are things we do that are sinful and the things we leave undone that are sinful. In racism it is both how we offend and how we do nothing at all. We can tell a racist joke, have a bigoted thought, etc, but it is actually no less a sin to turn aside when it happens.
I have heard a quote by Ellie Wiesel that says,
"The opposite of love is not hate. It is indifference."
There are lots of times I don't chose as well, but this time I simply stepped over indifference and pushed past "omission" with my cart. I walked right up to the God-mirroring mother, just in time to see her press into her little girl with tenderness and assure her,
"You're gonna make it, honey."
And before I could stop it, a full blast of redemption rushed through my veins! As I reached out to touch her arm, and look into her soft face, I heard my own voice say,
"You're going to make it, too!"
She laughed, looking right into my eyes, and smiled back as she thanked me.
And there is was, bursting in a tiny explosion of glory to God - recognition of Him in her, in the middle of our own messiness -- a gift wrapped in a moment of my own sin; wholeness out of my brokenness
. But that's what redemption is, isn't it?
And really isn't that all each of us really needs in the frozen food section of the grocery store when our kids are misbehaving, or our bad day (or life) is etched too deeply into our brow; when we're dragging from the weight of illness or pains or habits or our own thoughts... just some redemption? Just some recognition of the image of God spilling through the cracks of our brokenness? Just some acceptance for who we are... just some real life Jesus love melting away our sharpness, instead of the love that sings with passion on Sunday mornings and prefers to judge in the market by Thursday afternoon?
I'm looking for love, friends. I bet you are, too. Be the love by imaging God and loving those who bear his mark. Redemption is near.
