Post 3 in a series on racism in America.

I have recently been deeply impressed by the outcry of Hagar, who was bearing the son of Abraham, dealing with the jealousy of Sarah his wife, and yet as she fled, Genesis 16:13 she says “She gave this name to the Lord who spoke to her: 'You are the God who sees me,'”

In the prison, I learned again and again, offenders have no confidence anyone “sees” them. We practice selective vision. I know the homeless often feel this way. They are a problem to be moved along. Yet, so many of them have stories of soul breaking experiences, addictions, and dysfunctions. Our 20/20 vision does not see them. Seeing is the first step to caring and that can get complicated. Caring always gets complicated. I don't remember the first time I ran into the idea of God's simplicity. It took me by surprise and I wondered if this was some sort of liberal undermining of our concept of God. I soon learned when one speaks of the Simplicity of God, they are referencing his utter wholeness in knowledge, thought, love, grace, and mercy. We don't have that. We are “torn” between our love and our rules, between our compassion and our severity. We could go on and on. One professor I deeply respect coins the phrase “Think like an Octopus.” It is the capacity to think about “on the other hand.” Scripture tells us God is not torn between love and severity, grace and judgment. He is totally and completely integrated in all He is and all He does. Some of His people doubt that. They believe God should double down and be more severe in His judgment—to others.

Unfortunately, we are not.

So we wrestle with “mixed feelings.” “Sure I can help this homeless man but what if he is taking advantage of me?” Sure I want to see offenders change their lives but does that make me “soft” on crime.

At some point, I remember making the decision to not sweat whether my grace, kindness, and mercy were being abused by offenders. I am not a stupid man, but when you reach a point when you assess the best you can, digest the information available, you have to let God manage the outcome no matter how foolish you look when the game is up.

The most difficult time like this was working with a Black offender who had been bullied by two brothers in an orphanage. He finally had enough and torched the wing they were in. What he did not know was his best friend was in that fire and died. The guilt of what he had done had still haunted him. Honestly, he felt nothing for the boys who tormented him, but he grieved the loss of his friend which he only learned about years later when he made contact with the boy's mother. I was not his clinician but had occasion to see him and in response to his anguish, I printed and shared a story from the biography of John Newton the author of “Amazing Grace.” Those who do not know the story are unaware that before he became a pastor, he served on a slave ship that transported slaves from Africa to the Caribbean. I picked the incident because he was guilty of unforgivable barbarism and complicity in the death of many slaves who died on the voyage over to the home they never wanted. He took offense, deep offense. My purpose was out of my limited experience with historical events something might speak to his feelings of not being able to be forgiven, I picked John Newton. Not because he was anyone to admire, but rather because of the horrific crimes he did, he found grace and forgiveness in Christ. I believe he hated me from that day and began a “fraudulent” side effect of a medication that fooled not only me but all the physicians and specialists who examined him. One of my clinicians finally let me in on the rouse. I felt bad for a little while—bruised ego and all that, but decided at the end of the day, I did my best to help. Bruised as I was, I had no regrets.

I could say if one summed up the ministry of Jesus, it would start with, “I see you.” You can fill in the blank, the outcast because of leprosy, the blind, the lame, the gentile, the prostitute. The Christian church can do no less. We don't have to agree with them, we don't have to support their ideas or lifestyles, but we need to get better at saying, “I see you.” To Hagar, it meant everything. We should not end our work until we can say with grace and compassion, “I see you.”

Wash your hands, mind the gap, and be kind.