Last night Anna and I did date night at our favorite bbq place in Round Rock, Liberty BBQ on Main Street. So many of the sides for bbq are high in carbohydrates so it is difficult for me to enjoy a low carb meal. Liberty has two sides that are low carbs, and they have great bbq. After that, we stopped by our HEB to get our groceries and while we were in the store, our granddaughters called from Taiwan. We texted them and told them we would be home shortly and having unloaded the groceries, washed and sanitized them, and put them away, we called.
It was Friday in Taiwan and Karen and the girls were finished with quarantine. So, they had moved to the family home in Taipei and the girls were running around outside finally. So we visited for a while and Zoey aged 4 talked to us about going to school. She was ready and she was excited. She also attempted to teach Grandpa and Granny her Chinese name. It was hopeless for me. But Zoey was patient and watching her teach me her name in Chinese was really something. Mandarin Chinese and Taiwanese Chinese are reported to be some of the most difficult languages in the world to learn.
I remember when Tim and Joseph were in East Asia as journeymen, the language to be learned was Mandarin Chinese. Both picked it up more easily that I could ever have anticipated. I did not have that gift. I took Spanish for a year in high school, Greek for three years in college and seminary, Hebrew for one year, and was still unable to speak anything but West Texas English and that somewhat poorly.
It is always a joy to talk to my granddaughters. Those of us who have known only boys through several generations, find girls and interesting change of pace. First, girls giggle, squeal and that at very high pitches which tend to make dogs in the neighborhood bark. Boys, of course are not like that. My closest encounter with a group of girls was in my first church when I took our girls to Girls In Action Camp because I was the camp preacher for the week. I was totally unprepared for the experience. On the way to the encampment, two girls were sitting in the front seat with me, and some man's name came up and the girls said, “Oh he is so hot!” Since these girls were 7 or 8, I was shocked. That was only the beginning. I endured the week, enjoyed most of it, but my ears were never the same. One of the things our GA Camp director had planned was a pottery demonstration from a local potter who was affable and handsome in a rugged sort of way. The girls went wild. I was shocked. Think 1978 and the girls in training bras(I have never understood that term) were absolutely besotted and they were not old enough to be discreet.
Then today, I worked with three clients and found myself again reminded of my call at this time in my life. In a phrase, I am called to the “care of souls.” J.I. Packer references us as “embodied souls,” and I get that. The care of souls is larger than a category, a position, a title. It is like Jesus, “the work of on the way.” So many of the Lord's contacts were “on the way.” It was not just confined to a sermon, a healing service(which are not referenced in Scripture), or a teaching time. He was a dispenser of gospel and grace on the way from one place to another. I get that. It has taken a long time to see that and understand that, but I am beginning to get that. So when I check out at the grocery store, I make a point of speaking the names of those at the register and the sacker. I ask how they are doing, and I make sure they know how much I appreciate their work in these times. It is literally “the care of souls.” So as I worked today, I kept always in the front of my mind and heart, these are people, very special people for whom Christ died.” It is a lesson I learned walking the halls of prison. It was a great temptation to get jaded, suspicious, detached from the work, so I said again and again as I walked the halls, as I met with offenders through their sick calls, “These are people for whom Christ died.” I must say, the church in America has forgotten that simple truth. We will never meet a person for whom Christ did not die. Therefore, they are of infinite value and worth and deserving of our respect.
I have also plowed on through “The Warmth of Other Suns,” which is a remarkable, historical story of three families from the South who fled Jim Crow and moved either north or west. At this point in my journey, I struggle with the guilt of “why didn't I know this was happening?” Why didn't I see what was plainly staring me in the face?” The truth is that in the African American community, I think, there was such fear about reprisal, the best course of action was to say nothing and adjust to the system of repression and oppression.
That grieves me. It grieves me because I am an incredibly curious person. I want to know and to learn. As a child, with the woman who cleaned our house and cooked my meals I wanted to know why she could not sit down and eat with me, but somehow, I was warned away from pushing the issue any further. I still remember, painfully, that conversation and ask myself “why didn't you ask why it was not done?” I do not fault Mae, because she had learned the “proper way” to be around her white employers.
The truth is I have always been curious. I want to understand and be understood. However, here is this gaping hole in both experience and life where I did not know but because I did not know it appeared to be support for what was unsupportable. This is not a criticism of the African American community, but they kept their suffering to themselves. They trusted few outside their community. They adjusted their lives to what they believed was the reality at that time.
This, however, is a different time. And in my heart and mind, it is time for the white Christians to learn about the oppression our African American brothers and sisters have labored under from the beginning of America, first in slavery then in Jim Crow. We must first lay a foundation of trust, and then sit at their feet as they teach us about their experience in America. It will not be a pleasant course of lessons, but it is required if we are to move beyond our present crisis. And frankly, it falls woefully short when we say, “Well we need to let bygones be bygones!” Or, “That was then and now is now!” Or, “I did not have a part in what happened in the past!” Or, “Well, that is not how I feel!” The truth looms like a large shadow over the present depriving many African Americans of opportunity, education, and success. The roots are ancient, but still sustain the life of racism.
In our part of the world, Round Rock, Texas, we have a lot of old live oak trees. Their roots are deep in the earth but the tree lives because of the deep roots. These trees have survived the droughts of Central Texas for at least a hundred years. They are the “life” of the tree. That is the parable of the plight of our African American citizens. The roots of racism are deep, they are profound, and they have sustained the generations of racism which have come down to us. They have allowed the oppression of a particular group of people long after slavery was ended. The sad reality is that oppression continues to today.
It is past time for it to end.
Wash your hands, wear your mask for others, mind the gap, and be kind. Remember, we are nowhere near an end to this pandemic.
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