A couple of weeks ago I posted a cartoon and a practice invitation for you to think through the ways we jump to conclusions about people, and what would happen if we reframed our perspectives.
Here’s the cartoon that prompted that post:
I was picturing you telling stories like this one of mine, about the time I rounded a corner in an office building, late at night, thinking I was alone, and found myself nose-to-nose with a woman I didn’t expect to be there. She was short, and had dark, wild hair, and she didn’t expect me, either. I was so startled that I grabbed her shoulders and screamed, loud and long, until my brain caught up with what was happening and I could get hold of myself, release her, and scurry embarrassed into the bathroom, which had been my destination all along.
I don’t remember her screaming or making any sound at all while I reacted; she just stared at me, wide-eyed. A few minutes later, my heart rate slowing, I’m pretty sure I heard her and another woman laughing at what had happened.
For those few rattled seconds that seemed like minutes, that woman was to me a giant, hideous insect–in the spirit of that Far Side comic–and I couldn’t see straight, or think, or reason. I simply reacted.
So, yes, I was imagining that you would share stories like that one–perhaps less jarring!–and reflect on those moments. And then…
…crickets….
Well, actually, a few of you did respond with some reflections around this question, but I wanted to leave a little more time, so I held off an additional week, and, still…
crickets.
Which has me thinking about this practice instruction. And about this time we’re in.
And I’ll name this truth that we’re carrying incredible burdens in this time, so it’s perhaps unsurprising that my questions didn’t generate a lot of engagement. Who has time or energy?
Still, it seems like that silence might be saying some important things. So let’s listen to some possible takeaways:
First of all, I wonder if some of you found it profoundly inappropriate to use the language of “giant, hideous insects,” in the spirit of Gary Larson’s comic, to refer to other human beings. I felt that way when I used that term, up above, to describe that perfectly harmless cleaning woman who startled me so severely, twenty years ago. I hope you see that it’s a metaphor, not a label.
Second, though, most of us don’t want to admit the truth behind that language. It’s there, uncomfortably, both in our split-second reactions and in our longer-term perspectives. I’ll give you a few examples, drawn from this season:
- In this season, that pic of me in a mask makes me a kind of “giant, hideous insect” to some people who are fundamentally opposed to them and view a cautionary response to COVID-19 as misguided and unnecessary.
- In this season, if you saw me without a mask, in public, some of you would view me as a “giant, hideous insect,” of sorts, for not heeding health officials’ recommendations in the midst of this pandemic.
- Many of us have been outraged at the shooting of Ahmaud Arbery in Georgia, in February. This young black jogger evidently represented a “giant, hideous insect” to his white pursuers–to the point that they chose to grab their guns and follow him in order to provoke what became a deadly encounter.
- To me, the “giant, hideous insects” in that story are Travis and Greg McMichael, those white aggressors, who were finally arrested last weekend. And I’d include the officials who took no action for more than two months. It’s not very charitable of me, but it’s in me.
- A friend had the unfortunate experience of some guys Zoom-bombing her church’s Bible study last week. I didn’t ask her, but I’m certain there were some “giant, hideous insect” reactions to that happening.
- I’ve noticed a fervent dispute in the media over whether voting by mail could ease pandemic risks on voters now and in the November elections. I bristle when a Facebook friend shares yet another meme decrying the evils of vote-by-mail. I hypothesize that these messages originate with despicable Russian trolls seeking to threaten our democracy. “What a bunch of giant, hideous insects,” I might grumble, while struggling not to include my FB friend in that category.
- Someone who is infected, right now, with COVID-19 must feel like they’re a “giant, hideous insect,” in the view of strangers and even loved ones. You’ll probably be viewed that way if you dare to cough or sneeze in public, whether or not it has anything to do with The Virus. Whatever distancing was already happening will be intensified!
- And what about
- the employer who laid us (or our relatives) off?
- the debt collector who keeps calling?
- the politicians whose orders or words during this pandemic we find mystifying and outrageous?
- (dare I say) The family member with whom we’ve been sheltering in place? We’re probably all shading the truth if we say we haven’t had even one moment of looking at that person and thinking (our version of) “giaNT, HIDEOUS!!” (And, more seriously, if someone in your home is making you feel unsafe, please reach out for help! You do not have to live with that danger.)
Once we get in touch with the “giant, hideous insect”-O-Meter that resides in each of us, there’s yet another problem: we don’t particularly want to reframe our negative reaction to them. We feel justified (and are, actually) in hating the white-on-black violence that seems unending in this country. I am absolutely certain that the risks of mail-in-voting are smaller than the pandemic risks of millions of people standing in lines at the polls, so I get to demonize the people who would disagree, don’t I? Why would I want to reframe my justifiable rage, or annoyance, or unease about the various people I listed above?
But, see, that’s the point of the question in the first place. Jesus didn’t say “love your neighbor” except when they’re wrong, racially motivated, diseased, or on your last nerve. When that person appears in our vision or on our news feed, I wonder if we could picture Jesus standing next to us (without the need for social distance!) saying, “I meant that one,” and when the next one appears, “and that one.” And in response we’d scowl and then look again at that opponent, or that threat, and take a deep breath, and say, “Yes, Lord,” and turn our weary minds to wonder, “Is he right? Is there something good in that person? Can I love them even I can’t see it?”
We don’t have to like it. But we’re called to practice it.
There’s one more piece to the cartoon that started this reflection, and we’ll turn to that next week. It has to do with Edna’s friend’s comment that maybe this “giant, hideous insect is in need of help.” The responses I received to my initial post leaned into that part of the problem of giant hideousness. And it bears further conversation around boundaries, and how we do or don’t try to help another human being. I hope you’ll stay tuned. Because one way or another, those “insects” are among us, and Jesus is indeed standing right there, too, smiling at us even as he glances in their direction, saying, “Love!”
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