This week’s post is Part Two of a series that started last week and will continue with one more post. “What We See” is worth considering, whether it’s our town, our lives, or our churches. Scroll to last week’s post if you missed it, and stay tuned as we continue this conversation.
Some years ago I read a book whose main character arrived in an unfamiliar town and as a first order of business figured out, seemingly effortlessly, where to pick up some marijuana. I remember marveling at that. Is it that obvious to people who arrive in my town? I wondered.
As a pastor of a church inside a prison, I bid farewell again and again to women who are returning to their home communities. Especially for someone who has battled addiction, this return is challenging. She knows the drug-laced landscape—and the pushers—of her town all too well, and she has already experienced how hard it is to leave that knowledge behind. It occurs to me that I could drive through her town completely oblivious to those hazards. We see so differently.
I returned from a mission trip once having helped to replace a roof. I learned a lot that week about shingles and rooflines and the way you lap the shingles along the ridges. For days after my return, I saw nothing but roofs. I noticed the shingles on my own house for the first time, and the different colors and quality of roofing materials evident in my neighborhood and beyond. This sensitivity soon wore off, along with my short-lived “expertise.” But for that brief time, I saw all the houses around me through different eyes.
If your grandfather died one Friday evening at Wendy’s, you’ll see that fast food sign differently than if your “perfect” first date included an impromptu stop there. The woman who just had a joyous adventure crossing the country by train will view the railroad tracks with different eyes than the one who was raped that time, down by the depot. Whether that rustic bridge and the churning water beneath holds charm for us depends on what life and death experiences are evoked by that sight.
From time to time I hear someone express their extreme skepticism, even loathing, of a particular church, or of the church in general. It occurs to me that this must make their travels through and among various towns quite unpleasant. There are a lot of churches! What if each glimpse of a church caused your blood to boil?
In contrast, I have had happy encounters with churches that vary from large, formal buildings to contemporary, flexible spaces to old, small frame structures. When I drive through a town and notice this church, and then that one, and yet another, I feel no rancor but a sense of openness and general gladness to have seen them. Because I see differently, my movement through a place feels different.
It’s easy to forget the ways in which, when we drive or walk through the very same places, you and I will see that place with different eyes. You will see one kind of opportunity or risk and I will see another.
When I remember that, I find I’m more compassionate when someone behaves in a way that seems out of place. They might just be in a different place than the one I can see.
Steve and I went through 1-3 while on a trip today. It made for a good conversation in helping us to see different people and different views. It also helps us to empathize with others and view multiple ideas and be open to all that and the people.
Great, Deb! I’m glad it was meaningful. What you experienced about empathy and openness is just what I was aiming for. Thanks!
Steve and I have spent the last 4 days in Branson. We had a reality check. When we were in Destin, FLORIDA, we attended a presentation on human (labor) trafficking. In resort towns it is very common for 2 reasons: low number of workers and the very large number of low-paying jobs. In Branson we thought of that earlier trip and realized that Branson like most resort towns is a town of the very rich and the working poor. Another example of how we need to open our eyes and see the other side of the story.