This week, I’ve been working on some words to share for a
stewardship moment at church. I got
sidetracked by a video I’ve seen posted a few times this week on Facebook. I’m sure that’s never happened to you, right?
Have you seen this video? It’s about a college student and her father’s differing
political viewpoints—she leans left, he leans right. Weary of political talk, I’d scrolled on by
when I’d seen it before. I’m not
entirely sure why I opened it this time.
But I did. The video tells of an
argument the two had about taxation and the wealthy and redistribution of
wealth. The father responded by asking his daughter how she was doing in
school. She told him that she had 4.0 GPA but that it was really hard to
maintain—she was taking difficult classes and was studying all the time. She had no time for a social life. And then he asked his daughter how her friend
was doing in school. The daughter responded
by telling him that the friend was partying all the time, taking easy classes,
not going to class and barely maintaining a 2.0 GPA. The father then suggested his daughter should
go to the Dean’s office and ask the dean to deduct a point from her GPA and
give to her friend. That way, they would
both have a 3.0 GPA. Let that sink in
for a second. I could spend hours
talking about how this is such an inappropriate and inaccurate,
overly-simplified portrayal of the least, the impoverished, the marginalized. I don’t think I need to do that here—nor do I
want to.
Watching that video did make me feel discouraged because I had
just returned home from a justice ministry meeting held in the sanctuary of our
church. It was a meeting filled with the
rich diversity of God’s kingdom. We
heard encouraging words and reports of work the ministry has accomplished over
the last year. Job training and jobs for
people in some of the area’s poorest communities. People WANT to work. Incremental progress being made in equalizing
education in our area. Real change
happens from the bottom up, not the top down.
It is incremental, and it takes commitment and a willingness to stick it
out for YEARS.
So, I was frustrated,
coming from that meeting, to such a simplistic interpretation of poverty. I rarely debate on Facebook (because, has
anyone’s mind every really been changed by a conversation over social media). Most of you know I prefer to move through
life quietly observing, but I feel, more and more, it is important to call out
injustice when I see it. So, during the course of this respectful discussion,
someone started a comment with “From where I sit…” and went on to say some
things I agreed with and some things I didn’t. That's reality, though, complex problems have complex solutions. There are no absolutes. But what really stuck with me from that conversation was “From where I sit.”
From where I sit most Sundays is Pew 22. John and Ruth used
to sit behind us in Pew 24 (that’s probably why I’m still loyal to that
row). Ruth used to tell me about what it
was like raising their 4 children and getting them to church on time every
Sunday—precisely when I needed to hear those stories, as we were wrestling preschoolers
and toddlers. From where I sit in Pew 22, I see Betsy who is devoted to our
friends from the group homes that neighbor our church. From Pew 22, I can see (and yes, sometimes
hear) the mosh pit and remember that it wasn’t that long ago that our children were
that squirmy during worship. From Pew 22, I am challenged and encouraged as the Word is proclaimed. From Pew 22, I am frequently moved to tears by the music that fills the sanctuary. From Pew
22, I see my children sitting with friends they’ve known most of their lives—friends
who are family to us.
At the justice ministry meeting, I sat in the same sanctuary
but in an entirely different pew at the back.
I learned something. Things look
and sound different from the back of the sanctuary. I walked around and talked with people from
other worshiping communities around the city. That’s a hard thing for me to
do, but it’s how we build relationships, right?
We have to sit in different places and meet different people. Changing where I sat made me remember we are
all sitting in different spaces—we come to the table with different perspectives,
but the more conversations we have, no
matter where we are sitting, the more we are building God’s kingdom.
It doesn’t matter to Christ where we sit. Zacchaeus sat in a sycamore tree, and
still, Jesus invited him to come down and be by his side. He offered grace, regardless of where Zacchaeus
had been sitting. This congregation,
offers that same grace to anyone who walks through those doors. It doesn’t matter where you sit, whether in
Pew 22 or in the mosh pit, there is a place for you at the table. This place, this community, has allowed me to
grow into the person Christ has called me to be. It has helped me find my voice for justice
through the written word. I am so
grateful for that, and it is out of that gratitude that we pledge our money and
time. Yes, we need money to keep this
place running and to support the ministries we share, but we also need the commitment
of your presence. Whether you serve on a committee,
help out in the garden, grill hotdogs at the block party, deliver milk to a
group home, or commit to attend a one-time justice ministry rally in the spring—we
need you at the table. And, I promise the grace you experience will be
overwhelming. Just as Christ sought out Zacchaeus,
He seeks you out, too.
And, for those of you who don’t attend the same house of
worship as I, where do you sit in your communities, your lives? Have you ever considered changing your seat
and sitting in someone else’s? Let’s all
take a seat and figure this out TOGETHER.
