How baffling that I had never heard of him, this one who was shot and is filling my feed with many in mourning, just as many pointing to his violent speech, and, thankfully, also as many saying, “love him or hate him, but no death of a young father is good.”
Given his associations and mine, my ignorance of this person is mystifying. He was wrapped in a movement that was not mine (religious conservatives), but tied into those of decades of my life: lively churches, which tend toward the right and college campuses, my place of belonging as a college instructor.
Wired with a fundamental principle of the equal dignity of all beings, I am a natural progressive and for most of my life have advocated for the disenfranchised, minorities, immigrants, exploited workers, and those leaving closets to stand for their own identities.
The value of the dignity of all beings was so deeply wired into me that I thought everyone shared it. But middle school taught me otherwise. I was frequently mocked and bullied for reasons I could not understand by schoolmates I barely knew. To mask that I had no one to eat with, I ate my lunch while walking through the campus and plotting methods of suicide.
Then in 8th grade US History, I learned for the first time about segregation, Jim Crow laws, and what led to the Civil Rights Movement. I was horrified. In light of their atrocities, my own bullies seemed mild. After watching “I Have a Dream,” Martin Luther King became my hero and inspired me to stand for my own dignity and that of everyone else.
The following year, at age 15, I had a genuine conversion into Christianity at a church youth retreat a friend invited me to, where I was warmly welcomed and drawn to the Teacher-Savior who had over-turned the tables of the capitalists, put rich guys in their places, stood up for the disenfranchised, and called upon his followers into a character of gentleness and compassion (blessed are the humble, the gentle, the merciful, those who mourn, who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the peacemakers ~ Matt 5:3-10, summarized). I also discovered this Teacher had inspired my own hero, Martin Luther King, and I eagerly prayed the prayer for him into my heart.
For the next few years, I was among a few who were often invited to share my conversion story of suicidal to joyful. Since my story seemed dull compared to the others, I thought my invitations must have come from my public speaking skills, as I never considered that most listening had not experienced a conversion like ours.
During those early years, and especially in college, most of my Christian friends were also progressive. It wasn’t until a decade later that I learned most American Christians are politically conservative. Really? The party of the rich? I wasn’t sure what to make of that at first, but this was in the days before maga and when some were calling themselves “compassionate conservatives.” I had my doubts, but at least their label gave hope that they were trying to hold the value system of the Teacher.
But then in
my 40s, the divide between the two parts of my life – academia and Christianity
– boiled hot. In 2019, I joined my 11th
short term Christian mission project, one similar to about half of the others,
as it involved service and house-building in Mexico. It was led by a wonderful Christian leader
and attended by other warm-hearted teammates.
It was there that I let my heart break over these divided
identities. “I’m part of two groups and
they both hate each other!” I cried. I
had heard the scorn from both sides: the sneering comments at church against
college professors (and I was one) and the mocking comments of Christians at
the college (and I was one). All of this
scorn pained me, and on that day in June, 2019, with a huddle of team-mates, I
cried and cried loud and cried into their arms, and today, to them, I say,
“Thank you, thank you.” As I shared with
them, I longed for my two groups to unite in brotherhood and affirm their
shared foundation of uplifting human dignity.
But then, they give my soul what it really needed: the chance to discover within myself the unity of my divided parts: the academic and the Christian, both intricately founded upon the dignity of all beings. The same went for the other divided parts: the wife and mother and the mystic, two identities which are usually mutually exclusive. The mystic is called into solitude and the wife and mother, obviously, is not. Only after I permitted myself to let go did I come to discover that my Life Plan had included both, but each for its appointed season.
Back to my baffling question: how had I never heard of someone so influential to my own recent groups? It is a mystery, but points to how much my life has changed. Today, in refreshing peace lives the mystic, a part that had always been within, but who graciously stepped back for a season to let the maternal instinct blossom. Though no longer physically at the university, the church or in my marriage, I cherish them all as a part of my united self. I also know, at times alone and at times with friends, no building is needed to soak in the divine.
We each hold seemingly divided parts within ourselves designed to unite. This process may be painful and may take
letting go. Then comes healing, peace
and unity. And those seemingly divided
parts within our country? They also can
unite. This, too, may be painful and may
take letting go. Then it, too, will
bring healing, peace, and unity.
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