By Rev. Paul Graves
Editor’s note: This is an occasional letter Paul has been writing – since 1997 – to his now young-adult grandchildren.
Dear Katie, Claire and Andy,
Since I turn 84 tomorrow, I want you to remember my passion for life remains strong and focused on (mostly) important matters.
So, I want to share a very short story based on a man who walked past our Street Corner Vigil a few weeks ago. His comment was real. My imagination does the rest:
The Street Corner Vigil folks held their signs about ICE and immigrants, waving to passers-by who honked in support. As Jerry and his wife, Alice, walked past the Vigil signs headed toward the Farmers’ Market, he talked as he walked: “I don’t mind immigrants who come here legally. But I don’t like illegal immigrants. ICE is doing a great job.”
They moved toward the market vendors further down Main St. The crowd of people at noon was active and large. The usual dogs-on-leashes were active too.
As Jerry and his wife considered the attractive early season produce stand, Jerry stepped back to let another customer get a better look at the produce. As he did, his leg caught up in a dog leash just behind him, and he fell to the street!
Immediately, Carlos, the vendor, rushed over to help Jerry. Their eyes met as Carlos offered his hands. “I’m Carlos. Are you hurt?” He was not hurt, only shaken. Others also came to his aid, and lifted Jerry to his feet. Jerry thanked everyone for their help, and all went on their way.
As Jerry and Alice continued their shopping, he began to think about the accident in a little different way. His spirit had been shaken too.
He recalled his comment to the protestors. Now he pictured the people at the market who didn’t look like him. Weren’t they “the others”?
Jerry began to wonder if they were all “illegals.” Not likely. But how would I know? And was Carlos, the Hispanic man who helped me up, illegal? Jerry had no clue.
He only knew that Carlos was kind – and quick to respond, even to a gringo. He asked nothing of Jerry, except if he was hurt. Hmm.
Jerry only knew Carlos looked different than Jerry. And he was kind.
Is there more to being an “other” than only looks? Does Carlos think I’m an “other” because I look different than him, or he’s kinder than I am? How would he know?
Jerry stroked his beard as he considered a very new thought: Is being different less of a deal than I’ve been thinking?
As Jerry and Alice brought their fresh strawberries into the kitchen, Jerry wrestled with Carlos’s instinctive effort to help him. “He didn’t treat me as a stranger, an ‘other.’ Only as a person who needed help.”
In that moment of self-honesty, Jerry realized he set more than strawberries and other produce on the kitchen counter. He plopped a new awareness of his old biases right alongside the berries.
“Hey, Alice,” Jerry called out loud. “What did you think of Carlos, the vendor who helped me?”
Well, kids, this little vignette isn’t a spell-binder. But it might remind us how a simple act of human compassion might draw us into a small attitude change toward people we usually dismiss as imagined threats to us. Spirit-work, kids!
I value Parker Palmer’s wisdom-pearl in his wonderful book, Healing the Heart of Democracy: “The good news is that ‘us and them’ does not need to mean ‘us versus them.”
We can choose to assume “stranger-danger.” Or we can choose to be nourished when we remember our own “otherness” is often a gift an “other’s” needs.
Love,
Grampa
The Rev. Paul Graves is a retired elder member of the Pacific Northwest Conference of The United Methodist Church.
