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| Light, pastel + paint on paper |
And then, she waved her arm around the pool and said, “We shouldn’t have to do any of this. The government, I mean the FULL government is forcing the vaccine on people. That’s illegal, against the constitution.”
I was taken a bit aback. Fumbling, I mustered, “You have a choice. No one is being forced. I did it for the greater good. I think we may be at opposite ends on this, but it’s good to talk and get a different perspective.”
“It’s not a choice. Kids are told they have to get vaccinated to go to college.”
“They can choose not to go, may not be the best choice, but it is a choice,” I offered.
“People are dying of the vaccine, haven’t you read the case reports?”
“Yes. I have and for almost all, there was an underlying condition such as the person was under hospice care or had cardiology issues,” I retorted, trying to stay calm and engaged.
“Well, there’s the father and his son in the hospital dying from the vaccine,” she said.
“And the millions who have died of Covid?” With that dropping from my lips, she swam away, to the other side of the lane divider.
After I dried off and re-masked, I walked closer to her and said I was glad to have met her. She told me to have a good day. I saw her drive away in an SUV with waving flags, a Trump sign and messages I couldn’t read from the distance soaped on the windows.
I just don’t get it. I was trying to be open, yet I can see just in writing this dialogue that I countered her point by point. Why is it enough of a divide that someone would walk away? I wanted a conversation. It seems she wanted to be right and force me to agree.
It’s stifling feeling unheard, especially when I am listening.
Sunday at Quaker worship, I got a little attitude adjustment. The message was that God doesn’t mete out justice as we would. Galileans did not die in a terrible accident because they were worse sinners, Jesus tells those who believe that to be the truth.
“… do you think they were more guilty than all the others living
in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too
will all perish.”
And then I thought about the God I know who is constant and unconditional and whom I understood better after becoming a parent. We are each a child of God, loved equally.
Our minister redefined the word repent as rethink. I’ve arrived at the definition as a re-direction. So I am attempting to hold this encounter in a new light. On one level, I could say I am right and she is wrong or stretch it to she has her beliefs and I have mine, which is pretty much where I was during this experience. Can I take the next step? What is it? To see her as a lovable child of God and shower her with the empathy and compassion I reserve for the marginalized.
I do believe deep in my being that we are called to love each other and that may be the crux for me. I have a passion for the marginalized and very much feel Jesus’ calling in this manner. But the haves and those who marginalize roil me. I don’t want to like them, let alone love them.
So I try to peel back the layers and see the fear that lurks behind the obstacles to compassion. Often there’s a fear of losing something or begrudgement that someone has gotten something they have not. Sometimes, unquestioned conditioning. It seems to me to almost always be a lack and, perhaps, a projection on others or by making someone “other” to make up for it. In my understanding, God’s world is not black and white, I don’t have because they do, I am right and they are wrong, I deserve it but they don’t.
God’s world is, as my spiritual shaman says, “a constellation of color.” God’s kingdom, which I believe is the present and not something to tick off the good works for later, makes room for all, even me and those with whom I struggle. Maybe if I can remind myself of that, even when I can not fathom another’s point of view, I will grow my own compassion and, in modeling, help another see more of their light. At the very least, I can shine my light on them.
Perhaps the call for transformation is for me, not them.
