We were detectives in search of the Light at the JYM Retreat last weekend. We did not solve the case, but we did get some serious leads. In the midst of giggles and silliness, we wrote observations in our spiral pocket notebooks during worship, intentionally experimented with increasing joy in people around us, and quietly looked within.
There were some excellent disguises. Calvin came in a box—a big box that totally covered him. Most people walking by might just assume he was a boy in a box. They wouldn’t have been wrong, but, oh, what all they’d have missed by not stopping long enough to find out that he was Sherlock Sleepover: Investigator of Overnights.
So good.
Calvin’s disguise got me thinking about how quickly many of us put people into boxes. “Active child not listening” ... Angry woman … Bored teen … Rigid man ... I fear the older we get the more quickly our brains tend to do this. In a nano-second, we put people into categories, thinking “I’ve seen this kind of person before.”
This fall, my mom and I were part of a local group writing postcards about the recent election. The first week we were there, someone remarked that I looked familiar. I rattled off possible connections, including a local group urging our town to stop using a Native American mascot image and name. The host said, “Oh—you don’t want to go there. These two over here have very strong opinions about that.”
No one said more about it, but when I got home, I emailed the couple. I asked if they would consider speaking with me, because I was curious why they seemed to be so strongly against changing the mascot when we clearly held the same opinions on several other concerns. The husband wrote back, “Yes, come for coffee. We’d love to talk to you!”
We talked for well over two hours. The table was set with her great-great-great-grandmother’s china. I drank coffee and ate warm cake, neither of which I usually consume mid-day, and I listened. Right off the bat, they told me they were both of indigenous heritage—she via the original owner of the cup I was holding in my hands. They outlined many injustices they feel need more immediate attention than the town’s mascot: school curriculum with honest history and current culture; water rights on native lands; honoring federal treaties; climate change. They said they fear that the town will erase all mention of the Wampanoag nation whose land the town sits on without the mascot. I talked about the native leaders I have met who are leading the push for a state-wide ban and the studies showing numerical evidence of the psychological harm inflicted on Native youth who attend schools with Native mascots. We agreed to share resources and keep listening and talking. I left feeling a sense of covered grace.
I have been back to their house for dinner since then. I brought them a loaf of warm bread. Our thank-you notes to each other are also warm and genuine. I am deeply humbled at the grace that nudged me to connect rather than oh-so-wrongly put them in a box labeled “people who support the continued oppression of indigenous people.”
All of which is partly why I have been captivated with Calvin’s disguise. Hearing each other’s stories and evidence where we have found core truths, or Light, takes time. If you want to see the unique variations of Light in all beings, I think you have to get down on the floor and listen.
Don’t forget your notebook.
Much love,
Gretchen