Years ago Lisa and I visited New York City. It's an amazing place; truly the melting pot of hundreds of nationalities and cultures. Nice people helped us find our way through busy streets and chaotic subways. We saw the Statue of Liberty, 9-11 Museum, the Metropolitan Museum of Art and much more. I could tell many stories about our trip but one stands out among them. It’s a story that calls me to remember that love is stronger than fear.
As Lisa and I walked through the 9-11 Museum we met a nice family who lived in New York. They were friendly and engaging. I won't forget their warmth and hospitality. During our conversation I told them Lisa and I were staying at the Hampton Inn near the Newark airport. We came to the city through Newark and by the subway. The man then told us that Newark is the most dangerous city in America. I didn't think about his comment until the next morning when old fears that were rooted in my childhood memories caught me by surprise.
My childhood story . . .
When I was about seven years old, the civil rights movement was erupting. We lived near Hammond and Gary, Indiana, where riots and marches were common. People got hurt. Buildings burned. One was never sure what might happen next. My mom's extended family lived in Hammond so we often drove there for holidays and social gatherings. Driving through Hammond was frightening for me as a little boy. I won't forget the times my brother and I watched from the back seat of our car while Dad was driving. Mom was next to him. Whenever mom saw a black man coming toward us she'd panic and cry out to my dad and say, "Chuck! Quick! Lock your door!" Each time I saw her terror, fear grew in me. Without realizing it, I came to believe that black people wanted to hurt us, maybe kill us if they could get inside our vehicle. Each time I heard about marches or riots in the news and experienced Mom and Dad's reaction to it all, I became a racist without knowing it. I did't think black people were less than me. I just thought they hated me. During my childhood years I assumed they wanted to hurt me. Consequently, as a child I feared black people. I'm saddened by my story. Over the years I have come to face my fears and prejudice. Gratefully I can say I have changed. But something happened in New York City that reignited those old lies and fears.
Back to Lisa and me in New York City.
The morning after our conversation with our friends at the 9-11 museum, Lisa and I took the bus to go back to New York City for the day. I didn't realize it would take us through downtown Newark. And as we stepped into the bus, I saw it was filled with black people. Lisa and I were the only whites. The words of my friend the day before came back with force—"Newark is the most dangerous city in America." My childhood wounds and memories sprang to life with new power. Fear nearly took my breath away as it seemed everyone on the bus was glaring at me with contempt. My fears grew as we slowly lumbered through downtown Newark. Each bus stop brought new people on board.
I became so aware of my fears that I couldn't avoid how choked I was by them. It was in that moment a prayer welled up inside my heart, "My dear God and Father, I cannot love, I cannot care about the people in this bus if I'm consumed by fear. Please help me. Please release me from these lies I'm believing and from my self-centeredness." Just then a lady, who had been sitting next to Lisa, got up and left when we came to the next bus stop. The seat remained empty. I turned and saw a young lady standing near me. She looked very sad. My heart was moved with compassion. I asked her if she'd like to sit down as I pointed to the seat. She said, "No," and turned her face away. I decided to sit down between Lisa and an older black woman. I looked at the black lady and she was looking at me with a kind and beautiful smile; almost a look of being pleased that I was setting next to her. The bus made another stop. An older black man came on and stood in front of me. He held on to the railing as the bus lurched forward. I smiled at him and with genuine curiosity I asked how he was doing, how his morning was going. He said he was doing well. We talked a bit. He too was smiling at me. And then he said in a very kind and grateful voice, "Thank you for asking." The same lady who was sitting next to me, the one with the beautiful smile, looked at me too and said, "Yes. Thank you for asking." I looked at her and she was smiling at me again. Their kindness was so disarming. Their spirits were gracious, warm, and welcoming. The three of us talked. Nothing deep but it was pleasant. This was a sweet moment. Connection happened and my fears turned to gratitude and love for those dear people. As Lisa and I left the bus I told them how much I appreciated taking with them and that I hoped they would have a blessed day. They smiled at me and said thank you and wished the same for me. I left that bus different. Love and kindness disarmed my lies and melted my fears.
Later that day, as Lisa and I walked through the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I saw a painting by Winslow Homer. It was a picture of several black slaves who had been freed. Homer’s painting style was absolutely amazing but the subject drew me in the most. I took a picture of it in order to find a copy for framing as a memory and invitation to love. It's called "Dressing for the Carnival." That particular painting marked a change in Homer's work—from nice, memorable pictures to a serious and deeper look at the plight of African Americans even though they had been freed. Homer felt their situation in life had changed little even after their emancipation. He began useing his art to speak out on their behalf.
Racism is an evil attack on people who are created in the image and likeness of God. It's rooted in wounds, lies and fear.
In one way or another we all struggle with some form of racism or prejudice. In what ways might you struggle with it? How did your story shape it? When did you fist become aware of race; was it a good or bad experience? Most important, what can you do to find freedom from fear and contempt toward others who are different than you and grow in understanding, compassion and love?
Dressing for the Carnival by Winslow Homer