I’m hoping not to become the parent whose excitement over their child making contact with a ball on top of a tee, can be heard throughout an entire sports complex and beyond. And yet, for some reason, there’s a bit of pride over a comparatively miniscule human act. If the timing works out just right on a weekday, our oldest will dart to the front window overlooking the porch area, as the mail man walks up the steps to drop off our random assortment of junk and billing notifications and other adulting nonsense. He insists on being there to wave to our postal carrier, quietly, but still confidently, saying, “Hiiiii!” with a bit of enthusiasm and joy and wonder and maybe even some love too (not to mention an understandable curiosity over the possibility that any of the material in our tattered mailbox is for him). Yes, we try to instill in our children a basic level of respect for other human beings, encouraging some form of “Hiiii!” and perhaps a wave for good measure, but this has a precious dose of personal initiative.
I don’t know how it started exactly. Perhaps because of an early fascination with the large objects moving up and down our street as they peered out their bedroom windows, especially that red, white, and blue mail truck that tended to park close to our house. Soon enough, from their stroller-seat view, they could mentally put it together that the person wearing a blue uniform was the one who drove that coolest mail truck. But I think there’s something more to it than that. I think it’s because our postal carrier responded to the seemingly miniscule human act of a three-year-old greeting in kind: with his own enthusiasm and joy and wonder and who knows…maybe even some love too. After all, I’m assuming most recipients of his deliveries aren’t overly joyous of him…”just doing his job,” and if there is any joy, it’s probably more so over the potential reimbursement checks or birthday cards or other adulting pleasantries as opposed to the actual deliverer.
But for some reason, whenever the timing works out (and I bet our oldest would prefer revolving his and the entire family schedule around every weekday to make it so), he’ll dart to the window to extend his seemingly miniscule greeting. And he’ll do it even though the guy on the other side is different from him, and not just because of age and height, but a different skin color and a different hair style that our son will never be able to pull off with his father’s genetic makeup. And yet, there’s this eye-catching assortment of enthusiasm and joy and wonder and maybe even some love thrown in there, too. I don’t know how it happens…but I only hope beyond hope that he doesn’t lose it.
I worry about his world going forward. I worry he’s going to be taught and indoctrinated and scolded and whatever supposedly more mature adulting else to not do those things when encountering…the “other,” the “different,” the “over there.” I worry his enthusiasm will be overrun by fear, his joy with hatred, his wonder with “better be on guard”ness, his love with…not as much of it for the majority of humanity. And I realize this isn’t a recent trend. Canaanites couldn’t trust Israelites and vice versa. Galileans couldn’t trust Romans and the feeling was mutual. Even our cherished Martin Luther grew in disdain towards the Jewish people as his life progressed, and on and on and on and on we could go not into an embellished history tale, but the reality of our broken human condition.
I worry he’s going to lose his initiative for the seemingly miniscule human acts of kindness and Gospel-proclaiming, brightening the “other’s” day, and perhaps laying the groundwork for a chain reaction of more kindness and Gospel-living to be unleashed up-and-down our block and beyond. So, I hope beyond hope that he won’t. I hope beyond hope that he isn’t the only one. I hope beyond hope that humanity will still have a bit of enthusiasm and joy and wonder and a most definitive love for direct and indirect and “over there” neighbors. And I know the “Lord of all hopefulness, Lord of all joy” is still alive and well in this world, even if all the fear and hate is trying so desperately hard to win every day. I know love will in the end, but I hope beyond hope we don’t wait until then for it to happen. I hope more initiative will be taken to convince neighbors up and down our blocks and beyond that we proclaim the God who cherishes us all, including the ones “over there.” I know the church has much more work to do to raise such Gospel awareness, and in the meantime…for some reason, I’m glad our oldest waves to the mail man. May that just be the beginning. Amen (so let it be)!
In Christ,
Pastor Brad