Please, Don't Lock Me Out!

                Most of us have been here before: I remember riding with my parents as a little kid down into some of the worst parts of Kansas City – or should I say, through some of the worst parts of Kansas City. We would be driving along some road, coming up to some stop sign, when I would hear the all-too-familiar click of the car doors locking. My father would go on to explain how we were in a “bad part of town” around people who “do bad things.” I would then typically look out the window to see cold, stoned, drunk, poor, disabled, and different people standing at a bus stop – just living their lives. They looked scary. They looked weird. Some even looked like they might hurt me or take advantage of me if they had the chance.  Naturally, it made sense to lock the doors – I felt safer. I didn’t make eye-contact, didn’t play my music too loud – nothing to draw attention to myself from these strange, ghetto people.

                That was then… and through most of my life growing up. Every once in a while, I’d feel a tug of sympathy in some deep place in my heart - a little voice whispering, “That’s me.” But before I could follow the voice to its source, I was driving away, moving on, and those ghetto people would again be forgotten.  

                I haven’t given any of this much thought. I’ve moved on with my life – growing up, growing older, and growing in my faith. Jesus eventually called me to live among some of these ghetto people, to feel what they feel, and experience the troubles they experience. My wife and I don’t have much: we do our laundry at a laundry mat; I ride the bus to work; there's the occasional fights in our neighborhood; the occassional sighting of a drug-deal; and there’s quite a bit of foot-traffic – we’re part of it! Needless to say, it’s a different lifestyle. Living this way has been a new, interesting experience – but it reached a new height the other day as I was taken back to that childhood experience of mine.

                I ride the bus – I’m that man that stands at the bus stop looking poor and cold. And I was standing outside waiting for my bus the other morning, as a sweet, little family drove by – reminding me a bit of my homeschooled family of the past. I thought about them – I bet they were Christians, they had that spirit about them, they looked well-dressed, their kids well-taken-care-of – I bet they even homeschooled. These thoughts were spinning through my head as this family pulled up to the stop-sign next to my bus stop. I wanted to give them a smile, maybe even wave – but my excited eyes were met with cold, judgmental stares. The children gawked at me as if I were some creature; the mother seemed too frightened to even look my direction! And finally, the father of this well-meaning family met my eyes with a cold stare that said, “Stay away from my family, you creep,” and then he did the inevitable – click – locked doors.

                I was shocked. Hurt, even. They drove off leaving a trail of judgment that made me ashamed to be a Christian! I knew who I was! I certainly had no intentions of harming them. I know that the father of this little family was just trying to protect his wife and kids, but he, in this process, brought what I would deem an unnecessary act of separation between his safe, Christian world and me! Did I really look that frightening? Was it just because I stand at a bus stop in the ghetto? I don’t even think my part of town is that bad… If I didn’t have confidence in who I was in Jesus, I would even be tempted to feel ashamed of myself, my neighborhood – to feel undeserving of anyone who lives a lifestyle that is nicer than the lifestyle that I live! Or maybe just to feel that they don’t want to have anything to do with me – they don’t care about my own world, my own struggles. What if I ran into them in a church building? Could I introduce myself as “the guy you locked out of your car” – would I be less scary in their safe, church environment? Would I even want to stay at such a place? Yes, this small, insignificant action made me feel this way…

                I don’t deem to accomplish anything profound through this blog post. I don’t even mean to condemn those who lock their doors in the ghetto. I just want us to remember our perspectives may not always be right. Jesus told his disciples they would be blessed when the “clothed him when he was naked, fed him when he was hungry, and gave him drink when he was thirsty,” they were dumbfounded, “when have we seen you, Jesus, in any of these states of desperation!?” “Surely,” Jesus said, “Even as you have done it unto the least of these brethren, you have done it unto me.”

                Let us remember we constantly carry the presence of Jesus and the church with us wherever we go. Locking out a poor, hungry person from our car may as well be locking them out of our lives, the life of the church, and maybe even the life of Jesus. I’m not beseeching you to do something crazy, but I’m asking you to remember that those people on the side of the road may actually be Jesus… or me! And the actions and attitudes you show and have towards them may not only impact their eternity, but the blessing you receive from Jesus as well.

                And please, don’t lock me out.