Day 82: Profiles

Hello!

It's been a good week. I'm getting start to really know my coworkers at the front desk and we've been able to have some good conversations during our slow periods while waiting for guests. Last week, one of our front desk leads was let go (for reasons unknown), so the front desk crew has been reeling from the shock of this loss. People coming and going is regular around park resorts...people are fired or quit throughout the summer because the work situation is too difficult, living in employee dorms turns into a nightmare, or someone does something that incurs termination, but in this particular case, this was unexpected. Because of this though, the front desk crew has bonded a lot more with each other in the process.

In the midst of a typical week, I had an experience a few days ago that has stuck with me. A few doors down the dorm hall from where I live is a middle-aged Navajo who works at the resort. I've gotten to talk with him a few other times, but on this particular day, I was just returning from work--still in my uniform of a white dress shirt and black slacks, when he began to ask me about the white-man's world. One of his questions has stuck to me like a cactus needle that you can't pull out: "What more do you white people want?" The Navajo they have incurred so much oppression by white Americans--this particular man had to forcibly attend white schools, forced to learn to speak English at the expense of his native tongue, had several instances of being extensively beaten by gangs of white men, and as he lives here in the dorms he is treated with a level of indifference by the college students of the dorm hall who do not understand the history of what happened here between white Americans and the Navajo people. To them, he's a man who's out of touch with having a good time and enjoying life.

When I first asked to be stationed here at Lake Powell, I knew I was walking into a territory with an extended history of pain, manipulation, abuse, and exploitation. Having grown up near the Confederated Tribes of the Warm Springs Reservation in Oregon, I have a familiarity with this deep rift between Americans and Natives, and in my case, it's a double-whammy due to the number of instances when the suffering of the natives occurred in the name of Christianity and Christianity's God. Now, I am here as a white, Christian American standing in front of a man who asks with teary eyes, "What more do you want from us?" My heart ached for this man.

It's amazing how many profiles I fit into as a white, American male, 5'10", who is a bit of a loner. I fit the same profile as the majority of rapists and school shooters inside the United States. Socially, I fit the same profile as those who instigated slavery in America, upheld discrimination against women, promoted materialism at the expense of unjust labor laws in other countries, and financially support those tyrants and military coups that dictate those nations, and enjoy an abundance of food while other parts of the world are starving because their food is sent here. With European roots, I share with those who instigated the slaughter of Jews and Apartheid. As a Christian, I fit the profile of those groups who fought in the Crusades, suppressed Native Americans (both North America and South America), and promoted the dominance of Christendom as a social movement throughout the world.

For those who know me, they can readily say that my history is so different than that; but in the eyes of those who have been raped, exploited, enslaved, molested, manipulated, suppressed, starved, banished, abused, or spiritually condemned, as a white, male, American Christian, I am that guilty person.

I am not saying this in protest, trying to prove my innocence and un-involvement in all of this; rather, to talk about healing. When the prophet described God's servant who was to come, he described an image of Someone who brought healing in His wings, except that healing comes at a personal cost--the healing that would be extended to others would be through the suffering of the Healer himself: "By his stripes we are healed". The Healer had to be touched by the prostitute--a degrading act in Jesus' culture. The healer would have to spend time with the outcasts and hated--and be rejected by His people because of it. He would have to touch the lepers and the contagious for them to receive wholeness. Though Jesus could claim His innocence in the midst of accusations for being a drunk, glutton, demoniac, madman, and revolutionary, His profile and repuation stood against Him. He was more ready for it to be said of Him, "This man eats and drinks with sinners", than to lose the chance to bring healing into another person's life. To bring healing to the world, Jesus had to spend time with the sick.

Back in 2003, when I served with Youth With A Mission (YWAM), we would perform a play called "Ragman". In this play, the Christ figure looks out upon a variety of people suffering hurt--emotional, physical, mental, deprivation, and more. For the man who limped from a clubbed foot, Jesus gave healing by taking on this man's clubbed foot. For the rest of the play, Jesus limped. After healing a blind person, Jesus walked blind. After feeding a starving person, Jesus starved. After healing a woman filled with sorrow, Jesus wept. Finally, in raising a man back to life, Jesus himself died. However, within Jesus' death there was also resurrection. By taking the pain, by taking the accusation, by taking the shame to His death, Jesus introduced new life into those He touched--and in the process, He conquered the pain he had incurred while bringing healing to others. Pain isn't easy to accept when one isn't the rightful recipient of it (even then, it still isn't easy). Everything says that this pain is undeserved and unnatural; however, in extending a love that incurs pain, we also expose ourselves to the One who can bring resurrection.

So standing before this Navajo who keeps asking, "What more do you want?" I had the ability to vindicate myself of his accusations, claiming my history clean of the atrocities incurred by him and his people. But this would do nothing towards building a bridge of trust and healing with this man. As a white, Christian, American male, there are so many bridges that have been burnt that disconnect the two of us. To build a bridge to reach him, to try to help bring reconciliation and healing to this man, it means that I must stand as the accused, ready to incur the weight and depth of his hurt, in order to show Him God's love in a way that he has never experienced before.

"What more do you want?" Your healing.




My sermons from the past two weeks are now available on my Summer Sermon page, and Photos of the Week are also available.

Blessings!