So I was walking down Franklin Street this morning and I got stopped at the light waiting for the little walking man to appear. I decided to take a look around at my surroundings. The gum spots on Franklin Street and I have a pretty close relationship- I stare at them intently while I'm studiously avoiding looking anyone in the eye because I don't want that awkward eye contact and because it's much easier to avoid a conversation if you don't see the person that you should, in theory, have a conversation with. Much easier than ducking into a store to avoid talking to Washburn. If you've taken Mechanics, you know what I mean.
But as close as I am with the gum spots, I've never had the chance to notice the light pole on the corner, where the signs for Franklin and Columbia were dismantled that eventful April Sunday. The pole has some history. It's covered in staples interspersed with nails and spotted with a few pieces of paper that have been separated from the fliers that previously decorated the dark wood of the pole. Hundreds of people, maybe, have stuck their slogans on this former tree and left them there for the world to see. Stoically it stands, surveying the street and the sidewalk, never commenting on its abuse as it remains there, unwavering, a faithful spokesperson for anyone with a staple gun and a printer to the good people of Chapel Hill and the hordes of visitors to campus.
Sometimes I feel like the light pole. I feel like anything and everything tries to stick itself to me, tries to make me represent whatever it is that they're proclaiming to the world. All those fliers for church events and the programs for concerts and the schedules for things and the clubs and the organizations and the opinions and the books and the movies and the pictures and the ideas, all these things are just stapled onto me, covering me up, wrapping me like some gag gift of a person.
And why wouldn't they? I mean, let's face it, humility out the door, I'm not a bad spokesperson. In the grand scheme of things, I'm pretty much always someone you wouldn't mind representing your cause or your organization. I'm pretty middle class and with a little bit of work, I can look much better. I might not be the best looking kid on the block, but I'm not terribly ugly, and there's nothing that airbrushing won't fix these days. I go to a great university, I make good (read decent) grades, I smile, I'm responsible, I have a diverse interest in things, I'm knowledgeable and I'm nice to talk to most days. I come from a pretty good place in society. My life has been wonderful and it's easy to see the ways I've been blessed. I'm pretty much a walking testimony of what God can do when He's feeling generous. Or, for those of you who don't really go for the whole deity aspect of things, I'm a product of what middle class suburbia and a couple of strokes of wonderful luck can do for a person. I have some prospects. I can be successful. Parents wouldn't mind it if their kids grew up to be me and that's just on potential. I can fit in in most groups and levels of society and even though I feel like an awkward bridge on the inside most times, I'm OK on the outside. So plaster your signs away. I'll be happy to carry your logos for you.
But see, that's the problem, I think. I have so much. No matter how much I highlight what I don't have in my mind, no matter how many nights I spend thinking about how much I wish for things in life to start happening to me again, I know that I have been uniquely blessed and looked after. I know that there is a future in my life and that everything, good and bad, will make me into a better person if I use it the right way. I can explain away my tiny little pains with elaborate dogmatic turns because life has been good to me and I try to ignore the thoughts of what I'll become when life isn't so good to me anymore. I can smile because God has always provided for me and when I chance it, I can see His hand in my life.
And why is that a problem? you may ask. The problem comes not in what I have, but in what others don't have. What makes me so special that I deserve these wonderful things? What's so great about me that I can have these wonderful people in my life to encourage me and make me better, to be my friends and help me see the world? Why should the money always be there for me? Why should it always work for the best for me? Why am I the one reading about the floods and the fires and the violence? I can tell you right now that I'm not any better than those people, people whose situation is so different from mine. They are still beautiful human beings and they deserve as much as I have, even more. So why am I so blessed? And why can't they be too?
No, this is a really big issue for me. Like, maybe they're blessed in different ways, like blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of God kind of blessed. Or maybe they're really blessed through their trials and they're better and stronger people. Maybe they'll be given wisdom and courage so they can help someone else who's going through the same thing. You know, maybe they'll have a testimony about it. And anyway, it's all going to even out in the end, you know, the rough places will be made plain and every valley shall be exalted for the mouth of the LORD hath spoken it. And when all of those explanations don't seem good enough anymore, when I don't want to just trust that it's going to be fair one day, that grace is going to pour down on everyone, not just the ridiculously blessed, when I actually want to go make it fair, what then? Because I despair when I think about this.This haunts me when I let myself think about it. Do you trust that the kingdom's going to come or do you bring the kingdom to you? And if you bring the kingdom to you, why don't we do it more? Why is the kingdom so perpetually far away when we've had 2,000 years of history to bring it here, to the people who really need it?
Why are all the posters on Franklin Street? It's not like the light pole is going to go spread Your words to the people who need to hear it most.
But then, maybe it should.
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