Editor’s note: this is a first for the FBC-Woo blog in two ways. It is the first time a member has written a second blog (which others are welcome to do). And the next two blogs are linked. They are responses to challenges in ride shares to and from church. It is a great place to be challenged.
Also, in discussing his ride Tom includes a challenge to those of us who think (perhaps too rigidly) as progressives. A respectful approach to dialogue. And I wonder what readers think about his question.
The Message
By Thomas Grisso
I sat on the church steps at noon waiting for my usual Sunday Uber ride back home. The sun on my face felt good, reminding me that spring was only a few weeks away. My phone app said my ride would arrive in five minutes, but I was in no hurry and used the time to think about today’s service.
The sermon had been a rousing cry against the new president’s policies. The pastor had deftly translated the story of the good shepherd’s care, protection and mercy, providing a contrast to the lack of compassion in recent presidential edicts that harmed those in our community who are the most vulnerable. Immigrants. People of color. Those living on the economic edge. Victims of homophobic inequality. The sermon received hearty congregational applause.
My ride entered the parking lot. I walked over and got in. “Thanks. I’m Tom,” I said as I closed the door. I received the usual good morning and settled in. I took a moment to size up my driver with a comment, which often helped me decide if this was likely to be a ride in silence or some sort of casual conversation. Either one suited me. But I’d become interested in hearing driver’s stories about how Uber provided opportunities for them, especially when they were immigrants putting their kid through college or just making ends meet.
As we headed down Salisbury Street, it was he who opened the door for conversation. “You’ve been to church?”
He was Black, perhaps in his forties. He had an accent I’d come to associate with West African immigrants, and his English was clear and good.
“Yes,” I said, I attend every Sunday.”
We slowed to let a student on foot cross from WPI to Institute Park. “What was the message?” he asked.
I was surprised at this and thought for a moment. “The sermon message? Well, it was political. It was about how the country’s leader seems to have no compassion or concern for those who are socially disadvantaged. The president’s decisions harm rather than help them. Not what we believe is Christ-like.
“May I say something about this?” I said of course, although with some uncertainty. He said, “I am a Christian. I believe in Christ.” I said that I did also, and he nodded, then stopped to listen as his GPS told him to bear right to enter I-290 East. Then he continued.
“It is true, Mr. Trump has no, what do you say, compassion. He is not a caring person. But who decides who will be president?” The voters, I said, and he shook his head and replied, “It is God who decides. Voters cannot do anything without God’s will.” He turned his head to look at me. “Do you understand what I am saying?” I said I did, and he continued. “Mr. Trump is president because God put him there for God’s purpose. Do you see what I am saying?” I said I did, and then he asked, “Why would God do that?”
I thought I knew where this was going, but I did not answer him because I wanted to know what he had in mind. Was he going the way of Job, pointing out that we had not the ability to know why God allowed bad things to happen to good people? Or the Hebrew lament in Psalms asking God why bad people were allowed to create such injustice? Perhaps God’s way of waking us up to persevere in our protection of the marginalized?
But these were not what my Black, possibly immigrant, Uber-driving Christian had in mind. “God does not like Trump,” he said. “But God allowed him to be president to make many things right that have been wrong.” He looked back at me again. “Do you know what I’m saying?” This time I said no.
“God is doing this to protect unborn babies from being killed.” His voice became stronger. “There is male and female, you understand me? God is protecting girls from being beat up in sports by boys saying there are girls. He is protecting my girls from having boys in their bathrooms.” He had fallen into the rhythm of a southern preacher as we approached the exit off of I-290 to Shrewsbury.
I said, “Trump does not seem to be protecting immigrants.” He didn’t hesitate to answer. “I came here legally. God is using Trump to protect others like me who are now looked down on because of all the criminals the other government has been letting in.” He turned to look at me. “Do you understand what I am saying?” I did not answer, and we rode in silence for a while until he turned onto Candlewood Way.
“The second house,” I said.
“On the right or left?”
“Good question.”
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AUTHOR’S NOTE:
This event actually happened except for the last two lines that I added to get you thinking about “the message.” As a message for progressive Christians, there are various possibilities, like “God doesn’t work that way,” or “There are all sorts of Christians,” or perhaps “That’s not really Christian.”
For me the message is this. The story’s “good question” — “Right or left” — is misleading. It implies that making a political or moral decision requires choosing an ideology and sticking to it. I cannot do that when, as my Uber driver correctly claims, even the ideology I most often favor sometimes harms some people, just as do right-leaning notions in different ways or situations.
I believe that neither left nor right ideologies—neither progressive nor conservative views—ensure just and moral decisions when applied dogmatically. Start from one side or the other, but do not assume your starting place invariably holds the answer. Life just isn’t that simple.
That’s my takeaway. What’s yours?
