Dear Christian, close your eyes. Don’t pray just yet. Instead, reach deep into your memory.
When was the last time you were called an abomination? Imagine that word sinking into your heart and rewiring all the other characteristics you considered good about yourself. You now only see yourself through a muddy lens.
When was the last time you needed sanctuary just to exist? Imagine your body is now a punching bag when walking to your car or going to the bathroom. You tighten every muscle in fear.
When was the last time you were refused service because you were seen as the embodiment of sin itself? You might have been called deplorable, but were you refused to be seen by a doctor because of your politics? Imagine being denied medical care simply because of who you are.
When was the last time you had to decide between electricity and food, despite working three jobs? But you are called lazy and a cheat and told that you shouldn’t be so dependent when you ask for help.
When was the last time you were followed by an officer simply because of the way you looked wearing a hoodie? What if you were always thinking and rethinking what you are wearing because you might be seen as a thug or a thief. Oh wait, that would never happen to you? Let me guess why.
When was the last time you had the graves of your ancestors desecrated? What if they were the last piece of history you had to hold on to, in a country that wanted your memory erased?
When was the last time you were called a rapist and a criminal just because you weren’t born here? What if the president had said that about you, so that many others thought it, too. Now your kids live in fear of their world because they have been branded evil by association.
When was the last time you were called a murderer by a mob with picket signs? Despite the charges, there was no trial, testimony, or judge—just angry people who didn’t even want to know your name, your history, or why you were at the clinic.
When was the last time you thought about any of these people without assuming, like the Pharisee, you were more righteous than them? Has it ever occurred to you that it takes a certain kind of privilege to be able to make such a judgment of others? It didn't occur to the Pharisees, either. They thought they were good, too. They thought they knew the scriptures. They thought they were righteous.
Now pray. Ask God to unwall your heart, to break through those giant concrete blocks that, for years, kept you from seeing that the 'other' is your neighbor. For in loving the least of these, you save your own soul. Drop your sword and wipe your tears—the least of these don’t need either. Instead, call congress to protest, throw your body in front of the marginalized as protection, march with them down the street to the courthouse.
You’ll soon discover you’re walking beside Jesus himself.