Do unto others

It’s reassuring to know that “others” are out there, separate from our kind. Helps us to feel more secure, part of an identifiable group whose members are closer kin to us. And, therefore, better than those others.

This was pretty clearly demonstrated recently when the reaction to the devastation in Puerto Rico was somewhat less intense than earlier reactions to storm victims who were more like us and less like those others. You didn’t have to watch television or read the news to be aware of it. Even now you can read continuing derogatory comments on social media by your fellow citizens denouncing your other fellow citizens, the ones living on that island, as being lazy, incompetent, and already failures even before the storm hit.

“Others” may be the poor, the foreign, or any group we can look down upon. And, if possible, to whom we can actually point out the error of their ways, in print and public attitudes if not in direct conversation with them. Because, being better than they are, we naturally feel the Christian impulse to help them become better, too. Like us.

This inclination to consider those who are in some way different from us as therefore lesser than us is very human. And by pointing it out, I in no way intend to absolve myself of my share of the guilt. But I think it worth discussing, because the victims can be damaged for generations to come. If we tell and show them long enough that they are less than we, they can come to believe it and make it so. To the detriment of their descendants and, ultimately, to the detriment of ours as well.

A couple of months ago, my daughter took a group from her congregation on a one-week mission trip from Michigan to a Sioux reservation in North Dakota. After coordinating with the resident missionaries on the reservation, a husband and wife team, they set to work cleaning, repairing, and upgrading facilities to help elderly and disabled Native Americans. In the afternoons, the teenagers in the group would break loose from the work crews and go engage in recreation with young Indian residents, hoping to provide fun and build friendships while demonstrating, without pushiness, what their church stands for.

The older Indians, recipients of most of the cleaning and fixing, had received such help from mission groups before. They accepted the help and seemed pleased to be assisted. The younger reservation residents participated in fun and games with the white youths, but seemed somewhat wary and reserved.

The perceived reserve of the young Indians was no surprise to the resident missionary couple. In a concluding meeting, the husband spoke to the assembled group from the Michigan church. He told of a time when he and his wife accompanied a group to build a playground in a small community in a corner of the reservation where the quality of life was even lower than the reservation average. While they worked installing playground equipment, the local children stayed mostly out of sight but could be seen watching from a distance. When the work was nearly finished, they began to come out and look at all that had been done.

One boy approached the missionary’s wife with a question.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked. “We’re just Indians.”

As the missionary husband told this story, his wife began to weep. He said she always weeps when he tells the story.

When caring people come face-to-face with what the dominant culture has wrought upon those deemed to be among the least valuable of all “others,” it’s understandable that they might want to weep. They might also be inclined to weep when they consider what our attachment to “otherness” is causing us to do to ourselves.

This story was originally published October 20, 2017 at 10:00 AM with the headline "Do unto others."