Who Gets a Spot At the Table?

The other day I woke up to the news of Aaron Hernandez's suicide. I didn't hear word from the news or an article, but instead from a meme someone made making fun of Aaron's tragic decision. The comments on it were, surprisingly, even more terrible. They read of people saying he didn't deserve to be alive anyways and it's a relief knowing he finally gets to burn in hell.

I scrolled past, sick of reading the atrocious comments, only to find a video of homeless people reading mean tweets about the homeless - Jimmy Kimmel style, only more gut-wrenching. "I was enjoying a latte when I saw a hobo girl across the street," a young homeless mother read, "I almost vomited. Get back on your side of the bridge, no one likes you." "If home is where the heart is," another read, "aren't homeless people heartless?" Weeping followed.

It was one of those mornings where it wasn't even 7:30am and I felt like I had seen enough for one day.

Somewhere along the way, we've decided for ourselves who gets to be deemed worthy of love; who is valuable enough to associate with; who gets a spot at the table. As Mother Teresa said, we have "forgotten that we belong to each other."

What would the world look like if we saw everyone for who they truly are - human beings, created by God, in His image, with great delight?

"If kinship was our goal we would no longer be promoting justice, we would, in fact, be celebrating it."

- Gregory Boyle

When humans take on the responsibility for deciding the worthiness of each other, outcasts are created. People are pushed to the margins. Fear and hatred for difference lead to injustice. 

But the outcast, the marginalized, and the "other" are exactly who Jesus came for. He didn't seek the righteous, he associated with the prostitute and dined with the tax collector. Living a life faithful to Jesus doesn't mean being careful to only surround ourselves with people who are clean and will give us a seemingly good result. Living a life faithful to Jesus means befriending and standing with those who are messy and misbehaved.

Gregory Boyle, in his book Tattoos on the Heart, tells stories of his calling to stand with the outcasts, to bring awareness of their loveliness, and redemption to brokenness. G, as the "homies" simply call him, works with the gangs of Los Angeles, California. Many would be too afraid to hang out in the projects with them, provide them with employment, or get to know their families - but G is not. His stories are wrapped in joy as the gang members learn of their belovedness in Christ, and sorrow as violence takes away life. G is frequently asked about the "success" of his ministry. In discussing this matter he recognizes that there is no clean model for changing the gang problem or our lack of ability to relate to these people other than casting our own lot before trying to change theirs; you share your life with them (Elaine Roulette). And that's ultimately the strategy of Homeboy Industries, Greg's organization. They pursue the outcast and develop relationship. In the process, not only are opportunities provided that most others would not offer, but Jesus is met.

"If we choose to stand in the right place, God, through us, creates a community of resistance without our even realizing it. To embrace the strategy of Jesus is to be engaged in what Dean Brackley calls "downward mobility." Our locating ourselves with those who have been endlessly excluded becomes an act of visible protest. For no amount of our screaming at the people in charge to change things can change them. The margins don't get erased by simply insisting that the powers-that-be erase them. The trickle-down theory doesn't really work here. The powers bent on waging war against the poor and the young and the "other" will only be moved to kinship when they observe it. Only when we can see a community where the outcast is valued and appreciated will we abandon the values that seek to exclude."

As Greg described, we can no longer resort to calling for others to make this world a more accepting place. We are all responsible for changing the climate of acceptance. I also want to note that we cannot be exclusive about our passion for inclusion, and our fire for fighting for the inclusion of one group should not cause exclusion of another. If we get this wrong, we will not be eradicating exclusion but instead will be increasing it.

When we choose to associate with the outcast, we also realize the outcast is more like us than different. I think of my friend I met on the streets of Toronto, whom we'll call Alex, who is a homeless, ex-con (see the post I wrote about my interaction with him here). Only through sharing our stories and a few hours of our days did we realize that, while at first glance we were seemingly complete opposites, we had more in common than we could have imagined. We shared struggles and were able to say, "me too!" And just like that, the margins narrow.

I didn't follow Aaron Hernandez's trial very closely but know he was convicted for murder. I'm not defending this horrible act, but I won't hesitate to defend his belovedness to God and the worthiness of the life He gave him, and will insist that his suicide is a tragedy. The circumstances of the homeless are too expansive to even begin to explain, but whether poor choice or unfortunate series of events God delights in them and has a seat at His table prepared for each of them, should they agree to accept the invitation. 

As soon as we abandon someone, claiming they're only good for Satan to have his way with or only worthy of the other side of the bridge, we are disgracing God's creation and the mission He gave us to help the lost find their way back to Him. Not only that, but we are putting into place a judgment that will never be ours to give. Instead of standing in judgment let's stand beside, declaring the love of Jesus over them, telling the outcast of the Kingdom where everyone has a place at the table from a Father who loves them without condition. Only then will the "other" be a someone, and the outcasted be accepted.