where our paths cross

I am having one of those "morning afters."

Not a hangover; I do not drink alcohol. But something similar. Let's call it a Facebook hangover.

Last evening, I read a post on one of our local Facebook pages about a young man (whose name and photograph were included in the post). The woman who posted informed us he was seeking money for his hospitalized baby. She then identified him as "a thief" and "a drug addict" with the tag line "DO NOT GIVE HIM ANYTHING."

I usually do not react to posts like that. But, this time, I broke my rule because I have known the young man for years, and I have been working with him to help him deal with his particular demons.

What set me off were the terms "a thief" and "a drug addict." There is no doubt that the terms have some basis in fact. He has indulged in both activities. But they are not the sum of who he is. What he is is a person who has the same needs as the rest of us.

Now, I know those terms can be descriptive, but they are also a bit de-humanizing. Just this week another woman I know called the person who killed Marlene "an animal."

Labels like that are exactly the mindset that allows us to hate people who are not like us. They confuse the activity with who the person is, and they subsequently act as the breeding ground for animosity between races. In their extreme form, they call out, to use Whittaker Chambers's devastating phrase: "To the gas chambers, go."

That is exactly how I was feeling last night when I wrote a comment that had the veneer of reasonableness, but seethed with the emotions of resentment and judgment.

I wrote: "Even people with addictions need compassion." I then cited Jesus' description of a personality trait based on his teachings.

The whole thing set off something of a firestorm. Certainly, more than I thought it would.

Here is the rub. I do not regret my comment. I do regret that I responded to the tone of judgmentalism with an even greater measure of judgmentalism. In my case, it was pure hypocrisy.

About two months ago, ironically while we were discussing the lack of grace in the world at church, a friend commented that the same young man had come to her door with the sick baby tale. I had just been talking with the young man on the prior Friday, taking his mood on seeking treatment.

My response to her question about what she should do? "Don't give him anything. He is a drug addict who is manipulating you with his baby."

I have no doubt why I reacted the way I did yesterday on Facebook. I could hear my own voice denying grace. Peter could not have felt more ashamed when he denied the Messiah.

I learned long ago that I can easily see the failings in other people because they are my same failings. And I need to listen to that voice of grace more often.

The combination of Marlene's death and covid19 (plus an outbreak of several other activities we do not need to discuss here in detail) has cast a certain pall over the local community. That is why it is so important that we find that bit of grace -- that bit of kindness -- to share with one another.

Each of us is on a separate pilgrimage in life. But, when we come together on our paths, offering a hand of fellowship will improve the lives of both the giver and the recipient. It is something I need to work on every day. And, at which, I often fail.

Maybe I could start my new path by not posting comments on Facebook during the night.

I am off to Oregon this afternoon, but I wish you all well wherever you are.