The Dawn Treader

Jim set the table ... literally and figuratively.  He explained how William Wilberforce used the concept of "mealing" with others to gather, discuss and debate the great moral ideas of the day.  Wilberforce's Clapham group brought about amazing moral reform in Great Britain in the early 19th century.

The topics we kicked around last night were :

Is a Veggie Tales approach to telling Bible stories irreverent?
Should Christians no longer affiliate with political parties and, in effect, form their own political party?
Did God break His Gen 2:17 promise?  (iow, because Adam and Eve did not die physically the same 24 hour day that they ate of the fruit)
Does the fact that we have modern day apes disprove the evolutionary claim that apes transitioned into human beings?

The discussion was good.  But the most impactful topic, to me personally, was the one remaining topic.  It was a Pigfest first.

It was a topic that was presented with no words.  That is right.  It was presented silently ... and it was powerful.

A young man at the Pigfest presented a work of art that he had done.  It was a magnificent sketch. It was beautifully presented and framed.  We passed the picture around the table.  Each of us took time to admire the artwork and let it impact us.  Then we discussed what this picture emoted in us.

The sketch was the face of an old man.  He was poor.  His eyes were expressive, and his stare penetrating.  He was African American.

The words across the top of the drawing read "Let Brotherly Love Continue", and across the bottom read "Some Have Entertained Angels Unawares".  It was an obvious reference to Hebrews 13:2.

A rich discussion ensued.  How do we engage the poor?  In particular, the discussed centered on how we react to panhandlers.  Greensboro, for some reason, has a disproportionate number of panhandlers.  When I lived in Greensboro, I could virtually bank on encountering panhandlers on Wendover Avenue ... particularly near Bridford Pkwy (near the Wal Mart and Home Depot), and on the Wendover exit off of I-40.  My kids and I faced many awkward moments as we sat at red lights while panhandlers held up signs and asked for money and food ... all the while looking straight into our eyes.

How do we love these people?  Do we just hand over money?

In the midst of this discussion, I had a deja vu moment.  It occurred to me that there was a familiarity to the face in the drawing.  He looked just like someone I knew from my distant past.

You see, I grew up as a missionary kid.  During my early elementary school years, I lived in the interior of the island of Jamaica.  My white skin made me a racial minority in Jamaica.  We lived on a small campus where my father was the head master and a faculty member of a tiny Bible college.  There was a carpentry shop on the campus.  The man who worked in this shop was a poor Jamaican man.  He had mostly white hair which contrasted with his dark skin.  He was deaf.  He was missing many teeth.  He had a constant body odor smell.  He could not speak though he could make grunting noises.  But he did smile, which he did often when he saw me.  And he was an artist with his hands.  He was an amazing carpenter.  His ability to turn wood into furniture or works of art was stunning.

In the innocence of an eight year old, I called him the name everyone else had given him.  I called him Dummy, not realizing how dehumanizing that was.  I used to wander freely over the small campus as if I owned the place.  I would often find myself drawn to Dummy's workshop.  Dummy would greet me with a smile and let me watch.  We spent time together.  Dummy working.  Me watching.

He made some beautiful pieces for my family, including a table and an ornate chess board that my father still has to this day.

As I looked at this drawing last night, it reminded me of my friend Dummy.  With the innocence of an eight year old, I did not see Dummy as less than me.  I did not see our differences of age, race, and economic status.  I simply saw him as a nice man who could create magnificent works of art out of wood.  I admired him.

The take away for me from the Pigfest was a desire to recapture that innocence.   The innocence of seeing my fellow man as an image bearer of God, and not someone who is different than me ... and yes, less than me.  It was a convicting time.  I choked back the emotion.

The way we "let brotherly love continue" begins with a heart attitude.  It is recognizing the Imago Dei in our fellow man. 

It was a great Pigfest.