But I can’t. When I pull into the parking lot I notice a black man, middle 40’s maybe, with his two elementary aged kids playing putt putt. For the Christians in this audience what follows will be familiar. For everyone else it will sound weird. That’s ok. I get it. Anyway, as soon as I saw this dad and his kids, the Holy Spirit whispered very clearly to me that I should reach out to this man, offer words of encouragement, let him know that in fact, his life and the lives of his children very much mattered. But the logistics were all wrong. He was on the putt putt course and I was headed for the driving range. Lost opportunity.
As I pounded 8 irons at the 150 yard target with wildly different outcomes I kept thinking about what I would have said if I had the chance. It might have gone very badly. He would have been excused if he just wasn’t in the mood for chit chat with a 62 year old white guy right about now. He very well might have let me have it. But even if he was gracious, what would I have said? What words would have been the right words?
I could have started by saying that his life mattered, that what happened to George Floyd was an outrage, and the fact that it continues to happen is a stain on our country. But then I thought how empty and insincere it sounded, more like a sound bite than an encouraging word. Too much like staged pandering. The last thing I wanted to do is come off as a patronizing liberal.
I took the driver out of my bag and hooked the first one badly, then slowed my swing down a bit and eventually striped one on a beautiful arc, slightly right to left against the brilliant blue sky. Slow down. Think. What that 40-something black dad really needed to hear was an apology. I could have apologized for my silence. I have watched his people getting mowed down like this for half my life. I could have apologized for my indifference. I could have admitted to him that even though I consider myself a Christian and know that racism is one of the vilest of sins, from time to time I recognize its existence in my own heart. I could have confessed that to him. They say that it’s good for the soul.
By this time my hands were getting raw. Swinging a golf club hasn’t been a thing since this pandemic started, I could tell. I picked up my bag and headed to the parking lot. As I turned the corner around the edge of the building I saw him and his kids heading from the parking lot to the driving range loaded down with golf bags. They were headed right for me. The Holy Spirit again. This was my chance. As they got closer we made eye contact. He said “hey” about the same time I did. Then everything seemed to be in slow motion. I opened my mouth, he passed by and it was over. I whiffed. What a coward.
I’m convinced that for race relations to improve it will require a million such conversations started between strangers. Yes, criminal justice reform is an absolute necessity, but it will require so much more than that. Guys like me are going to have to start reaching out of our comfort zones to start uncomfortable conversations with total strangers and the couple who live down the street. And those conversations are going to require some contrition and humility...and the one ingredient that I sadly lacked yesterday afternoon at 4:30 on a bright, sunny day....guts.
But today is another day. Maybe I’ll get another chance. Maybe this time I’ll man up.
The Prayer of St. Francis
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is dispair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
Where there is sadness, joy;
O Divine Master,
Grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled as to console;
To be understood as to understand;
To be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
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