It's Thursday, and that means that tonight our small group meets. We'll be talking about the topic of prejudice in all its forms. This week has given me much to think about on that subject. Rosa Parks passed on this week, though her legacy of quiet dignity in the face of pigheaded oppression will live on. This week, also, Iraq continued to simmer in a stew of mistrust among Sunnis, Shias, and Kurds. This week, also, we witnessed Hurricane Wilma devastate Cancun, Mexico; yet little was said about that devastation in the American press. The story here was of inconvenienced tourists. When the hurricane hit Miami, it became news. This is not to say that the people of Miami are not suffering. It concerns me, though, when American suffering seems more important than the suffering of others. Everyone affected needs our prayer and support.
I can't claim any moral high ground. Despite my hatred of bigotry, legalism, superiority, and the like, those evils lurk in my own heart. Don't kid yourself; they're in your heart, too. Not all of us give those selfish tendencies the free rein that racists, misogynists, and elitists of all kinds do. But tell me that you don't immediately form snap judgments about others. I know that I do. I hate it, but I do it. It comes as unconsciously as breathing. Like it or not, we humans are sick with prejudice. But why?
The passage from Luke 7 that we'll discuss tonight gives us a clue.
"Now one of the Pharisees invited Jesus to have dinner with him, so he went to the Pharisee's house and reclined at the table. When a woman who had lived a sinful life in that town learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee's house, she brought an alabaster jar of perfume, and as she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them.
"When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, "If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is—that she is a sinner."
Jesus answered him, "Simon, I have something to tell you."
"Tell me, teacher," he said.
"Two men owed money to a certain moneylender. One owed him five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he canceled the debts of both. Now which of them will love him more?"
Simon replied, "I suppose the one who had the bigger debt canceled."
"You have judged correctly," Jesus said.
Then he turned toward the woman and said to Simon, "Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—for she loved much. But he who has been forgiven little loves little."
Could it be that we discriminate because we feel that we've been "forgiven little"? Or maybe that we don't think we need forgiveness at all? Moral rectitude won't eradicate prejudice. It only suppresses it. We may not scream hateful epithets at others, but we will still make distinctions and judgments. It's only through humility that we can kill prejudice. When I intentionally remember how much I've been forgiven--and how much I needed that forgiveness--it's very, very hard to see another human as anything but glorious.
What do you think?
It's a foggy morning in Boise. I wish I could see the fog as picturesque, but I know better. With the approach of winter comes another year of our nasty inversion. Boise is a wonderful place to live; so wonderful, in fact, that it continues to grow at an alarming rate. Growth is not necessarily bad, and I'm somewhat encouraged by the trend toward infill development. Still, we haven't stopped sprawl, and we'll have to live for years with the sprawl we've already allowed. Every day, hundreds of cars pour into Boise from the suburbs and back out again. We're far behind the curve in planning and using sensible mass transit. And so we'll spend another winter in a stinky haze of our own making. 
