Well Maybe Just a Little Bit
No one who knows me even a little bit would confuse me with a “woke” person, whatever that really means. I am not by upbringing or temperament given to such a mindset. Growing up, the term in the 70s was “consciousness raising”. Today it is “woke”. Tomorrow it may be something else entirely. In any time, it is the idea that there are certain attitudes that you are supposed to have. There are certain things, or conventions, that you are supposed to uphold. I have generally never cared much about these conventions or niceties. I have been self-admittedly guilty of cancelable offenses, as I have previously spoken of.
That said, over time I have mellowed. I have become, God forbid, more sensitive. This, as is usually the case, is because of becoming more familiar with diverse types of people. It is much harder, if not impossible, to hold retrograde opinions of a class of people when you actually get to know some in that class. It certainly helped me, in this regard, to arrive at a point where whenever I walked into a room, I was pretty certain that I was the only Christian, pacifist, anarcho-capitalist in the joint. Being in a near constant minority of one will give you a new perspective on being an outlier. This new perspective generally leads to increased understanding for fellow outliers.
It also helps to have hung out on planet earth for a few years. By the time you arrive at an age that will get you discounts on haircuts, and better parking spots, you will likely have learned a few things. This has certainly been the case with me. Sometimes that learning takes place over time in a subtle fashion. Other times it bonks you over the head in an all too obvious way. This tale is one of being bonked…hard upside the head.
An Ordinary Baptism, or So It Seemed
It was the year 2000, and I was in a small town in Minnesota for the baptism of my wife’s niece. It was being held in a small town not far from where my sister-in-law grew up. It was a nice church, in a nice small town. It was the Catholic church in this community. Our family had gathered for the ceremony. This was back in the days when baptisms were held privately, just for family and friends. Today, the norm is to hold them in front of the congregation during worship service.
We were at the back of the church prior to the ceremony and were chatting with the parish priest. I am not sure how the topic came up, but the priest was discussing his time in seminary, in the early 1970s. He was going on about a Japanese woman housekeeper that they employed. She was more than just a house cleaner. She cooked for this man and his roommates as well. He remembered her fondly.
He also reminisced about her name. She was named Shima. He then proceeded to regale us with the information that he and his roommates called her, to her face, by her nickname: Hiroshima.
Holy Fuck! It is a hell of a thing for a mostly insensitive, non-woke person of my generation to get slapped in the face and find myself, at that particular moment anyway, fully awake. I was appalled beyond words. Literally beyond words. I was unable to articulate a response, a fact for which I am heartily sorry for now. In retrospect, I wanted to tee off on this moron. A middle-aged Japanese woman in the early 1970s was highly likely to have lived through the atomic bombing of Japan, which was only 25 years previous. Even if she had not been in Japan at that time, to make a nickname, for a Japanese woman, of a horrific event like the nuclear incineration of a Japanese city was the height of ignorance. The only thing more ignorant than this man nicknaming a Japanese woman Hiroshima in 1970 was telling anyone about it 30 years later.
Thank You Holy Spirit
I am not claiming that I became uber sensitive after this experience, but it did make me at least a slightly better person. The story has grown in importance over the years as I reflect upon it often. It makes me much more aware of how words can damage and destroy. It has made me much more reticent about what I say, and to whom I say it. I certainly make mistakes and will continue to do so. However, I am more confident that if I do, I can recognize them and only bring them up to own it, and apologize, not to try to make them a humorous anecdote.
I am certain that the priest that repeated this awful story was not trying to be insensitive, harsh, or demeaning. He was certainly not an evil man. He simply did not think about the consequences of what he was saying. Which as a young man is relatively excusable. What was unfortunate for him, and those in his life, is that he had failed to gain any appreciable insight over the years.
Maybe his role was not to gain that insight, and boorishly repeat inane things like this as a sort of reverse teaching lesson. If so, it certainly worked on me. I learned what not to do in one big damn way that day, I can assure you. If that is the way the Holy Spirit worked through that priest, and toward me, then who am I to question the methods…it worked.
Prayerfully none of you will have to be slapped upside the head to gain this insight and perspective, I doubt few in this world are as hard-headed as I too often am. If it does take a head banging experience to awaken you, then my only advice is to take it, and appreciate the discipline. Learn from it and pay it forward in a positive way. Don’t be a negative teacher like that priest was that day. I mean we all have our roles to play in God’s kingdom, but is that really the role you want to play? I did not think so.
Praise Be to God
