once you know Him...

I recently finished a fantastic book called Tattoos on the Heart by Father Greg Boyle, an incredible collection of stories about Boyle’s two decades of work in South Central Los Angeles with both current and former gang members. Boyle’s life is one of faith and perseverance, and one can’t help but be touched by the devotion he has shown to the group of people God has asked him to give his life ministering to.

Of the many lessons I have taken away from Father Boyle, one of them has been echoing in my head since I shut the book: Once you know someone, you can no longer demonize them…

I feel an incredible amount of tension/defensiveness/conviction/guilt in this statement. As I think about how I go through my day, the amount of snap judgments I make, and the underlying feeling I carry that I am pretty much always right about someone, I am pretty convinced the words “once you know someone…” are for me.

This past weekend I was in Seattle with my mom and very dear friend. We were enjoying our day at an upscale outdoor shopping center, browsing windows and racks for cute things we definitely do not need, stopping for a coffee and meal whenever we wanted, keeping warm in our nice clothes and jackets. When we went to cross the parking lot, we walked past a middle-age homeless man sitting on a bench, rocking himself back and fourth, keeping his head slightly down, and looking worn, cold, exhausted from things I have been completely sheltered from. I am still thinking about this man. I can still picture him on that bench, sticking out in his dumpster-salvaged attire as Coach purses and designer jeans walked by him all day. And even more than that, I am remembering my thoughts as I walked by him: I know this man, I’ve seen hundreds of homeless people just like him… and all the stereotypes that so sadly accompany this human being and his appearance filled my head.

This morning I am humbled by the conviction that I do not know him, this man on the bench at University Village. I have no idea what his story is. He could be a war veteran who fought bravely for a cause he may or may not have even believed in, but did so out of a sense of respect and duty. He could have been married to a beautiful woman who he loved more than life, and one day tragically lost her and never recovered. He could be afflicted by alcoholism, addiction, depression, or myriad other psychological issues that I do not even understand. His story could be powerful, inspiring, tragic or even epic—this stuff movies are made of. Indeed, I have no idea who this man is or why he, today, is homeless and sitting on a lonely bench. So what on earth gave me the right to think I did?

Everyone has a story. Everyone. I have a story, you have a story, the woman who checks me out at the grocery store has a story, the young children growing up in abject poverty all over the world have a story… there are more than six billion stories in the world, all of them waiting to be told and understood. And I think there is something inside every one of us that wants to tell our story, because in some way telling it connects us to one another.

That man on the bench, he probably knew we all judged him as we walked by. And he probably wanted to scream out for everyone to hear, “I know what you are all thinking. You might see me as lazy or unmotivated, unwilling to get help, or you might even feel pity when you look at me. But did you know, I used to be a…”

Once you know someone, you can longer demonize them…

Once I know your story, I know why you are lonely, or depressed, or driven to drink.

Once I know your story, I know why you are afraid of marriage, why you are scared to death to be a parent, or why you have a tendency to make certain mistakes.

Once I know your story, I know why you are reluctant to believe in Jesus when you see and have experienced so much pain in this world.

Once I know your story, I can no longer put my own label on you.

Once I know your story, I can no longer ignore your pain.

I am challenging myself to see every person I encounter throughout the day as a real, interesting, challenging, happy and sad, twisted and turned around, sometimes tragic and sometimes redeeming story. And I am challenging myself to actually stop and ask someone her story every now and then, too.

God has always known our story.

Once we know His story, we kind of have to look at everyone else’s story differently, too, don’t we? To paraphrase one of my favorite authors: We are all trees in a story about a forest; and the story of the forest is greater than the stories about the trees.

I want to learn all the stories I can about all of the trees I can. It just might make the story about the forest even more amazing.