The Fabric of America

This week has been extremely eye-opening for me, my circumstances causing me several times to stop and think about this country that we live in, for good or for bad. If you know me well, then you know that I LOVE America. The 4th of July has become my favorite holiday as an adult, not for the fireworks but for the sheer joy of celebrating this great country. Go to another country for a week - not a vacation hot spot, but seriously just another normal place - and your patriotism will also be increased. But then there are places in this country that might challenge that patriotism as well. In Atlanta, that place is downtown at night, or along Ponce de Leon Ave even in the middle of the day. These are the places where freedom is not so clearly experienced, where the law is often optional, and where your understanding of your place in this world will be challenged if you aren't driving by fast enough or if you make eye contact with one of the unfortunate souls who call the streets their home. But I am getting ahead of myself here. Let's go back to Monday of this week...

On Monday I arrived promptly at the Fulton County Courthouse at 7:45am, ready to perform my civic duty as a juror. It is interesting to me that this "civic duty" is undertaken by Americans with such apathy and disdain. If someone from another planet (not that I think there is life on other planets) were to peek in on the multitude of faces assembled for jury duty, they might mistake the gathering for a prison camp. The grumblings of the early morning continue on throughout the day as this torturous duty continues to rob each person present of their daily life, the job that they probably complain about anyway, the mundane tasks like grocery shopping and house cleaning, the solitude of a lonely home for some and the overcrowded bustle of the city for others. Is one day of sitting in a room with a few hudred of your fellow citizens really that bad? If I were the person on trial or on the side of the prosecution, I would surely hope that this group did not decide my fate. But isn't the crowd just being a little melodramatic? When actually faced with the prospect of a trial and a decision, isn't the average American pretty responsible, fair, and genuinely interested in doing the right thing? I don't know, but I hope so. As I was leaving the court house that afternoon with this same crowded mass of potential jurors (those of us who didn't get picked), one man's comments on the presidential primary election was disturbing to me. He was obviously a Democrat, but that was not the disturbing part. What got me was his overgeneralization, his stereotyping, and the realization that he probably represented with his words what the average American understands of our election process. He said, "Well, Edwards dropped out of the election. All the women will vote for Hillary, all the black folks will vote for Obama, but there's noone left now for the white man to vote for." Initially, this may seem funny to you, but it was not funny to me because I could tell that this guy was not joking. He was actually that shallow. How many Americans out there do this, just looking at each candidate and voting for the one that most looks like themselves? Am I the only one that finds this more than a little bit disturbing? I'm not even terribly big into politics, but honestly, I do take the time if I am going to vote to at least review the views and opininons of the candidates, voting based on ideology rather than on skin color. Ok, that's enough ranting about that issue. But while we're on the subject of voting...

On Tuesday morning, I pulled myself out of bed early again, this time not for a civic duty but for a civic right, my right to vote. This is another place where the fabric of America comes alive, but not quite as much as at jury duty, the voting polls of course being determined based on more specific residential location. My residential location is in a rather affluent part of the city, so I was mostly surrounded by people like me except with a lot more money. I will spare you my comments on the volunteers and their lack of computer acuity, but suffice it to say that I waited 30 minutes while one person at a time voted in a room with 10 voting stations.

The night before the primary election, while doing my typical quick review of the candidates, I was struck most of all by Mitt Romney. Not struck in the sense that I wanted to vote for Mitt Romney, but struck by discovering the power and prestige and pedigree of education that his family holds. I don't fault him or his four very well-to-do (and not so bad-looking) sons for having what they have. Nor can I argue with the probability that this man could surely handle the job of the presidency. It just strikes me as odd that this is still America. Mitt Romney is America just as much as the poorly-informed man at jury duty, and the men and women who live on the streets of Atlanta are just as much part of this fabric as well. Truly, America is woven in such a way that it is nearly impossible at times to see the transition from one thread to another, and at the same time the opposite ends of the fabric don't even look like they are part of the same cloth. I guess it is the freedoms we have that allow our differences to co-exist. And yet some of those differences look more like oppression at times than simple diversity.

So back to Ponce de Leon Ave here in Atlanta. My church is actually on Ponce, and therefore we are one block from the Fabulous Fox Theater on one side and one block from a haven of prostitution, addiction, and hopelessness on the other side. This is America. Last night we had an Ash Wednesday service, and afterwards I went downstairs to use the bathroom. I was warned before going in that a woman was in there changing clothes but that it was ok to go anyway. I walked in to find Kelli there, half naked and talking somewhat incoherently but praising God in her own way for the fresh set of clothes. I met Kelli a few months ago when she wandered up in ftont of our church before Sunday morning service. We talked a little, she cried, we prayed. She had some coffee and pastries and then went on her way, not returning later that day for help that was promised in finding a place to sleep that night. This happened again two more times over the last few months, a quick hello, her report that things aren't good, a call for help, but inevitably the refusal of real assistance beyond food and the freedom to sleep on our church steps at night. Last night was different, but I didn't stay long enough at first to find out. I was uncomfortable with continuing to go through the motions with Kelli, my heart a little bit hardened and confused at her behavior, and so I left. I was praying on my way home for Kelli and for my own heart when my phone rang. It was Daniel from church asking if I had time to turn around and go back to the church to help Kelli. God answered my prayer with the opportunity to help, and he answered Kelli's prayer to be removed from the streets, from heroin, from her pimp, from the harsh cold of the night, and from constant desperation. I went with another lady in the church to dinner with Kelli (a real restaurant! she exclaimed, and wow, it is so different being in a car instead of walking on these streets), and then we took her to the Atlanta Greyhound bus station and bought her a ticket home to North Carolina. She called her mother who of course agreed to meet her at the bus station in the morning. We sat at the station for a few hours, wanting to make sure that Kelli got on that bus and not into the strip club across the street. And so I had a few more hours of experiencing another part of America that I don't usually think of when I celebrate our freedom on July 4th - the not-so-glorious or efficient but ever-bustling bus station. There were people of all ages and races waiting to go to Texas or Florida, Mississippi or North Carolina. One lady had been travelling all the way from Phoenix and was headed to parents' day with her daughter at Fort Bragg in North Carolina. I thought, why would anyone take a bus that far instead of a plane? Of course, she probably didn't have the money to fly. I may complain about the high price of airline tickets, but I am still fortunate enough to be able to pay the high price. And so my America is a little different from that lady's America.

Right about now you may be wondering whether I have a point in all of this discussion, and I am wondering the same thing. I guess I have been a little disappointed in America a few times this week, and I have also been brimming with pride a few times. At the end of the day, it's just sort a beautiful thing that we all fit, and that this great country does work, however dysfunctionally. I still don't know what to say, though, about the man who's looking for a white guy to vote for. I hope that God blesses America with an abundance of people who actually think before voting. This won't change the Fabric of America, for better or worse, but maybe it will at least reduce the dysfunction a little bit.