When my children were small, I participated in a well-meaning experiment with them. We were talking about Joni Earackson Tada, an inspiring woman of faith with quadriplegia. So that they could better understand the idea of a physical disability, we each pretended for 15 minutes that one part of our bodies didn’t work. I tied a handkerchief around one of my son’s eyes so he couldn’t see. For 15 minutes he would be “blind.” I bound up another son’s arm in a sling and for 15 minutes he could feel what it was like not to have the use of his arm. It seems a little strange looking back on it now, but I think in a visceral way, the experience of embodying disability made an impact. At least I hope it did, in the way that 15 minutes of anything makes an impact on us.

I mention that because short-term experience is very different than long-term experience. Having a sprained ankle is annoying. It stops us from doing what we want to do. However, we also have the understanding that in 4-6 weeks our ankle will heal and we can go back to “normal.”

Now consider the difference between having a sprained ankle and having an amputated foot. One will heal, but the other has changed your entire life. A sprained ankle can only give a small taste and a bit of empathy for what it would be like to have a life-long disability.

Similarly, I recently read an account in the book, White Awake by Daniel Hill that beautifully exemplifies this concept. The author recounts a meeting of multiethnic pastors who were working together on a common initiative. At the third meeting as the group began to talk of issues of violence, poverty, and justice again, a white pastor in the room shared his disappointment. As everyone turned to him, he explained that he felt confused that they kept talking about issues of violence and poverty and expressed that the conversation they were having was different than the agenda he had expected.

He said, “If I’m honest, these issues around race make me feel drained, and I walked away from the first two discussions feeling completely tired.”

A kind and measured response came from one of the African American pastors in the room explaining that they understood, but that they were unable to exit the narrative when they went home. They had to live it. Their churches and communities had to consistently navigate those challenges, whereas the white pastor had the privilege of tiring of the conversation and leaving it. 

This was a reframe that the white pastor needed in order to understand the different context of their lives and communities as well as the different challenges in their ministries.

I’d like to share one more example with you. One that is close to my heart and my life as a transracial adoptive mother.

A couple of years ago, I had a very difficult and frustrating conversation with someone in our community. When we came back home afterwards, and I was processing the conversation with my husband, his response floored me in the best of ways. It was an apt word that I’ve come back to many times.

He wisely said, “We chose the path of adoption. They didn’t. They have the privilege to keep their worldview and believe what they want to believe. We don’t. We have to see and care about things differently now. They have the privilege not to see.”

They have the privilege not to see.

Not to hear.

Not to care.

Inside of this human condition we find ourselves living in, how is it possible to ever understand what it is like to live someone else’s difficult life story unless we are close enough to experience a taste of it ourselves? I wish we all had supernatural empathy, but unfortunately we do not. 

Even though we don’t mean to be, we’re all naturally egocentric. We see the world through the lens of our own experience, and it’s difficult to step outside of that paradigm.

Yet, Christ models a different way. 

In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus:
Who, being in very nature God,
    did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing
    by taking the very nature of a servant,
    being made in human likeness.

Philippians 2:5-7

To minister to us, Christ became like us. So that we would hear and understand, He became a man and talked to us. So that He could relate to us in all things, even the temptations and sufferings, He became an embodied human. To set us free, He lowered himself and served us, even to the point of life sacrifice and resurrection.

These are not the actions of a God who is distant or judgmental, but one who comes close. 

In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus. 

What does that look like? 

Seriously. I’m really asking. I hope you are too. I know it’s a lot harder than it sounds, and it often involves discomfort. 

In part, perhaps it means:

• Being present in places and situations we may not have chosen for ourselves. 
• Having empathy and care for those who are suffering and vulnerable. 
• Listening to stories that make us “tired,” even though we wish we could leave.
• Loving our neighbor as we do ourselves.

Perhaps most of all, in these divided times, it means being “quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.” (James 1:19)

In listening, with attunement instead of defense, we are offering a great gift. It is the gift of care and dignity.

May we learn to enter into the experience of others in our midst, holding them and their stories with care. Although some of these will be short-term experiences, like my well-meaning experiment, even these interactions can greatly affect us. They help to open our eyes and hearts to the lived experience of others.

Pause, Renew, Next: If you want to continue to meditate on this idea, I encourage you to pray about people that the Lord would have you better understand. Step further in, looking for ways to get to know them, hear their stories, and care in ways they need.