Turning the Other Cheek: An Exercise in Fear and Joy, from 3/12/10

"But I tell you who hear me: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. If someone strikes you on one cheek, turn to him the other also. If someone takes your cloak, do not stop him from taking your tunic. Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. Do to others as you would have them do to you." - Luke 6:27-31, NIV

(this blog is originally from the writing I did as the Director of DOOR Los Angeles, and was first posted March 12, 2010, seven years ago today.  The "Dwellers" were primarily Young Adult Volunteers from the Presbyterian Church USA.  Facebook popped it up in my memory feed, and I felt it still has great relevance in #DismantlingWhiteousness.)

So, I tell you the truth: this verse has always irked me, troubled me, bothered me, even angered me. I get it, it sounds nice, but is it really true? Is it, at all, based in reality? I remember middle school, where the kid who had been taunting me and my 8th grade friendlessness, said that all the other kids avoided me because they thought I was gay. Adding injury to insult, he attacked me one morning at my locker, shoving me from behind so my head hit the edge of the metal. I thought, "don't fight back, turn the other cheek." That ended miserably, as he continued to pummel me to the ground, and the other kids looked on. If this is what you mean, God, I thought, no thank you.

And recently, after reading Shane Claiborne's Irresistible Revolution with our Dwellers, I've picked up his second book, Jesus For President. Again, I tell you the truth: I am not enjoying this book. I am finding myself too rocked by what he says, agreeing with so much. But in my agreement, I am feeling alone and paralyzed by not knowing how to act accordingly. However, he brings up a different perspective on "turning the other cheek" than I had ever heard in Catechism or Sunday School. Basically, turning the other cheek forces the perpetrator to recognize that you are a human being. "By turning the other cheek, the person made the abuser look them in the eye, and the other person said, 'I am a human being, made in the image of God, and you cannot destroy that.' Do not cower and do not punch back. Make sure the person looks into your eyes and sees your sacred humanity, and it will become increasingly harder for that person to hurt you." (Jesus For President, Claiborne, pgs 92-93.)

Last night, I learned this to be true, and even more glorious and miraculous than Claiborne suggests.

I leave my work volunteering with the Dwellers' afternoon neighborhood tutoring program and make it home around 9:30pm, almost. It's dark. I had just gotten off the phone with my wife and had had a small argument about our 5-month-old daughter. I am flustered, but eager to get inside. As I pull into the shared driveway of our townhome complex, I see a young couple standing at the threshold of the sidewalk, street, and driveway. They have a baby stroller with them, God would make sure I notice.

I pull into our garage, and as I step out of the car, can hear them screaming at one another: "Fine! Go off with your hommes, your cars, play your stupid games! See what I care!" I walk around to where I can see them, feeling an urge to show love and see if they are okay. I notice the man respond to another neighbor, presumably shouting down at him, by angrily answering back, "Shut the (expletives removed and softened throughout this re-telling) up, or I'm going to come up there and mess you up!"

And then, he notices me. Without taking a breath, he starts running towards me, shouting, "you want to mess with me! You don't know me!" Running directly at me, fast. Then, I see him slam his hand into his coat and pull something out, something that catches the light and shines. Without thought, I turn and start running to my still-open garage. I just panic and flee. Before I can make it to the button to shut the door, he is inside the garage with me, already, and raging.

"I should (f) you up! I'm from the barrio! I should take you out right now!"

"Look," I plead, "I just wanted to see if you two were okay. I meant you no harm."

He looks like he might smash in the window of my car. Looking me straight in the eyes with fire, he takes a breath, and he backs off a bit. He's not listening to anything I say, and interrupts me, looking around, "what unit is this?" He finds our unit number on the edge of the door. "I'm gonna come back. I know where you live. You shouldn't have messed with me."

I'm able to shut the garage door, now, so I do. My heart beating in every joint, even my nostrils, painfully. But as the door is closing, God grants me the ability to notice two things: there is a clear look of fear and shame in his face. And what I had thought to be a gun, I see now, is actually something like a crumpled-up soda can.

I walk upstairs. My wife has heard the commotion, our baby is upstairs sleeping. She is obviously concerned. We wonder if we should call the police, to which I decide would a bad idea because he'll know it was me, and he knows where we live.

But then, something calming comes over me. I recognize that I will not be able to rest peacefully in fear of what he may or may not do. I keep seeing his face, his rage, his anger, and maybe, just maybe, even a hint of his pain. I suddenly become resolved that I must go out and face him again. Should I take anything to defend myself? No, something tells me, that could look threatening and cause a backfire. My wife is, again, obviously concerned, but allows me to go. In a very tangible way, I think I feel God urging me on. Maybe it's connected to my need to protect our family, our daughter, I don't know. I just know I have no choice but to go back outside and find him.

And here is the space for miracle. Here is the truth of God's word in action, in stark reality. Here is Jesus backing up what he preached so fervently on the Mount:

As I walk towards the couple, the man notices me again, and his entire body language slowly starts to shrink. He turns and crumples. I feel God pushing me forward, strengthening my every step. Before I can even say a word, he says, "man, I'm really sorry. I am really, really sorry." And then, he reaches out to shake my hand.

I learn they have a 2-month-old. I tell them I have a 5-month-old. I ask if I can pray for him. He says, "just pray that it'll all work out." I say I will. The woman is clearly ashamed and won't look at me, so I decide not to ask to see the baby. I do ask them if they live nearby. He says he actually lives in these townhomes too, he just moved in.

I say goodnight. I thank God. I weep gently and quietly as I walk away. I hear the echo of the end of these verses: Do to others as you would have them do to you. I sincerely feel that if my wife and I were arguing like that, I would long for someone to step in with love and compassion. (In fact, I confess that we've had fights recently, and I truly wish someone would have done just that!) I pray and suddenly notice, finally, that I understand why Jesus asks us to turn the other cheek. I had been praying for this to make sense to me for quite some time, and though I never would've asked for it to come in just this way, I understand why it did. I went out to show him that he had just messed with a real-live human being, and to ask him to drop his threats. It never even came to that, because just "turning" to face him again gave him the opportunity to act like a human being as well. Building on what Claiborne says, exposing our humanity, in faith, can make it possible for others to do so as well.

People ask me all the time if it's safe to come to Hollywood. I wonder what they are looking for me to say. I have family who live in Littleton, Colorado; cousins who attended Columbine High School. By the looks of it, I'd guess that Littleton would appear to be "safe." The neighborhood our Dwellers live in is decorated in ample tagging, some of it even on their house. By the looks of it, I'd guess people might see this neighborhood as "less safe." But, my answer, now, is that this world is a dangerous and broken place. Period. Desperation leads to desperate and risky acts. Loneliness and feeling alone cause us to do some crazy things for attention. I believe that can happen anywhere. Even in my very garage last night.

So should we focus on being safe? Should we focus on being preemptive or retaliatory? Or, and by that I mean a hefty or, should we focus on being bold in love, and trust our safety to a God who promises to save us, a God who already has? I'm not sharing this story to promote myself as a hero in any way. In fact, much the opposite, as I felt like the biggest coward running away from a man armed with a Coke can and his own embarrassment. Nor would I advocate walking into a potential hornet's nest just because you should be bold for boldness' sake alone. But I can say this: if the feeling of God's protection is strong inside you in a given situation, and the feeling of God's urging you to enter the conflict exists, go forth. Go forth in faith. For I truly share this to celebrate that God's word is indeed good, and true, and inspiring, and emboldening. It was not my strength last night. It was the strength of the one who has saved me and aches for me to trust in that. Even died for me to trust in that. God has got your back. God will have your back.

I pray for that young family. I pray that they do not succumb to the anxiety and stress involved in young parenthood, but rather, find ways to come together despite it. If it be God's will, I pray to cross paths with them soon again. I'd like to know them.

How to end this blog, other than by continuing in the path of working to build community, instead of divide it, with our every act. The Dwellers relaunched the neighborhood garden last Sunday. Despite rain and thunder the group that had gathered transformed the space. So I will close this blog with photos of that work day to metaphorically remind us, well, mostly myself, of the lovely lesson that even under the darkest and loudest storm clouds, our God provides, our God encourages, and our God wants us to grow, together.

May Christ be with you in every way,

Matthew +Matthew John Schmitt - The Table Setters @matthewjschmitt

Meet Dottie, My Friend Who "Chose" to Live Homelessly

Rep. Roger Marshall is facing criticism about comments
he made about health care and the poor. (John Hanna/AP)

Rep. Roger Marshall, (R-Kan.), a member of the GOP Doctors Caucus, said comments he made to STAT were not meant to suggest that poor people take health care for granted. The comments were published in a story last week about his burgeoning role in the fight to replace the Affordable Care Act.

“Just like Jesus said, ‘The poor will always be with us,’ ” Marshall said in response to a question about Medicaid, which expanded under Obamacare to more than 30 states. “There is a group of people that just don’t want health care and aren’t going to take care of themselves.”

He added that “morally, spiritually, socially,” the poor, including the homeless, “just don’t want health care.”  - From the Washington Post, yesterday, by Kristine Phillips.  

Ah, yes. I wonder if Representative Marshall knows any poor people beyond being a doctor to some? Sounds like the lies I've heard all of my adult life: "the homeless just don't want to be housed. Black people just want to live in ghettos. Latino people just don't want to play by US rules. Prisoners re-commit crimes because they want to be back in prison. Muslims are secretly plotting to destroy all of us non-Muslims. Women actually want to be raped when they put on a slinky red dress....". 

In addition, the AARP might have a new one to offer: "Older persons living on small fixed incomes just want to give 30-60% of that income to healthcare."

****

Dottie, center, with two other friends who have experienced
homelessness as part of their journey.  

Let me tell you about Dottie.  Dottie lived in her van for the final 9 years of her life.  Dottie was part of our DOOR Los Angeles program, educating people about the realities of living on the streets in Hollywood.  Once, a visiting mission trip leader asked, "Dottie, why don't you just get help and check into a shelter?"  Her reply was, "At this point, I'd rather live on the streets."

[Pause.  I saw the man nodding his head because he had satisfied his assumption that "some people just aren't going to take care of themselves."  He was able to sit comfortably "knowing" that Dottie's situation is all her fault, that some people just don't want to deal with responsibility, etc.]  

So, I exercised my moderator privileges and asked her, "Dottie, can you explain what you mean by 'at this point?'"  

Dottie did,  I'll summarize.  Dottie is a small woman who worked every day of her adult life.  Dottie was a managing waitress at Denny's in Woodland Hills, and in her late 50s, collided with another waitress in the restaurant's walk-in refrigerator, falling and breaking her hip.  Dottie applied for worker's compensation, received it, was able to get some health care for her hip but never fully healed.  After 9 months of recovery, she found that Denny's would not hire her back.  She looked for work elsewhere, learned that her worker's comp record followed her, and that employers were "leery to hire her for fear she might pull a stunt like that again."  She said, "if I knew then what I know now, I would never have exercised that privilege, it's ruined me."  She never fully healed, still walked with a limp, and was never able to find stable work again as a 60 year old woman.   This led her into homelessness.

[Pause, again: I can attest to this reality too, mildly.  We are on the verge of buying a home in Detroit and have to apply for homeowner's insurance.  Because we had luggage stolen in LA in 2016 and I had called our renter's insurance to inquire about coverage (but did not even file a claim), that note was on our insurance record.  I was told by two companies that they were unwilling to cover our home because of that theft blip.  I heard that if I'm the type of person who is susceptible to theft in one residence, I'm more likely to be stolen from again.  I wish I had never called to ask.]

Dottie started living in her van with her large dog Trixie.  Trixie was her only true friend for years, and kept her safe when she had to panhandle at the end of the months.  If she fell asleep, she felt safe by Trixie's side.  If a man came up to take advantage of her (and her stories of sexual advances are beyond the pale), Trixie growled.  Trixie was her shelter.  And it is important to know, then, that shelters were not accepting pets at that time.  So, in Dottie's estimation, going to a shelter meant risking separation from Trixie and in LA, with 50,000-80,000 homeless folks but only 13,000-15,000 shelter beds, there was no guarantee she was going to be taken in, and then no guarantee that if she was taken in, there would be an apartment waiting for her at the other end.  What was certain, to her, was that the chance of losing Trixie was too much to bear.

And, she added, she had tried shelters for a time.  She was abused by shelter staff, beat up by another woman, and was not interested in re-living anything like this.

I asked her, "if you could have a home or even your own apartment, would you prefer that to sleeping on the streets." 

Her response: "absolutely.  But the hoops you have to jump through are confusing and dangerous too.  I've come to make a life for myself.  I care for the other homeless folks who live around me and that's okay for now.  I just hope, and for those of you who pray ask that you pray for me, that I don't die alone, as I've seen too many of us go that way."

From Dottie's memorial in 2011, with Trixie pictured next to her.

Dottie did not die alone.  Many of us visited her in hospice care at the end of her life.  Dottie had also found a trusted partner in a man named Brian who was by her side every last moment.  

Dottie was a complicated and wonderful woman.  I came to learn she had also struggled with heroine throughout her life, and of course, that has bearing on this story.  But should we assume that she wanted to be homeless?  Should we assume that she didn't want to be well?  Should we assume that, if the path was cleared and looked safe, she would rather live the hard life she was living?  Should we wonder if heroine was one of the ways she chose to cope?  Should we listen to her story?

When Charlotte, our first daughter was born, Dottie bought her a piggy bank.  

*******

Do the lawmakers in charge of writing these new rules into legislation understand how hard it is to get out of the cycle of poverty once you've been, either, born there, or suddenly found yourself there?  There are always exceptions, but there are still many more Dottie's than the one's who manage to eke through.

We have a national leader now who has made a career out of lying to turn business deals in his favor.  He slanders people left and right to make himself look better.  All the time.  He lives, braggadociously I might add, by the phrase, "there's no right or wrong in business, just good and bad business." I am in deep despair over how many Christians idolize 45, and I pray they wake up soon before America is made very less great again.

One way: get to know some retired persons facing skyrocketing costs and pay attention to what part of town they live in. Get to know some fathers and mothers who've spent years in prison away from their kids for having made the "good business" decision to sell anything they could to put food on the table when factories shipped jobs overseas. Get to know some people who've crossed the border to do the same for their kids when American companies decimated farmland they, or their families, used to and make a living from. Get to know a Japanese person who spent years growing up in Manzanar. Get some food in Dearborn at a family owned restaurant and ask the owner if he's secretly trying to kill you with his grandmother's hummus recipe. Get to know an actual, living, breathing woman who has to deal with sexism on a daily basis.

In all my readings of the Bible, I believe this is close to the heart of what Jesus means.

“Then those ‘sheep’ are going to say, ‘Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?’ Then the King will say, ‘I’m telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.’” - ‭‭Matthew‬ ‭25:37-40‬ ‭MSG‬‬

And the verse Marshall mentioned in this article, that the poor will always be with us, it was meant to reflect the brokenness of humanity and also to still carve time to spend with Jesus!  Read the actual verse here.  It was not meant to justify sitting on a higher class horse and making up lies, or bearing false witness, about those with less.  Later in the article, he does start to note this, but he has already done so much intentional damage in spreading a political lie.

The actual reasons people fail to get healthcare, recommit crimes, desperately seek physical attention, and stay in the cycle they are in is because our society is designed to favor people who look like me and people who have most of the money. We justify: "well, they've earned it, (without ever wondering if they might have mis-earned it), or "this country was built by hard working European immigrants" (casually forgetting that this land was stolen and most of our most iconic national buildings were built by stolen and cheap labor).

Let's tell the whole truth. This law would give great tax relief to people who don't really need it, and puts the burden back on people who do, and even suggesting the blame lies on our poorer and older citizens hides the deeply problematic system designed to benefit only some of us.

+Matthew John Schmitt - The Table Setters 

@matthewjschmitt
#TheTableSetters #DismantlingWhiteousness

We White Christians Need To Remember our Table Manners!

Last year, at Fuller Theological Seminary, I got into a bit of a debate with Professor Love Sechrest, one of the three African-American female educators on campus. Debate might be a generous term; it was more like this: in our close study of the letter of Paul to the Romans, Professor Sechrest's lecture was poised to leap right over Romans 14, saying it was mostly an insignificant chapter about old food customs and issues between early cultures in the initial spread of Christianity. And that was that. I actually gasped, sound popped out of my mouth, because I had been looking forward to our discussion on Romans specifically to talk about chapter 14. It's always been my favorite.

Professor Sechrest heard me, raised her eyebrows and asked, "do you have something to add, Matthew?"

I stammered, started, hesitated, and managed to eke out, "uh, can I just see you after class?"

"Yes, moving on to chapters 15 and 16...."

Afterwards, I laid out why I love the chapter, why I think it's a great foundation for modern work in reconciliation and interfaith dialogue, and I walked away satisfied with her brief response, "well, I think I might have to give it another look."

For instance, a person who has been around for a while might well be convinced that he can eat anything on the table, while another, with a different background, might assume he should only be a vegetarian and eat accordingly. But since both are guests at Christ’s table, wouldn’t it be terribly rude if they fell to criticizing what the other ate or didn’t eat? God, after all, invited them both to the table. Do you have any business crossing people off the guest list or interfering with God’s welcome?

 If there are corrections to be made or manners to be learned, God can handle that without your help. Or, say, one person thinks that some days should be set aside as holy and another thinks that each day is pretty much like any other. There are good reasons either way. So, each person is free to follow the convictions of conscience.


What’s important in all this is that if you keep a holy day, keep it for God’s sake; if you eat meat, eat it to the glory of God and thank God for prime rib; if you’re a vegetarian, eat vegetables to the glory of God and thank God for broccoli. None of us are permitted to insist on our own way in these matters. It’s God we are answerable to—all the way from life to death and everything in between—not each other. That’s why Jesus lived and died and then lived again: so that he could be our Master across the entire range of life and death, and free us from the petty tyrannies of each other. (Romans 14:2-9, MSG)

The setting is a dinner table. The context is diversity within the early Jesus-following community. We'll come back to this.
-----

Thinking back to my college days as a vegetarian, I can think on many meals where the guidance of Romans 14 was not followed.

"So, all you're going to eat is vegetables? Are you going to need me to cook all of the ones I've got?"
"Oh, it's just that liberal college life phase thing again."
"Are you into free love, too?"

These were common "blessings" dropped on me in the late 90's before we dug in, and after bristling and having to posture some sort of quippy response, I was less interested in investing in the remainder of those conversations. If knocking vegetarianism was topic number one, I wasn't chomping at any bits to start talking about the lessons I was learning from doing improvisational theater work in Detroit area prisons.

The truth: I was a vegetarian to impress a young woman. And it worked, so I stuck to it for a while, probably in defiant pride.

Paul was writing to a people that had been brought up with strict food guidelines for generations, partially for health reasons but mostly to adhere to what Scripture commanded. It was for maintaining cultural clarity. In this, it's not hard to imagine the consternation and confusion that this new influx of members, for lack of a better term, was causing the culturally Jewish folks. Imagine something like a Thanksgiving meal in the United States, with the pumpkin pies, the sweet potatoes, and of course, the turkeys, both the natural and the tofu ones. In walks a family member's new spouse with, say, pepperoni pizza and starts passing it around. Everyone likes pizza, yes? People might even take a slice or two, but would most likely be murmuring about how odd it was for Thanksgiving. If those murmurs were overheard by the new family member, it would most certainly cause a feeling of less-than-fully-welcomed awkwardness.

The Jewish people were being asked to consider that in the increasingly diversifying community of following Jesus, they ought to expect this new kind of dynamic at gatherings. So much so that Paul felt compelled to lay down a new paradigm of table manners. In other words, this isn't just for your family anymore, it was always meant to win the whole world back to God's table in God's Kingdom. Don't pick on each other and definitely do not kill the spirit of welcome extended to everyone by Christ.

Remember, the human based impetus to crucify Jesus came, in part, as a reaction to his radical teachings. He was talking about decentralizing human power and reorienting everyone towards God's ultimate sovereignty. Quite often, his stories centered the righteous actions not in the religious leaders of the day but in the outsiders, even the hated Samaritans. Jesus' sermons on the mount and plain lay out a mission to go from town to town with good news and invitation (once the sick and afflicted amidst them are tended to), meaning there will be even more new people at the tables. Finally, directly before he ascends to God, after being asked if the kingdom will be restored to Israel, Jesus shifts the conversation into letting them know they are to be his witnesses, or storytellers, in "Judea, Samaria, even to the ends of the world." (Acts 1:8, MSG)

I believe Paul included the lessons contained in chapter 14 because he understood that Christianity, the practice of following Jesus, would be increasingly more complicated as new cultures, with all their food rules and customs, were brought to the same tables alongside the original witnesses with their well-worn traditions. In other words: expect to sit at diverse tables, forevermore.  But by 1960, the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. pointed out that "11:00 on Sunday morning is one of the most, if not the most, segregated hours in Christian America."

How would MLK reflect on the level of integration within Christian churches of 2017? How would you? How would Jesus?

The table is central to sharing the Gospel because it is central to being a human being. A meal with others, when the intentional decency of Romans 14 is followed, allows us to share in our vulnerability (we need to eat!), for us to share our hospitality (we can share of our resources and our gifts!), and a place to tell and listen to stories. It is a prime place to be understood and to understand. It is level ground, there's no such thing as a sloped table with some sitting higher than others. Sure, there is often a human host who may assume a form of leadership, but Romans 14 urges that we humbly recall that the true host is actually Christ, guarding against any person-to-person hierarchies that may develop. Romans 14 sets the perfect table.

In our highly divided nation, in which the furors of 2016 were not the instigator of the division but rather, the boiling over of the reality that MLK called into question: the American church has failed to set ideal tables, tables that honor and reflect the diversity of God's kingdom, for centuries. And so we don't know one another, and, I would argue, we are unfortunately only able to understand God through the limits of our own cultural practices.

Let's step back into that pizza moment at Thanksgiving: while I admit if that were to happen at my table, my initial response would be to quietly find it odd and, well, out of place. But what if someone had the courage to ask the new family member, without sarcasm, "why did you bring pizza today?" And suppose that person answered with a story about a Thanksgiving from her youth in which her grandmother became gravely ill in the morning, and her entire family spent the day in the hospital in prayer and grief. And what if she said that the only thing the hospital cafeteria had on hand was cold pepperoni pizza? And what if she said that her grandmother's last words to her gave her such hope that at the end of one's life a person could have such faith in Christ? And what if she said that, from that day forth, she always has one piece of pizza on Thanksgiving to remind her of how thankful she is for her grandmother's witness?

I'm guessing that you wouldn't scoff at her decision to bring pizza anymore, and I'm guessing you would share in some sense of gratitude over the one piece that you took (unless you're that guy who took two and are now sheepishly trying to slip one piece back to the box without anyone noticing.)  You needed to hear the story first, and you had to set your judgment aside to really let it touch you.

Of course, she might also say that she doesn’t like turkey, and pizza is simply her favorite food.  But even then, we would have learned something about her, something about her humanity, and would have been given the opportunity to appreciate her honesty.

-----

Dwayne holding my daughter in 2010

When I first moved to New Orleans, I was a sixth grade teacher through the Teach For America movement. Also, I was hell-bent on saving all these "poor" Black and Vietnamese kids in the Ninth Ward. As a person who passes for white in this modern day, I was deeply indoctrinated as a perfectionist. (Am I being glib mentioning that I pass for white? Of course you do, you might say, you're a white guy! But it's important to remember that my German and Irish Catholic ancestors were not considered white upon immediately landing on this continent. They were the problematic “others” until it became politically prudent to draw new boundary lines around whiteness, of which my new neighbors in New Orleans are still not within, no matter how "high-yellow" their skin is. Whiteness was invented, and the heart behind it is sinful and idolatrous.) In 1999, I wanted to use my status as a self-righteous White person to bless these kids who I knew were given the shortest ends of the shortest sticks. I am locating my own whiteousness.

But, like I said, I am a perfectionist. Which is, to say, that I have bought into a lie that my performance will set me above my fellow brothers and sisters. I believe this stems from the same idolatrous spirit that invented whiteness. After all, what was the white status created for, what was it intending to accomplish? It was to self-select a sense of chosen-ness, a sense of privilege that set some people apart and more deserving than others. And, it worked. “White" is the normative and dominant standard in our cultural practices today. To value whiteness, though, requires that we imagine ourselves sitting at higher tables, that we believe we are somehow entitled to more. And within the communities that pass as white, we must then strive to be a more perfect example of white values. There is nothing wrong with working hard to present the best example of your skills and talents. But whiteness sells us the lie that some people are more esteemed, more perfect, than others. If you are not feeling blessed enough, you can fall into the trap of believing that you're not meeting the standard quite well enough. Perfection-ism.

Is this not what legalism amidst the Pharisees was all about during Jesus' time walking the earth? I could earn my right standing with God and be seen as blameless? Is this not an echo of the clamor around the golden calf, a symbol of choosing to live by our own rules and standards, no matter how much Moses was glowing when he came down from the mountain to tell us God's will? Have we white people, and those who aspire to live like the white elite, thrown out the gift of our shared humanity for a chance to feel closer to God by believing we are the most special? That we can earn perfection by subscribing to a certain standard of culture and behavior? Was the social climbing that is the American Dream prophetically warned against in the tale of Babylon?

Romans 14 became a lived reality for me in New Orleans, when, feeling sorry for myself because I felt like an epic failure as a teacher, I was invited over to dinner by families of my students.   Cedric's family, Deja's, Dwayne's, Roy's, Mai's, Isiah's, Leland's and others reached out to me.  In stark contrast to the jeers I experienced in suburban Detroit over my vegetarian diet, I was taken aback to learn that not only had my students picked up on this detail, but often at dinners I found that a special pot of gumbo was made. Just for me. No jeering, only hospitality. And then, I would learn that in New Orleans East in the late 90's, vegetarianism meant that you didn't eat red meat. My special pot was filled with chicken and shrimp. I had a choice: I could point out the technicalities of their misunderstanding and educate this community on true vegetarianism. Or, I could just eat it. I chose the latter. And I chose to be taken care of by this new community. I relaxed, listened, told stories, and allowed them to see my imperfections.

Deja and Charlotte in 2010

If you asked me what I might describe salvation tastes like, I would say celery, bell peppers, and onions. It's what Louisianan cooks refer to as the Holy Trinity.

You see, I had to receive at the tables of families whom I thought I was there to save. I had to willingly allow my whiteousness to be dismantled. I had to start a process of allowing the fallacies of my perfectionism to be critiqued, laughed at, and exposed for the aggressive and destructive lie that it is. Perfectionism in this country is an insidious indicator of someone who subscribes, even subconsciously, to white supremacy. Not necessarily someone who would attend KKK rallies, but the very notion that one race is perfect and all others are substandard is the byproduct of a supremacist philosophy.

This was just the beginning of learning that diversity brings gifts, especially when bridges of new perspectives are allowed space to be told, space to be heard, and space to be pondered.

So I celebrate the gift of remembering that we are all invited to God's table. In fact, those discussions over gumbo were so filled with the Holy Spirit, so filled with prayer and hopes and laments, I am so grateful I did not choose to educate when I was a guest at their tables. In turn, they did not expect me to be a perfect teacher, they just expected me to love their kids and do my best for them. What a relief it was to just be myself! And what an honor it was to be asked to help to teach their kids. Not to save them, but to love them and give them only my humanly limited best.

This is the heartbeat, for me, behind my calling to urge my brothers and sisters of European descent to regularly sit down at tables with people who look different to first listen, and also to share honestly. This is why I boldly, but humbly, ask my friends of African, Asian, and Native North and South American descents to be patient with me, as I am still in recovery, and with others who seek to understand but are still bound to the chains of this supremacist perfectionism that has informed every day of our lives. This is not easy. This is not Kumbayah. But I believe it is what is expected of us as Christians.

"One of the greatest tasks afforded to humanity is to stretch our theology, to expand our ideologies concerning God, and bring that experience to bear on and in those who need him most." - Dr. William Byron Reese Jr.

When we sit a table together and break bread, we remember that Jesus did this with and for us before he was murdered, and we can never outshine the supremacy of that personal sacrifice. When we share stories around a table, enjoying each other's foods, we open ourselves to learning about God from the Samaritan's point of view; from the poor white veteran who spent years in prison; from the Syrian refugee who stepped forward into the unknown with hope against hope; from the black woman who gets requests to empty an over-filled garbage receptacle while she is on rounds visiting her patients; from the father from El Salvador who is not as worried about his citizenship status as he is about feeding his children. Do we, as privileged white people have the only thing to offer when it comes to ideas about who God is? Absolutely, and thankfully, not. We have so much more to learn, and we ought to take that on as the gift that it is.

Cedric meeting Ruby in 2013

Because the alternative, for me, is to recognize that my privilege blinds me to my worldly riches. Furthermore, being oblivious to my advantages while lacking empathy for those without them marks me as the type of person Jesus was referring to in Matthew 19:24 who would have to somehow pass through the eye of a needle to enter God's Kingdom.

So here is where the real work begins.  Pastor Alex Cornell, currently serving in Houston, recently challenged me: "Matthew, you preach a good word reminding us that Jesus aims to teach us through the Samaritans in our lives. Who would you say are your Samaritans?" Now he knew that, for me, it is not the black people on the other side of 8 mile from my suburban Detroit upbringing. He knew that for me, I have already found great encouragement from sharing life with my undocumented neighbors in Los Angeles. He was leading me to ponder these questions:

Can I, Matthew, sit at a table with someone who voted for Donald Trump specifically because of his racist rhetoric, and can I learn anything about God from that person? Could I have the courage to share my stories and pray that they, in turn, learn something about God from my perspective? Certainly, there is always risk of being shunned and shut out, but the heart of our work at the Table Setters is to take very seriously the work that we believe Jesus lays out for us, the missions and promises that Paul reiterates in Romans 14 for the early Church.

The Kingdom of God is not bubbled into red-lined safe havens, marked and divided by zip codes. There are the believers and the non-believers, sure, but amidst the believers, not one of us is more special or more beautiful than our sister or brother. (And, Jesus died for the unbelievers too, we must not forget!) Not one of us is more worthy because of our perspectives. Even if we figured out how to scientifically rearrange our atoms so that we actually could pass through the eye of a sewing needle. No, God created us as diverse in skin, body, and perspective for a purpose, and it's time to throw out the idol of Whiteousness so we can experience a fuller picture of love, mercy, grace, and celebration.

My co-founding partner and I have started the Table Setters because our long friendship has taught us so much more about who God is than either of us ever knew before. Why should that matter? Because the odds of us becoming friends, having been born on two different sides of the country twenty years apart, him being an adopted black man to two black parents in the urban sprawl of the Bay Area, me being born to two white parents in the suburbs, it wasn’t going to just happen. Our country is not currently arranged for these kinds of friendships to organically occur. We had to make choices to move in a direction towards one another, and that movement, we believe, has important implications for us as Christians and for those of us who live in increasingly diversifying communities.

So let’s agree to use all our energy in getting along with each other. Help others with encouraging words; don’t drag them down by finding fault. You’re certainly not going to permit an argument over what is served or not served at supper to wreck God’s work among you, are you? I said it before and I’ll say it again: All food is good, but it can turn bad if you use it badly, if you use it to trip others up and send them sprawling. When you sit down to a meal, your primary concern should not be to feed your own face but to share the life of Jesus. So be sensitive and courteous to the others who are eating. Don’t eat or say or do things that might interfere with the free exchange of love. Romans 14:19-21 MSG

The Frustrated White Person's Guide to Discussing Racism! - By Mira Jacob

Mira Jacob, a contributor at BuzzFeed, drew this helpful flowchart.  If the format is weird, check out the original here: https://www.buzzfeed.com/mirajacob/the-frustrated-white-persons-guide-to-discussing-racism?utm_term=.vcVEg2YNn#.avv91OxnG

Thank you to my mother-in-law for sending this!

Out Into The Darkness, Together

Words by Andre Henry

Prayer by Nick Barrett

The Table Setters Ensemble: Kimi Walker, Nick Barrett, Isaac Bar-Jonah, Ivy Beech, Ambar Sabino

Photography by Jordan Spencer and Jesse Burger with help by Malcolm Wadlow

Edited by Avery Archie

Thanks to Hollywood Presbyterian Church

When Marvin and I started becoming friends 14 years ago, I had no idea it would lead to the launching of The Table Setters.  But once we engaged with mission trip after mission trip, and once we had to have "the talk" time and time again (the one where we helped wealthier churches locate their Toxic Charity, the tendency to look down on the people they believed they were helping), we realized that Jesus keeps setting tables with his disciples.  

And then he tells people to go out 2 x 2, and receive the hospitality of the people they would be visiting as they traversed country to country.  This was not colonialism.  This was a vulnerable sharing of the good news, that Jesus had conquered death and washed us with God's mercy and forgiveness.  

And then Paul keeps telling people how to act at the table, most certainly in Romans 14, when they sit across from people with different customs and food habits.  In other words: Jesus-followers ought to expect to forever be at diverse tables.

So: it's a tragedy that Martin Luther King Jr. called out Sunday mornings as the most segregated hours in the country.  What's more: it's not much better decades after he noticed that.

It's definitely time for change.  Marvin and I can come to your town, your school, or your church through plane, train, automobile, or video conference.  We can help you plan for long haul diversity initiatives that move beyond mere tolerance.  We can pray for you.  We can worship with you.  We can laugh with you.  We can cry with you.  And most importantly, we can lament, together, that God laments all the divisions his children have made along race, zip codes, political stripes, gender, housing status, language, and food choices.  We can encourage you, from here on out, to move past those divides towards the day when Revelation 21 becomes a reality, where all the nations come together to praise God.  And then we can dance.

Our website is finally live: 

TheTableSetters.org

(thank you to Thad Lolling for serving as our Multimedia Specialist)

Pages, Podcasts, and Performances

It's been nearly a year that Dismantling Whiteousness has been up and running.  By all measures, it's been quite a year.  (All of the posts are archived along the right side, by the way.  And you can also translate them, so Google says, into all kinds of languages (though I don't know how well....))

I have appreciated all the feedback, both the support and the, as Van Jones referred to it, white-lash.  It is all helpful as we negotiate how to set tables within all kinds of diversity both at The Table Setters and in our everyday lives.  We have so much to learn from each other.  And though some opinions are not as valid, especially if those opinions lack personal experience, it is good to hear them and work through it all.

This dialogue also got picked up on a variety of podcasts and stories, especially since my family and I arrived in Detroit.  I was humbled and honored to be part of each piece.  Here's a bit of a round-up as we start contemplating how to look forward in very interesting times, that I would argue, are showing us new elements of Whiteousness that must be addressed.  More to follow:

*****

From the Brain Candy Podcast, hosted by Dr. Susie Meister and Sarah Rice.  Marvin and I come in about half-way to talk Table Setters.  

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My moment at The Secret Society of Twisted Storytellers, the highlight of our first few months in Detroit.  The mission is to transform community one story at a time...

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Two (updated, now three! and already booked for two more) episodes on Leading Questions w/ Calvin Moore, one from the day after the 2016 election, and the other in December on Peacemaking.  In February 2017, I was asked to come speak about Mass Incarceration.  

(updated February 24, 2017, with a new Leading Questions Episode feature):

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An NPR story from early 2017 about the critical importance of diversity in schooling (Shirel and I come in at the final 15 minutes, but the entire story is worth listening to)

Click here for the full NPR Michigan Radio Show

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Driving for Lyft has given me the opportunity to meet a fascinating new friend from England, James Prescott, who has a podcast along with an upcoming book called Mosaic of Grace!

A Swamp of Words

Words matter.  Always have, always will (or, I shudder to think, "always should.")  It's one of the things that make us distinctly human, our ability to represent thoughts, ideas, actions, people, plans, schemes, and hopes through symbolic means.  As a person with a degree in Literature, I celebrate words.

As a follower of Jesus, I also celebrate metaphor (well, to be fair, as a student of literature I've long celebrated metaphor, so when I really started reading the Bible, I was thrilled to find Jesus teaching through parables, similes, and metaphors).  Jesus used mustard seeds and fields, bread and wine, sculptors and sheep, rocks and waters.  Metaphors engage that space in our consciousness that requires making relationships between things to deepen our understanding of a topic.  I might even say that, when allowed, metaphors can also develop our empathy, because in order to understand the lesson of the metaphor, we must try to see something from a different perspective.  Our muscle to apply that to people outside of our immediate bubbles is then exercised.

There's a popular metaphor floating around these days.  You've heard it: Drain The Swamp.  Before I go further, the literature lover in me just has to critique this metaphor.  If you were to actually drain a swamp, you would only lose the water.  Everything that makes a swamp, well, a swamp, would still be there.  The cypress trees, Spanish moss, alligators, snakes, lily pads, would either clog the drain, or just be standing on dry ground, dehydrated.  (Talk about climate change.....)  "Clear the Swamp" might make a little more sense, but that's not what we're working with.

So then the question is: what does the swamp refer to?  We've heard that it means elite politicians and longstanding bureaucrats.   Does it?  My first grade daughter is being taught to support her answers by finding evidence in the text, the story, or the calculations.  It's not enough to be "right," to have the actual correct answer, you must be able to look back in the material in front of you and point to where you found the information.  In this, there is no room for alternative facts.  It's either there, or it isn't.

Now, my Table Setters co-founding partner and might I disagree here, and that's okay, because I feel compelled to step into this swamp and look for the evidence of what is right in front of us this past week.  I believe it represents a core tenet of the problem of Whiteousness.  We have a new administration that is being comprised of some of the most socially and financially elite folks in our country.  In turn, they are also the least academically educated administration in quite some time.  Now, I do understand the frustration with academic elites, people who always think they are smarter than everyone else.  We, with college degrees, must always tread carefully here.  However, the few browner skinned members in the new cabinet are the most educated, while many of the pink-skinned members have only bachelor's degrees.  In other words, there is financial privilege at play here, and it appears that the privilege is long-standing for many.  The non-white folks have to get the highest degree of education possible to sit at the table with white folks who've not had to work nearly as hard.  So: will we be replacing the swamp of political elites with racial and socio-economic elitism?  I don't think that's a good swap.  And that is an understatement.

We also have orders that, when looking at it, does not seem to go after anything elite whatsoever.  Take a look at this swamp of words gathered this past week through a collection of online news sources and social media.  I've added my interpretation between the lines in red, in my attempt to try and understand exactly what, or who, constitutes this so-called "swamp."

* On January 19th, 2017, funding for the DOJ’s Violence Against Women programs is going to be cut. (perhaps women who claim to have been assaulted are part of the swamp?)
* On January 19th, 2017, funding for the National Endowment for the Arts is going to be cut. (artists and keepers of culture might be the alligators we need to get rid of?)
* On January 19th, 2017,  funding for the Corporation for Public Broadcasting is going to be cut.  (or maybe it's the writers and producers of television programming that isn't persuaded by massive business and advertising revenue)
* On January 19th, 2017,  funding for the Minority Business Development Agency will be cut.  (so, non-white business development is a problem?  Or, wait, who's the minority now?  Last time I checked, the numbers are rapidly changing....)
* On January 19th, 2017, funding for the Office of Community Oriented Policing Services will be cut. (so police officers who are working to improve relationships with their communities are the swamp monsters?)
* On January 19th, 2017, funding for the Legal Services Corporation will be cut.  (people who need financial assistance to defend themselves are gumming up our country?)
* On January 19th, 2017, funding for the Civil Rights Division of the DOJ will be cut.  (well, certainly, anyone demanding civil rights are just swampy complainers, yes?)
* On January 19th, 2017, funding for the Office of Energy Efficiency and Renewable Energy will be cut.  (aha, it's the scientists who are trying to make sure our resources and environmental needs can be sustained for my grandchildren, and yours.)
* On January 20th, 2017, roughly 230 protestors were arrested in DC and face unprecedented felony riot charges. Among them were legal observers, journalists, and medics.  (why can't they just accept defeat?)
* On January 23rd, 2017, it was said that 3-5 million people voted “illegally” and thus impacted the popular vote.  (wait, it's the voting populace who needs to be drained, now?)
* On January 24th, 2017, the EPA was ordered to stop communicating with the public through social media or the press and to freeze all grants and contracts.  (there's those snaky environmentalists again).
* On January 24th, 2017, HR7, a bill that would prohibit federal funding not only to abortion service providers, but to any insurance coverage, including Medicaid, that provides abortion coverage, went to the floor of the House for a vote. (hmmmm, maybe it's sick people, or people who can't afford to cover their mistakes up more privately.)
* On January 24th, 2017, an order for the resumption of construction on the Dakota Access Pipeline, while the North Dakota state congress considers a bill that would legalize hitting and killing protestors with cars if they are on roadways, as long as you say it was an "accident."  (of course, the swamp is the last remaining Native Americans!  if we could just get rid of them.....)
*On January 25th, 2017: the wall plans are ramped up and a widespread Muslim ban.  (and simultaneously not allow sneaky, swampy Mexicans and Muslims to enter or remain...)

I'm really confused.  If the swamp actually referred to career politicians, why then are there no immediate orders to limit their power?  Why do we see, instead, so many orders to diminish services closely connected with our citizenry?  Or, maybe more accurately, certain sectors of our citizenry?

This so-called swamp is getting, well, muckier.  What will the draining look like?  Will we all get flushed in some way or another?  I believe the time to pay attention is great and critical, but we will have to seek information outside of the news, outside of social media, and actually get to know a Syrian neighbor before they are deported.   Who is the real threat, who are the real dangers?  How will anyone be able to tell?  My list above is just a list until I get to know some of these so-called problem children.

Again: words matter.

I attended a planning meeting at the Detroit Historical Society a few days ago as 2017 marks the 50th Anniversary of the events of 1967.  During the meeting, one person said something quite profound: "I've found that I can tell a lot about someone by how they describe 1967:  Was it a riot?  Was it an uprising?  Was it a rebellion?  Was it a revolution?"

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--
And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode? - Langston Hughes

You can see, if you call it a riot, you frame all those involved as the problem.  If you call it an uprising or a rebellion, you imagine the "powers-that-be" as the problem.  There is a mural a few blocks from my house that refers to 1967 as "Detroit's 1776."  Is it that far of a stretch?  We can learn about colonial rebels who massively destroyed British property and cargo by dumping tons of tea into the Boston waters.  People died.  But we frame it as just and necessary, because it led to the formation of the United States of America.  I've heard some talk already of how the big auto companies fled Detroit to set up shop in the suburbs and overseas, and this decimated the incomes of many of our neighbors.  Meanwhile, car insurance rates were soaringly high and a public transit system was diminished to relative uselessness.  How frustrated and angry must our neighbors, now in their 70s and 80s, have been to live with such instability and entrapment?  I hope to learn more about this as I continue to get involved this year, by hearing from first-hand accounts of people who actually lived through being defined as citizens, (well, actually the word-choices are often much more damning) in the "worst city in America." Take a minute to watch the video below:

Click here to learn more

Pay attention friends.  And I'm including people that I disagree with in that mix.  I believe we are all prone to being divided and conquered, and if we don't find our similarities and our common hopes and dreams across race, class, faith, and political ideology, we will all go down Titanic-style.  We are being divided, that is for certain, so I have to ask, are we being conquered?

But God’s not finished. He’s waiting around to be gracious to you.

He’s gathering strength to show mercy to you.

God takes the time to do everything right—everything.

Those who wait around for him are the lucky ones.

Oh yes, people of Zion, citizens of Jerusalem, your time of tears is over. Cry for help and you’ll find it’s grace and more grace. The moment he hears, he’ll answer. Just as the Master kept you alive during the hard times, he’ll keep your teacher alive and present among you. Your teacher will be right there, local and on the job, urging you on whenever you wander left or right: “This is the right road. Walk down this road.” - Isaiah 30:18-21 (MSG)

May it be so.  Let's roll up our sleeves and get to know one another.  See you at the Table.

+Matthew John Schmitt @matthewjschmitt

Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, 2017

Merry Xmas from this Blogger, Activist, Musician, and Lyft Driver

Last night's Lyft driving got really under my skin, seeped into my heart.  So much pain, so much story, so much humanity out here on these streets.

Those who pray: please pray for Alejandro as he flies back to Sonora, Mexico to help his family in a hard time, leaving a good paying job in Birmingham.  He was intrigued that I knew people in Agua Prieta, near where he lives, as most people in Birmingham, MI only know about Cancun.  Lyfted him to the airport last night.

Pray for David who left his drug dealing after time in county jail but has had to move away from his children out to Romulus to be close to his job in Ypsilanti. He tried to find work aside from drug dealing for years, but nothing came in Detroit. 

Pray for Ruby: she broke my heart tonight. As I drove her down 8 mile where she used to make $1,000 a weekend at the strip clubs 10 years ago, she's angry at Jesus for not showing up for her, yet. 8 years ago her brother was murdered while she was in nursing school, and it threw her life off course. She knows her Bible, has been hurt by a greedy pastor, and she just preached a half hour in my car, holding all the wrapping paper she just got at the dollar store and called Lyft because the Detroit bus didn't come for 3 of the times it was posted that it would.

Pray for Gail: after her divorce, she's been raising her three college-aged kids on her own.  She needed a Lyft because she let her oldest child have her one car.  She lives in the Suburbs of Wayne County, so her car insurance is very high, just like my more immediate neighbors.  Her job is set to expire in early 2017, so at this stage in her life, she's still living paycheck to paycheck and nervous about her resume.  

A few nights ago, I got to drive Gary, the owner of a liquor store in my neighborhood, back to his home in West Bloomfield.  He's been the owner for decades, and is proud that he's made peace with the African-American community he serves, hires from, and I wanted to say, probably overcharges them for groceries.  He talked about voting for Trump, and I verbally disagreed with his logic, but I had to humble myself and listen to his life as a Chaldean boy in Iraq, his family feeling forced to leave as Christians.  He said he would hook me up with my favorite whiskey if I stop by again.   

These were not passengers in the surge zones, but I'm glad I didn't chase the money tonight. I drive people to bars sometimes, and sometimes I get the honor of driving people at a very critical moment in their life.

Before you judge our neighbors living south of 8 mile, drive a few miles with them and listen. 

Please support The Table Setters in our launch mode

Peace by peace by silent nights and heartfelt prayers,
+Matthew John Schmitt @matthewjschmitt

The Table Setters Needs Your Support!

Come to the Table. 

Share at the Table.  Stay at the Table.

Come Back to the Table. 

www.facebook.com/TheTableSetters

We are asking for financial support for our 2017 launch. We need to support our families as we build the components and create opportunities for schools and churches who otherwise would not be able to afford our visit, workshops, and consulting.

We are also poised to write a book we believe is critically important, but we need real time and space to actually author it:
How is that a 58 year old African-American is friends with a 39 year old European-American? Why is this friendship, filled with love and constant disagreement, important as a model for the type of relationships needed in our country in 2017?

You have been sampling my writing on this blog for almost a year, and you can check out Marvin's at Paid In Full.

The Table Setters is a faith-based non-profit (pending) that produces improved relationships across humanly created racial, socio-economic, political, and religious lines. We combine launch events in churches, schools, and civic institutions with customized plans for ongoing cultural accountability. Diversity training days are never enough. Ongoing relationships that nurture connections and share brokenness, hopes and dreams, can be mutually healing and productive.

Founded through the deep friendship of Marvin Wadlow Jr., an African-American Baby Boomer, and Matthew John Schmitt, a European-American Generation X-er, the Table Setters exist to remember that we are all invited to God's Table through Christ, with none of us over or under-welcomed. Both founders lament that though Jesus shares stories and parables through setting a variety of tables across cultures and classes, most of our country, including Christians, have a hard time stepping outside their zip codes. The Table Setters believe that reality is greater understood when we fully appreciate differences across the divisions of humankind, and we aim to start a movement of courageous and ongoing Table Setting: individuals, businesses, and congregations who are willing to continually meet with "the others.” We are called to mutually learn, question, and share experiences in vulnerable storytelling that ultimately moves us towards making better decisions together.

How YOUR Giving will Matter to The Table Setters Launch:

$100 - Covers Lyft rides to and from airports
$500 - Covers our internet connection for one year as we create social media content
$1000 - Covers airfare for Matthew & Marvin to visit schools or churches with limited budgets
$4000 - Covers the costs associated with Marvin & Matthew to offer a workshop series
$6000 - Affords us each one month to write, research, and develop our book concept in 2017.

Simply click DONATE to make your tax-deductible contribution, or mail a check to:

The Table Setters
c/o Dan Selock
70 Sandy Point
Goreville, IL 62939

Peace by peace by peace,

Matthew, Marvin, Dan, Susie, Darcie and all the future Table Setters who will be impacted by this launch......

The Forgiveness Table, by Marvin Wadlow Jr.

My co-founding partner, Marv.  Follow his blog too!

Matthew John Schmitt, my co-founder in The Table Setters, shared this post on Facebook already about the apology to Dakota Native Americans from a host of retired US military soldiers in regards to the oil pipeline recently temporarily halted. It’s awesome in it’s written form. God has gifted me with the ability of stories in film. This is a powerful 2.30 second visual of what real forgiveness looks like.

Not yelling and pontificating on CNN, Fox, or MSNBC, or even Facebook. Real Forgiveness means a real apology. It also requires both parties to come to The Table of Forgiveness and to be specific of the injustices perpetrated on each other. Or, by one to another. For this country, that’s broad brushes of paint filled with blood! The blood of Native Americans, the Blood of Mexican-Americans, the blood of African-Americans, and yes, blood of my Asian-Americans (including Pacific Islanders) brothters and sisters ancestors. Ancestory from my good friends in the Asian community like Diane Ujiiye, and Jason Chu! I mention my Asian brothers and sisters because they need some upfront acknowledgement to their ancestral sacrifices. The history books overlook horrible injustices to them, me, and all previouly mentioned groups above.

Let’s not bullshit, where does that leave all my pink (white) brothers and sisters of a different hue in terms of forgiveness, apologies, and real listening? Real listening means not playing chess with people of color that have deep wounds. No, “Yeah but’s”. It means just taking the time to hear our seemingly drawn out historically convoluted stories of our history in the context of being a person of color in America! It means, actually listening at a few Table Settings before you point-counter-point. If you haven’t been told, I’m telling you now, it pisses us off so much. Just simply listen. Listening requires no response. And, when and if you feel the need to apologize, be real. See this video, that’s a real f’ing apology. And for the record, my father served in a racist, seperatist WWII military with honor for his country and him regardless of the injustices he experienced (watch the movie Solder’s Story). Members of my family serve and honorably served in in all wars, other members of my family serve and have served as police (that’s black and white officers in my family), fire, and EMT; doctors, nurses, etc. So any unconstructive (no other form of protest for him to use) critique of Kaepernick (NFL) excuses of what he’s doing by taking a knee is redundent and hypocritical! The exact reason you’re fighting against what he’s doing is the reason all soliders fight for his ability to protest in the land of the free and the home of the brave. Look at King, Ali, Tommy Smith and John Carlos (68' Olympics); look at The Woolworth lunch counter participants, look at water hose victims in 64', watch Bloody Sunday participants on the bridge in Selma, read the bios of Don Cornelious of Soul Train, watch Michael Jackson who stood his ground with MTV, or I personally might not have had a career, and ask countless others in Dakota. The list could go on and on.

This apology was beyond, “heart felt”. My pink brother laid it on the line, spoke clearly, specifically, and succinctly about what the wrongs were. Paused. Bowed.

And then he lowered his head in asking for full forgiveness in front of a tribal leader.

You can hear it in his voice as the speaker wears the uniform of still the most brutal war in our US history, our own civil war; and in that uniform, he apologizes. You can see it on the faces of other soldiers who kneel with him and ask for forgiveness under his representation. And, you can hear it in the accepting of his apology by the tribal leader saying wisely, “ this is a 1st step” in that forgiveness process. Most, not all Americans, so let me be clear: my brothers and sisters of European Anglo descent want this quick fix. 400 years is not a quick fix, the land we took is not a quick fix. The pain exhibited by most people of color from 400 years of mental, physical, and emotional harm will not be fixed overnight as we did not take this land peacefully overnight. And the fruit enjoyed by many came at the cost of people with skin that looks like mine or a derivative of: Asians, African, Native, Pacific Islanders, and Latinos who paid a heavy cost for “this land is your land, this land is my land” song, but did not reap that fruit. Instead they picked the fruit and reaped no rewards except systematic ghettos strategically placed in cities, reservations, and some rural areas all over the nation! So, even though that song is a folk song as a protest song with an ironic twist that we know that’s not qute true!

History tells us that certain lands are my land, certain areas are my areas, and certain schools are my schools, but not all! So this is a heavy price that we are baring the fruit of after years of ignorance in regards to how we avoid and ignore the injustices. And now, that price is upon us as a nation to be Paid in Full. So, what will we do? Will we continue to scream and shout. Or, will we follow the lead of the Dakota tribe and stand strong? And, will we follow the lead of this amazing group of people who came to ask forgiveness? Or, will we continue to teach generation after generation on what it means to be separate in church under God, in school under tax dollars, and in zip codes under city codes? I say, we are collectively better.I say I have hope in all Tables set regardless if I’m sitting with a Klan member, black lives matter activist, or whomever comes humbly to the table, ready to listen. Just like this video sets the example…..

The people who came to build the railroads, yes, my Asian brothers and sisters, ancestors of Jason Garreth Loke and Diane Ujiiye, is not a quick fix! In my humble opinion, I learned from this Native American wiseman that it’s the 1st steps that count! Now at Table Setters, we wanna come take 1st steps with you. As Thelonious Monk said in his famous jazz piece: This is Straight, No Chaser! It’s a hard pill to swallow, but this is the fruit of our good old country. We truly earned the Red, the white, and the blue stripes as if they were on our backs for (all) of our our past injustices whether brown, pink, and shades there in-between as people of color, and pink people. :) There has been a sacrifice made in this country. And not all those sacrifices have been acknowledged!

My Table has many cups that runeth over for many pieces of bread to be broken. Here, take this in remembrance of what we all participated in. Drink this in solidarity with me as to not repeat those actions and to take responsibility for the injustices of the past. Write with me the New history books so it reflects the real colors of our flag from the truth! Not one man’s truth. But the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help me God. Please, Please Help us God.

-Marvin Wadlow Jr

Son of Marvin Wadlow Sr., a WWII Honored Vet

Son of Virginia Lee Wadlow who built fuselages for WWII bombers after suffering through racial injustices in the workplace that she built them.

I am Father to Marvin Pulefaasaasina Wadlow III, Morgan Malosi Wadlow, and Malcolm Alofa Wadlow.

My father, probably is a descendant of Ghanaian or Nigerian slaves stolen from Africa and brought through the middle passage to America.

My sons are descendants of African and Polynesian Blood from my brothers and sisters of Pacific Islander Asians who’s land was also taken from them! I’m so proud of my sons’ Asian blood!


In honor of my ancestors’ ability to create music that has “Always and Forever” changed the world everytime we create something out of nothing, here’s Thelonious Monk’s Masterpiece, “Straight, No Chaser”

And closing out with some solid journalism ABOUT the forgiveness moment...

Dear Suburban Detroit Passengers,

Dear Suburban Detroiters,

I love you, I grew up on your turf. Most of you are incredible people. As a #Lyft driver, though, I have to set the record straight. When you ask me if I pick up "crazy hood people" in the city, I ask you if you mean my neighbors? Did you know that car insurance south of 8 mile is 3-6 times what you pay in the suburbs, just from the get go? Many of my neighbors say it's much less expensive to take Lyft from time to time to work than it is to own a car.

And, now having driven 400 people in the past 3 months, I can say this. I've only had 5 terrible experiences (thank God.) All 5 of them were north of 9 mile road. The passenger who yelled at me for not allowing him to smoke in my car. The passenger who was so hopped up on cocaine and Cialis that I had to report him, not so much for me, but for fear that he might sexually assault a female driver (he kept bragging about how he can always score with any woman, though he was angry because he had just been rejected in the bathroom of a club.) The passengers who wouldn't get out of my car because they were mad that I didn't drive them to places that they had not entered into the route, nor had they communicated in any way. The passenger group who kept aggressively asking me if I was afraid of getting mugged...and when I asked them, tongue in cheek, "should I be worried," one of them was not amused (the others laughed uproariously, because the one dude would NOT let it go.) They were pretty insulting, though. They threw a dollar bill at me as they got out of the car.

Suburban Detroiters, most of you are incredible and wonderful passengers. But if you find yourself assuming that my neighbors in Detroit are all dangerous and threatening, you are fiercely incorrect. I urge you to rethink that notion, and if you are taking Lyft or Uber, be kind. You are not better than any of us because of where you live. You are not entitled to do whatever you feel like just because you might see yourself as more valuable than me or my neighbors since you've earned more money in life, or had more to begin with.

I love this job, because many times, I get to engage in mini Table Settings a la The Table Setters I get to deflate trumped up fears and misconceptions, and I get to hear from real Detroit folks in the city, downriver, in the suburbs, about real life here in Southeastern Michigan. This is a great place.

I'm glad to be home.

And we've got a ton of tables to set for the long haul towards greater understanding, compassion, and equality.

And miles to go before we sleep, and miles to go before we sleep.

God help us learn to actually listen to each other, and not just assume.

+Matthew John Schmitt @matthewjschmitt

We are ready to set tables.  Click here to arrange a visit.