"You Have to Be Carefully Taught"

The title of this song from the musical, "South Pacific," came to mind as I sat watching the Nashville Christmas parade last Friday. Children have to be carefully taught prejudice, because they don't inherit the hate gene through the birth process.

On both sides of my front-row chair at the parade were two boys ages 3 and 1. Each sat in the lap of a parent from an Arabian country. The father is studying at Vanderbilt. We had gotten to know them through an international student program at Vanderbilt.

I played with the 3-year-old and held the baby. Neither was at all concerned that I am Caucasian. In fact, the baby "made eyes at me" and gave me so many smiles I wanted to take him home with me.

Then an unexpected thing happened. Standing behind me was another little boy of African-American heritage. Probably around 4-years-old, he could barely see the parade between the chairs. Impulsively, I asked his parents if he could come sit in my lap so he could see better. They agreed and lifted him overhead, where he sat on my lap for probably an hour!

Again, the little boy didn't ask why a white woman was holding him. In fact, he was completely absorbed in the parade. We tapped our hands and feet as the bands marched by, and he only occasionally looked back to see if Mom and Dad were still there.

The scene reminded me of a time 40+ years ago when my husband pastored an inner-city mission church as a seminary student. One day I was sitting on the porch steps holding an African-American baby. A little girl came up to me and asked, "Is that your baby?"

Her question was a perfect reflection of a heart not yet hardened by a color-conscious society, where ethnicity decides for us who we like and with whom we socialize. What a travesty to judge people by the color of their skin or their native tongue!

This Christmas sing along with me, "Jesus Loves the Little Children of the World." I know it's not a Christmas song, but it should be! After all, Christmas would have no meaning if Jesus had not come to save us ALL from our sins.

Tripped Up and Sitting on My Soul

I ran through the Philadelphia airport, sprinting after a purse-snatcher. I finally got close enough to tackle him. We wrestled to the ground, and then a searing pain roared at me from my right pelvis. The cops got their man, and I got wheeled onto an airplane bound for Nashville.

At least, that's how the story should have read. All my co-workers agree it makes for a better, more exciting account than the simple truth: I tripped over an untied shoelace and fell over my own feet. The date was August 7, 2011. I have a fractured right sacrum and a slow healing process, which leaves lots of time for reflection.

Did you know that the word sacrum comes from the same root as "sacred"? The sacrum was thought to be the "seat of the soul." I guess all these years, I've been sitting on my soul!

As the Bible has been translated into language groups around the world, the soul has changed locations in the human body. Although some people think of it as found in the stomach and the intestines, most Westerners tend to identify its location with the heart (at least metaphorically). I've often wondered how un-churched individuals react the first time some well-meaning Christian asks them to accept Christ "into your heart." How does Jesus get in? Does He live in the right or left ventricle? Can an MRI pick Him up?

Of course, we evangelicals don't mean Jesus literally comes to live in our hearts. It's much more comprehensive than that! When someone asks Jesus to be Savior and Lord, He takes over "kit and caboodle." One of the earliest Christian identifiers was the statement, "Jesus is Lord." That's the equivalent of owner, Master—the one who calls the shots. Think about the implications the next time you say, "Yes, I've invited Jesus 'into my heart.'"