I have something to say this morning.
I love God. And, I love America.
But I distinctly remember receiving the paradigm-shifting, thunderclap epiphany that ”God is not American, nor is He white.”
(I was in the parking lot of the old Regency Theater on Albemarle Road in Charlotte, NC and I had tears streaming down my face because I’d just seen Dances With Wolves and I felt ashamed to belong to a race that had so misled and mistreated and murdered and manipulated American Indians)
I’d rather love my neighbor as myself than be a card-carrying mouthpiece for a particular political idealogy. (Even though I too often forget that and become an ass-bag fool spouting political verbiage…as if ANY political system could actually impart spiritual life to anyone)
I’d like to think that if I was the Samaritan in the parable, I would stop to help a bleeding and beaten muslim by the side of the road (or rap star, or liberal democrat, or tea-party zealot).
I’m not sure I would and that means no matter how ”right” I am, I’m the one who’s wrong…
Ya know what I mean?