The Experiment

So in the past few weeks, I have been steadily convicted by the fact that I often encounter hundreds of people each day without every saying a word to them. Whether its on the bus, on the sidewalk, at work, in class, at the grocery store, or wherever, it seems like our entire culture has been "B.F. Skinnerized" into this individualisitic-I-don't-talk-to-strangers kind of mindset. This programmatic behavior, I think, is quite ironic given that everyone these days is talking about community, third place, the search to belong, and the need to connect. Even Starbucks, the epitome of third place today, is a perfect case in point as people hike into the store, not just for great coffee, but to experience a place where they can relax and find a connection between work and home -- and yet, most people there are there alone, reading a book, on their laptop, or hurriedly getting through the line and out the door.

Noting this phenomenon, Nietzsche coined the term "herd mentality" which basically means that people are afraid to break rank so they act however the crowd around them is behaving. Thus, when a person boards a bus of silent people keeping to themselves, they too will keep to themselves as if they have blinders on and can't see the sea of humanity all around them. But in the case of the public transit, there is more to it, I think, in the fact that it is an unnatural environment and people already feel uncomfortable being on there in the first place.

Nonetheless, I have been convicted to attempt an experiment. Prefaced by Ephesians 5:1-2 which calls us to "walk in love", I devised a challenge to look for opportunities to show interest and care in the people I encounter as I walk through my day. How could the world be different if we actually showed an interest in the lives of strangers? In fact, the Greek word for hospitality is exactly that - "love of strangers." And community starts with hospitality, so as long as all of us uphold the herd mentality and our own fears of confronting a person we do not know, we will never know community.

So, this past week, as I traveled public transit, or walked streets, I made a cognizant effort to speak to people. It turned out to be harder than I thought - not just because of overcoming my fears, but also because the timing was often not right. It would be odd to try to start up a deep conversation with someone merely passing by me for a fleeting second, and sometimes caring for someone is done best by leaving alone to whatever they are doing at the time. But I needed to be ready. On the subway, I avoided reading or listening to my Mp3 player and made sure that the seat next to me was open. Sometimes the conversation was a mere "Hello" or "thank you" or "here, you can sit here." Sometimes it progressed to a bit more than that to more superficial talk about sports or the weather (which usually just makes me more uncomfortable!). But even amidst these seeming failures, I had become all the more aware of the people surrounding me, all the more aware of truly living in and appreciating the moment I had been given. The people on this subway are part of the sea of humanity God loves and this moment - no matter how mundane it may seem - is spiritual.

Then, this weekend I was in Chicago for a philosophy conference (more on that in another post) in which my friend Justin and I spent a lot of time catching up while riding Chi-town's "L". As we conversed and caught up with each other while standing on the subway, apparently a young man next to us seemed compelled to join our conversation. So we met Brian and found out he was a math student at Loyola. We spoke for a while about various things, interspersed with conversations between Justin and myself. Brian was the perfect example for why I think I have been so convicted about this idea of talking to strangers. Here he was among a throng of people, probably having lived in Chicago for a couple years now, and it was very obvious that he didn't have any friends and was dying for connection with someone. So, I was happy to talk to him, but the situation took an extreme turn when he asked how he could find us on Facebook. I thought, "whoa, this just went from friendly conversation to stalker language"). This question made Justin and I feel extremely awkward and conflicted. It was like he had crossed a line into personal space too fast. But it was more than that - his motives were very clear that it wasn't that we had found a long lost mutual soulmate or that he was really interested in us but that he was grabbing out for someone or anyone who would respond. I think this is what made it feel all the more awkward. But the entire situation helped to form my understanding of my experiment and how I should continue to go about it.

So, on Saturday afternoon, I was heading back to Midway on the L to catch my return flight. After a couple stops, an elderly man sat down next to me. He couldn't have been much more different than I as I soon found out. Tony was in his sixties with three adult children and some grandkids who moved from Mexico to Chicago when he was 22 and is still working at a warehouse to get by. I found out about his family, the kind of work he does, and we talked about a number of different things related to Chicago and the importance of getting an education and learning skills. Then, I asked him if he was going to church tomorrow, and he wavered and waffled with his answer. Several minutes later, on his own prodding, he brought it back up: "Maybe I'll go to church tomorrow or maybe I'll take my grandkids to a movie. Or maybe I'll just watch some football. I love football." We chuckled about this and talked about the Bears and Colts and Steelers for a bit. We talked about the cost of living in Chicago as compared to Indiana where I grew up. He said, "Yes, I have always had expenses to pay for and have had to work overtime many times, but somehow we have always gotten by." I said, "You're right. It's amazing how God always gives us what we really need. We have so much to be thankful for." We talked about the many things we often take for granted - our health, family, ability to make a living, and so forth.

Then, Tony looked at me and said, "Are you Catholic?" I replied: "No, I grew up Protestant." He responded, "Well, I guess it doesn't really matter where you go as long as you do go and you don't sin or do anything bad." There was a pause for a moment, and then Tony spoke again, "You know, I grew up Catholic, but now I'm just confused. [I thought, you're telling me!] I mean, with all that has come out about the priests being corrupt and molesting children and so on, why should I believe what they say? Why should I give money to people who do things like that? Why should I go to church. I mean, I want my grandkids to learn, but why would I want to take them there?" I just listened intently and empathized as he concluded his thought: "So, I guess it doesn't really matter if you go to church as long as you do what is right. What do you think about that?" I replied with whatever just came to my mind: "I think all of that reminds me of how imperfect I am and that whenever we put faith in people - church leaders, politicians, or whoever - that they're going to fail us and the only person that we can really have faith in is Jesus Christ because he really was perfect. It reminds me that the church will always be imperfect because its full of imperfect people like me. But even that doesn't really minimize the difficulty you're dealing with. I agree with you, it's so hard to know what to do and so difficult to make a decsion during these times." He said, "But shouldn't the priests be held to a higher standard? They're even trained to do the right thing." I responded: "Of course, they should be held to a higher standard, but don't give up on church just because of them. I think we need church so we can learn how to live in community and learn how to love one another. But again, that doesn't mean it's easy. This is all still very hard."

We talked for a little while longer until we reached out stop. I was mesmerized. This man had poured out his heart to me - a stranger - and it all happened on the L because I was brave enough to ask him a few questions about himself (and because we had a 25 minute ride ahead of us!). It's extremely unlikely that I'll ever meet Tony again, but can the affect of that brief conversation - on each of us - be measured? Could it be that the world would be different if we merely purposed in our hearts to walk in love, to view the strangers around us as our neighbor, to understand missional living as - at the very least - emanating the love of God to those we encounter in our day to day lives?