No longer strangers

I listen to audiobooks when I’m working around the house. Last week I was between books, so I picked a quick listen from the Classic Tales podcast. The story was H. P. Lovecraft’s “The Outsider.” A gothic horror story was just what I needed. The state of the world has been weighing heavily on me, and in times such as this horror offers me needful catharsis.  

The story is told by a first-person narrator who recounts a lifetime of isolation. I don’t want to ruin the more interesting twists, but in short, he escapes from the castle of his lifelong captivity. He longs to be in the company of other people and is drawn to a festive gathering. As he enters, the partygoers scream and flee. He looks around to see what’s frightened everyone. Shocked by a glimpse of a terrifying figure in a shadowy corner, he stumbles. His hand goes toward the creature… and lands on the smooth glass of a mirror.  

We spend the entire story getting to know this narrator. We are completely involved in his side of the story. We feel badly for him.

But the people in that ballroom? They see a frightening stranger. They don’t care about his backstory. They are only invested in their own narratives. 

Meanwhile…

The same day I was listening to this, we had our own encounter with a stranger. We have inherited my in-laws’ home. Because we are only there occasionally, we have security cameras. On this particular day, we observed a stranger trying to open all three doors of our house. When another neighbor drove up, the young man fled.

The house is in a predominantly white neighborhood. The young man, wearing a long-sleeved black hoodie when it was 103 degrees in the shade, was a man of color. He did not blend in. I’m guessing some people would have looked at him and made the instant decision to be scared. 

Now, to be fair, he was trying to break into our home. He was trying to enter our property without permission. Trespassing is illegal. It seems he was planning to rob us once he gained entry. That’s different from the narrator of the Lovecraft story, right?

Did I mention that the character entered the party by climbing through a window? Into a party where he was not invited. I’m pretty sure if I had been there, I would have assumed he meant harm. He was trespassing. 

The man who tried to break into our house is a stranger to me. I don’t know his story. I don’t know why he felt he had to make such a decision. Somewhere along the way, something has gone wrong for him. If I were to hear the story of that day through his narration, I suspect there would be things that would make me sad and scared for him. But in real life, unlike in fiction, we don’t get the benefit of someone else’s internal monologue.

What Jesus has done

These stories took on particular resonance for me this week as I was reading Ephesians 2:11-22. I selected the passage because I needed to hear how Jesus brought reconciliation, hope, and peace. I need to hear all of that right now because I do not feel hopeful or at peace. I do not see unity or reconciliation. I see people who are afraid of each other. I see a world full of strangers moving farther and farther apart from each other. I am sad and scared and lonely, like Lovecraft’s narrator and probably like the man who tried to break into my house.

The author of Ephesians may have been having some similar feelings about the state of the world, and I suspect that’s why his words resonate with me. He was living in turbulent times. The divide between Jews and Gentiles in the Roman Empire was so deep and painful that it was considered unbridgeable. Feels familiar, doesn’t it?

In the midst of this broken, divided world, the author describes the reality of a Christ who brought love into places where hatred was the norm, a Christ who could hold it all together, a Christ who brought hope and peace.  

Jesus symbolically brought together things that were so far apart that it was unfathomable they could be united: human and divine, Jew and Gentile. Through his active presence he reconciled humans with God and with each other. This was not a unity that required uniformity. It was a unity that embraced the diversity of these believers.

Jesus didn’t just attempt to do this. It might seem that way, since we don’t see much evidence that it worked. The passage tells us that “you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints, and also members of the household of God.” Not “one day you might be.” You are. It is a spiritual reality.  

A new vision and practice

But (there’s always a but) we must choose to live into that reality. I have found that this is not a simple one-time choice, but rather a conscious daily choosing. Radical hospitality is part of it. Making room at our literal and figurative tables for the stranger-who-is-our-neighbor is difficult but holy work. But it’s more than that. 

This week, with Lovecraft and a stranger on my porch and Ephesians percolating in my mind, I began to see that it’s important to understand we too are the stranger. The Jewish author of Ephesians is writing to the Gentiles: those who have been grafted into the family of God, those who are not part of the covenant people by birth. For those of us who are not ethnically Jewish, this passage suggests we are the strangers, the aliens, the outsiders, the ones far from God, the ones who had no hope.  

In our own narratives we tend to be the insiders. The story we hear in our heads is our side of a story. We don’t often look at ourselves from the outside. It reminds me of how the Lovecraftian narrator sees himself in a mirror for the first time and realizes he is the source of terror.   

I wonder how the young man who came to our house sees me. To him, I’m the stranger. What colors his impression of me? I think of him differently when I try to imagine things from his side. I’m sad for him and I worry about him when I think of him this way. I’m not thrilled that he tried to break into my house. But I feel compassion for him. I recognize our common humanity. We are both trying to get through life, so often a dumpster fire.

It’s been a good exercise for me to stop seeing this young man as a stranger. I pray that I can continue this practice with others who might offend me in various ways.

The world is dark and divided. I long for hope and peace and unity. It helps to know that Jesus already brought these gifts. They do exist. This week I was reminded that I must actively participate if I want to experience them.