Changing Perspectives

A Sermon Given to Madison Baptist Church

By Stephanie Little Coyne

May 6, 2018

The week before last, I visited with Steve Barrett. I walked away having gained something from our conversation—a common happening with pastoral ministry. I learned a life lesson; I saw things from a different perspective.

An avid adventurer, I asked Steve what he liked the most when he was flying. His response, “I could see everything. I could see everything from my spot above. It was peaceful, quiet.”

Then he crashed.

“And now,” he continued, “my view is often the ceiling.” He said this with a smile on his face, a mix of revelation of irony and fond memories.

From earth’s dirt, to heaven’s skies, to his present place in a hospital bed, Steve’s perspective, his sight line, has changed. 

I was struck, not only because I was moved by his story, but because my own imagination followed his changing sightline. I could see myself on the ground and then in the air, experiencing along with him the peaceful solo ride through blue skies, seeing the tops of houses and trees, a mountain’s firm hold in the landscape, horses and cows in their green open fields. I saw cars on roads and I saw their paths on those roads far before their drivers could.

And then, I followed Steve’s vision from beautiful blue sky to bland, speckled hospital ceiling tiles. I looked at the one ceiling tile that was painted with the hospital logo—a reminder to the patient of where, in life, he lay. 

For the first time, I saw a bigger picture of Steve. I knew more about him than I had before, simply by traveling with his sight-line. Perhaps I will be a better minister for him. Surely the Holy taught me through him that day.

Philip Yancey, in his book, Prayer, recalls walking up a mountain to find the origin of a stream by which his house sat. From the top, he could see how the water pooled from melted snow and then traveled down to form the stream that lay in the canyon. He writes:

It occurs to me, thinking about prayer, that most of the time I get the direction wrong. I start downstream with my own concerns and bring them to God. I inform God, as if God did not already know… Instead, I should start upstream where the flow begins…Grace, like water, descends to the lowest part. Streams of mercy flow…With this new starting point for prayer, my perceptions change. I look at human beings and see not only a “poor, bare, forked animal,” but a person of eternal destiny made in God’s image.

I believe that perspective might be one of the most important lessons of Jesus’ ministry that we can pass along to our youth. 

Isn’t it a beautiful thing to see the revelatory light in their eyes when they see the world through the eyes of a child in Africa? When they feel compelled by gratitude for new vision to give thanks for their water supply AND to make water more accessible to children around the world? For I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink…

Isn’t it wonderful when they see this church as a safe, sacred space, set in a free-to-worship nation and then see them understand that in this world, this safe, sacred space is the exception and not the rule. Isn’t it wonderful to see them, compelled by gratitude for new vision, to want this same freedom to exist throughout this nation and throughout this world?

Jesus’ presence alone caused Zaccheus, a selfish, greedy man, to seek a place where he might catch glimpse of this radical teacher. Jesus calls out to Zaccheus, inviting him down, and inviting himself over to dinner. And around that table, Jesus draws Zaccheus’ attention to those people from whom he has stolen money. Zaccheus’ perspective changes. This new vision compels him to change, to give it all back—and then some.

This dinner engagement did not delight the crowds around Jesus. Their perspective was that Zaccheus was only bad, that he could never be good, and that Jesus was foolish for even trying. We do not know if their perspective changed—were they able to see Zaccheus through the eyes of Jesus?—were they able to see the possibility of redemption?

Jesus offered new perspective to both the woman caught in adultery and her accusers. “Woman, see yourself as a child of God—you are loved—go and live differently. Accusers, you see her sins—can you see your own? Live life differently.”

What of the Pharisee’s question, “Who is my neighbor?” What was Jesus’ reply? Jesus told the story of the good Samaritan, a story that challenged the cultural definition of righteousness. Perhaps today, the story challenges us to consider different perspectives of Christian compassion.

And in the most fantastic of conversion experiences, Saul, the terrorist, the persecutor, is blinded by bright light from God. When the scales fall off, when his sight is restored, his very name changes, he can literally see with new perspective, and he immediately becomes a proclaimer of Jesus’ message.

I confess that I have not had such a moment. While my beliefs have shifted over the years, I, more often than not, consider this world through my eyes as a white female, educated, English-speaking, two-parent home, raised in a medium size town in the Southern United States. I’ve never gone without food or shelter or clothing. Except for some short travels overseas, I have never considered myself as an “other.” Only during a mission trip to South Korea have I found myself as the racial minority.

Only once have I felt threatened because of my physical appearance of “white female.” And I emphasize once, as I tell this story! Once, a little late at night, I was waiting at a red light, about to head east on interstate 10 towards our home in New Orleans. I rolled forward, about to make the turn, and had to quickly apply my brakes, seeing two African American youth suddenly appear in the road. I stopped, believing that they were crossing the road, having visited the gas station store. Instead, they threw their drinks at my windshield. I flinched, but instead of feeling threatened or scared, I was angry. So in my large SUV, I drove onto the ramp, ticked off. My feelings were such because I felt certain that the incident occurred because I was a white female, an “other,” in that situation. In a mere 10 seconds, my perspective changed. I understood anger that comes from being pre-judged.   

Will Willimon, author of the book, Fear of the Other: No Fear in Love, retells a story from his friend, Tom Long. A stranger, dressed in shabby clothes, entered Tom’s church one Sunday morning. The congregants thought, “perhaps he is up to no good, perhaps he will take money out of the offering plate, perhaps he is preying on us while our guard is down.” 

The man left the church, uneventfully, but having not been graciously received. Tom, a child at the time, saw several of the Georgia farmers talking with each other under a big oak tree after the service. “Everyone knew that God had put our church to a test. And we flunked.”

Collectively, as a body of Christ, that congregation only saw the man through one perspective. Only until he departed did they wonder what the experience must have been like for him.

During our Tuesday morning prayer breakfasts, bright and early, 20+ students and I walked through the many lessons of Genesis 1 together. Each week, we moved back and forth between the understanding of self and the understanding of the world around us. We learned to see the image of God, created in us, as well as the image of God created in the “others.”

These initials are the “others.” Our youth thoughtfully considered those individuals who are cast aside, who are bullied, who are forgotten, and they wrote their initials down so that we would not forget them. We have prayed for them. And the presence of this poster is a reminder for us all to see the people around us as beloved children of God. 

We teach our youth to be good disciples when we, their disciples, help them understand different perspectives, not so they may blend in, but that they might understand the creative work of God that makes us all unique, important, valued children, worthy of God’s grace, worthy of safe space in which to worship, and worthy of compassion.

Not until we see the desert, can we understand true thirst. Not until we roll along in fields that do not hold amber waves of grain, can we be concerned with those who face prison sentences because of any public displays of worship. Not until we experience dental work done on a generator can we believe in the importance of healthcare access for all. Not until we see through the eyes of the disenfranchised can we truly desire for the kingdom of God to be on earth as it is in heaven. 

Oh Lord, help us understand that we are but part of the whole so that we may truly understand the height and width and depth of your love. Oh Lord, change our perspective. Amen.