John Lewis interviewed with Jon Stewart Monday night. He talked about his mother's injunction, "Don't get in trouble." But he did. Worthwhile trouble. Trouble with meaning and purpose.
Every time I ever did anything wrong, I got in trouble. I got away with NOTHING. We were playing "war" in our front yard one morning, and one of the neighborhood kids suggested instead of fighting each other, we should attack the giant, threatening cars that drove by on the street. I suppose it was an advance that we were working together against an outside "enemy." We got tiny rocks off the edge of the asphalt...I mean really tiny. Smaller than a BB.
When a car would drive by, we would yell like banshees and run to the street and throw our rock. Or they would. I knew I would get in trouble. I hung back several cars, got made fun of and encouraged by my compatriots. And after nothing bad happened time after time, I began to think perhaps it was OK and perhaps I could play and perhaps I wouldn't get into trouble.
I picked the tiniest of the tiny pieces of asphalt. Stood angled to the street. My friends watched. The car approached. White. Large. Boat on wheels, really. I gave the asphalt an underhanded toss. No banshee scream. No running. No mighty warrior vanquishing the foe.
The car stopped. The man got out of the car, rang the doorbell and told my mother we were throwing rocks at cars.
Trouble.
Not worthwhile.
I probably would not have been on that bridge fifty years ago. But I am grateful for those who were. Today I'm thinking that radical hospitality often requires worthwhile trouble. I've been in it. I've caused it. But I'm the one that stands sideways and pitches underhand tosses.
Maybe I should really consider the banshee scream...
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