Somewhere between the Nascar section, and the place where you find toilet paper, you’ll discover what Wal*Mart is truly about. There’s a place in every grocery superstore that can stand alone as representative of that awful place. I’ve seen it, and it makes me hurt in the most awkward of ways. This place isn’t the same in any location, and in fact, it probably moves around frequently.
Conflicting emotions hit me whenever I’m unfortunate enough to stroll through those automatic doors. They deepen when I walk past the sticker-laden or American flag donning greeter who probably genuinely hopes I have a good day. Those emotions grow to a fury as I search for whatever simple product I happen to desire- I can never find anything fast enough, Wal*Mart’s size is simply too much for me to handle.
My internal battle is begins with my cynical, skeptical personality catching glimpses of lives different than my own. I see people rocking tattoos of motorcyles, bats, skulls, mermaids and wombats. I see mullets. I see the relatively unimportant exterior, but I also see teenagers slyly placing their hands in places they don’t belong as they find themselves in the secluded (at least from their parents) yarn aisle with their pubescent counterpart. I hear profanities that have lost all significance and power simply through repetitious abuse! My internal saint is borderline condemning them to hell or at least a lifetime of herpes because of obnoxious behavior, but there’s the other side of the battle, too.
These people don’t know God. They have no reason to keep their hands to themselves. They just know that their bodies are telling them that they want to hit that as soon as they get home, or that they need to have eight beers tonight, so they had better hurry and get their nasty Bud Light home and now! They just don’t know any better!
I bet Jesus would love Wal*Mart. I bet He might like it more than church, but that’s speculation. He wouldn’t find any tax collectors, but He’d find Himself surrounded by people who need Him. He’d find the sick and needy. He’d find that teenager who was just diagnosed with HPV and might even heal them. He’d see stupid sheep, and He’d love them. I know that I sound like a total snob writing about people who shop at Wal*Mart this way, but frankly, I wouldn’t know if I wasn’t in there myself, so all joking aside, here I am admitting that I need Him.
I need His grace as much as anyone else does. I need his mercy probably more, because I have a bigger attitude about everything and probably think too highly of myself. I love thinking about where Jesus would be in this day and age; I love trying to see myself in those same places, because I’m supposed to be like him. I don’t love realizing that I don’t like most of the places where He’d probably accomplish the most. I suppose I’d make a great religious zealot.
I’ve been stuck on Matthew 9:13,14 lately where Jesus explains that He’s there for the sick. How often do we see those sick and underestimate our own lack, perversion and frankly speaking, evil? I’m no different from a tax collector, prostitute, or any other sinner. I need Jesus, but it’s hard to admit it. I’m in seminary. I could become a Pharisee or a Sadducee in a moment. God help me, because I don’t want that.
Give me empathy, even for those I’d prefer not to be like. Fuel the compassion and help me kill the judgment, because frankly God, I’m not any better, even if I do make fun of other people really well!
