Auntie Love

Did any of you hear about Larry, the school bus driver in Kentucky who went out of his way, a few months ago, to make a little boy’s day? On his usual bus route to school, Larry noticed that Levi, a first-grader who was usually all smiles, was looking sad. When the driver asked the little boy what was going on, he replied, “It’s pajama day at school, and I don't have any pajamas.” 

So as soon as Larry had dropped off all of the kids, he made a beeline to the Dollar Store, came back with two pairs of pajamas, and got permission to take them to Levi’s classroom. When the little boy was asked about it, he said, “Larry was so nice, I happy-cried.” 

A school bus driver is meant to safely transport children to and from school, not buy clothes for them. But once Larry saw—and I mean really saw—what was going on for Levi, he couldn’t help himself. He got involved. That’s the same thing that happens in our reading from Acts this morning. 

As Philip makes his way down the road, he spots the Ethiopian Eunuch reading. Philip takes in the setting, sees the puzzled look on the guy’s face, and can’t seem to resist getting involved. The Eunuch and Philip seem to bond instantaneously, which makes it easy for us, coming from our contemporary perspective, to overlook the implications of their connection. 

On closer inspection, we might notice the man is identified with two very specific descriptors to get our attention. First, he’s identified as Ethiopian, so that we understand he would have been marginalized as a foreigner in that land. Additionally, he’s given the label of Eunuch, which tells us he’s had a forced surgery to make him less of a threat in the queen’s household. In other words, he is a servant. So, Philip is disregarding all kinds of culture norms by approaching this man.

But instead of Philip ignoring, judging or even testing the man, Philip sees him just as he is, and engages him in a conversation about scripture—fully accepting that in God’s eyes, the man has every right to participate in a theological dialogue. Philip affirms that by asking if the guy needs some help understanding what he’s reading.

You’ve all probably encountered someone like Larry the school bus driver or Philip the disciple in your lifetime. The people who come to mind for me are the indigenous “aunties” I’ve known over the years. I haven’t talked much about how my hometown is located on the Fort Peck Indian Reservation, because I’m cautious about anything that could be considered cultural appropriation. But the aunties I’ve known are people willing to cross those boundaries.

 On the reservation, the native people I know have an endearing way of claiming their spiritual relationship to each other. They call those nearest to them: “Cousin”, “Auntie” or “Uncle”, even if they’re not biologically related. That’s because their sense of family—or even more broadly, sense of tribe—is wrapped up in their understanding of an interconnectedness that goes beyond narrow definitions of relatedness.

Growing up, I would see these elderly aunties at powwows, smiling warmly as they wrapped their shawls around their shoulders, gingerly walking across the dusty arena in their tall, beaded moccasins. But it wasn’t until my college years, when I was dating an Indian man, that I got to know some of the aunties. While one of his uncles would consistently ask in their Lakota language: “Who’s this white woman?”, the aunties would swat the air in between them and the uncle, then motion for me to sit beside them.

It didn’t matter if we were out playing Bingo, taking in a basketball game, or attending a powwow, there was always an auntie welcoming me across the cultural boundaries, indicating that if I was part of my boyfriend’s life, then I was part of their lives.

Hanging out with the aunties always included a lot of good-natured teasing and plenty of giggles. There was also a fair amount of wisdom shared, but you had to listen carefully. What sounded like gossip on the surface: “She should boot him out of that teepee,” was really their way of getting involved—reminding me to choose a partner worthy of my love.

Maybe your school bus driver or auntie was a next-door neighbor who paid attention to you, or the school janitor, or maybe the local librarian—someone who reached out to you across boundaries to make a difference in your life; someone who saw you…just as you were…and then got involved.

That’s the message in our other readings as well—that because God loves us, we love each other. The way it’s stated in 1st John is: “Since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another…if we love one another, God lives in us, and [God’s] his love is perfected in us.”

Last week, Mother Dawn explored with you what it means to abide in Christ and the responsibility that comes with that as we give of ourselves for others. That’s opened up a little more in this morning’s Gospel passage, to help us see that the responsibility doesn’t have to be onerous. Rather, abiding in each other can be as simple as noticing someone on the margins and inviting them in.

The message is that God’s love—as God abides in us and we abide in God—is enduring, everlasting, and meant to be shared with the world around us. The word “abide” translates from the Greek to communicate the steadfast reliability of Christ’s presence in our lives. So, as we more fully accept the depth and breadth of God’s unconditional love for ourselves, we’re more able to reach out to others, metaphorically patting the seat next to us, and saying, “Come. Come join me. Let’s journey together as we learn even more about God’s love.

And when we hesitate to cross culturally imposed boundaries (which is only natural), maybe it will help to keep the Eunuch’s response in mind. When Philip asks if he understands what he’s reading, the man vulnerably asks: "How can I [understand], unless someone guides me?". Getting involved is as simple as seeing another person as they are and being willing to be their companion, if only momentarily. Abide in God as God abides in you.

-AMEN