Burgers, Doughnuts and Privilege

After a weekend full of church and non-church events, I decided to take my usual day off (Monday) to do some reflecting. I am much too distracted at home to reflect in the intensity that I want to, so I thought about coffee houses that I know. I decided to go to one that I had not been to in years, in fact since a high school date. I remember the place being next to a train station in a quaint neighborhood full of beautiful Victorian houses. "Exactly what I need to relax," I thought.

I arrive at the place that I had in mind after a short drive in the rain and realize that they had changed the name of the venue. That didn't bother me; the surroundings were all as I had remembered them, actually more stunning. So I grabbed my backpack with my laptop and a couple library books in it and went into the venue, which is a very large and beautiful gingerbread-looking house. I very quickly realized that the coffee house of my teen years has turned into a moderately priced restaurant. I also quickly realized that I was under-dressed in my sweatshirt, jeans, and leather jacket. Regardless, I felt the urge to stay so I asked to see a menu. Most things on the menu were out of my price range, but I saw a couple things that I could afford. So I asked to be seated, but in an inconspicuous corner.

The waiter was very nice, but I could tell that she was looking at me as though I were out of place. Who would bring a backpack into a nice restaurant? Regardless, I ordered something simple- a cheeseburger. It came with a side salad (instead of french fries, which was a pleasant surprise). I tried to create my coffee house experience by reading one of my books before my food arrived, but I was too distracted. The walls in front of me featured a beautiful wine rack full of bottles. The crown molding around the ceiling edge and door frames was exquisite. They had really done a major renovation on my coffee house.

I was also distracted by the conversation going on next to me. A couple of women had their daughters with them. They talked about their husbands and the activities their children would go to. They talked about the shame of some parents who wanted to put a margarita machine at the local pool (which is a funny, but not half-bad idea, especially with busloads of screaming children running around). But the thing that struck a chord for me was a comment that came right before they left: "I guess if my husband and I are desperate to go someplace nice, we can come here." I thought, "Desperate, really? Do you really know desperation?"

Before I left, I asked the waiter if there was a local coffee shop nearby. She said that the closest thing would be a large chain bookstore, so I thanked her and left. Using my iPhone Yelp application, I found the closest independent coffee shop and I drove there. It happened to be where I drop off my car after the weekend (I'm renting for the time being), so it seemed all would work out. But when I got to where the coffee shop was supposed to be, a "for lease" sign was posted on the door in front of a large empty room with an empty coffee bar. After I had recovered from my disappointment, I decided I would just go to the local Dunkin Donuts and stay there for a while. As usual, I was welcomed warmly by the Latina woman behind the counter. She took my order and decided that since she thought I was cute, she would upgrade my coffee to a large for free. Nice of her- if she only knew. She winked at me as I sat down to drink my coffee and read.

I began to read but again, I was distracted by my surroundings. I had come to this doughnut shop many times before, but my recent experience at the coffee house - turned - restaurant colored my experience of the doughnut shop. A group of Hispanic laborers (at least as I perceived them) waved "hello." I waved back, smiled, and looked out into the busy street of the suburban city. The supermarket was boarded up with "closed" spray-painted across the sheets of plywood. Across the street, new condominiums stood tall in stark contrast. A group of police officers stood in the parking lot drinking their coffee.

Evaluating my thoughts, I felt conflicted. I very much enjoyed the smoky Grade A beef burger with a fresh green salad and a glass of freshly brewed iced tea (nothing close to fast food). The quaint surroundings gave me a storybook feeling. But I also enjoyed the inexpensive coffee and doughnuts and the down-to-earth atmosphere of working class people. I wondered, "Where do I belong in all of this?"

My first guess was that I should feel more at home among the less privileged. Is that not who Jesus ministered among? Did Jesus not call the poor his friends? But did Jesus not also dine with the rich and direct them also to the Realm of God? Jesus supposedly said, "It is easier for a rope to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the Realm of God." Does this mean that I must entirely give up the goal of acquiring the "nicer" things of life?

Of course, this is not the first time that I have asked myself these questions. But the day presented them anew by presenting a juxtaposition of classes. I think it's no coincidence considering that the largest overhaul of health care in the United States is occurring as I write. I know as I think most people do that the root of the debate over health care is not really about the surface things of health care policy. It is about privilege, power, and class. The fire is fed by misunderstandings about the value of one person's labor over another person's labor. The fire is fed by racism, stereotyping, homophobia, transphobia, and misogyny- all justified in the name of so-called "American values" : work ethic, citizenship, and good ole literal Bible teachings.

It all makes me ill- physically and emotionally. To think that generations of Americans have put their blind faith, not in God, but in the man-made (and I do mean man) hierarchy of class. This hierarchy seems to say, "stay in your place according to your demographic" and "don't dare attempt to climb the ladder of privilege- you will fall" but at the same time, "work hard and you will succeed in life." The mentality is antithetical. It contradicts itself. And in so doing, it keeps the masses in their proper place in society.

There is no easy solution to the problem of unequal distribution of wealth. The causes of poverty are as old as the slave-ships that carried Africans enslaved by Anglo-Saxons to the Americas and the ships that took Spaniards to the native peoples of this once unnamed "new world". To speak of "fault" gets us nowhere. But to speak of care lubricates the wheels of justice.

Wherever we find ourselves in the complex matrix of privilege and power in our society, might we ask ourselves a few questions: What do I feel that I "deserve" and why? Do the children of those less privileged than myself deserve to live without the comfort of more? What does my understanding of my life within this complex matrix have to do with the social Gospel of the Christ? Might I have a better calling than to "throw money at" the problem?

Just some food for thought- whether you prefer the burger, the salad, or the deep fried dough.