Confessions of a Privileged Sheep

Two weeks ago I was struggling to put words together to state my opinion on the face mask issue.

I don’t understand how face masks have become a political issue. From my research, seems to be pretty cut and dry about protecting my neighbor if I’m unknowingly carrying the COVID-19 virus and my neighbor extending me the same kindness.

A business requiring me to wear a face mask doesn’t threaten my freedom of speech. Even though I’m quiet, I just have to speak up a bit louder and you can hear me.

Still, I never stir the pot because most of the time, what’s cooking doesn’t directly affect me, so I have the freedom to do what I believe is right and remain silent at the same time.

I can’t understand how face masks in any way are an issue of my freedom being stolen. But if we want to make it about freedom, God tells me to follow his example and use my freedom to serve others sacrificially.

Wearing a face mask seems like the answer to the question, “What’s the least I can do to love my neighbor?”

People might call me a sheep for holding this opinion, and I say, “Please, do.”

David, one of Israel’s mightiest kings in battle penned Psalm 23 about the Lord being his shepherd and providing for all his needs even in the valley of the shadow of death when his greatest need was God himself.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. David loved being a sheep.

Jesus is the Good Shepherd. He knows his sheep and calls them by name. His sheep know his voice and follow him.

Jesus loves his sheep. He laid down his life for his sheep becoming the spotless Lamb who was slain to take away the sins of the world and defeat death.

When Jesus separates the sheep from the goats in the final judgment, please call me a sheep because I want my life to be spent serving the least of these.

How comforting to know that when I serve the least of those among us, I’m serving Jesus! How heart breaking to realize ignoring their cries is ignoring the cries of Jesus himself.

So hear me when I say I feel beyond sheepish for going to bed one night agonizing deeply over speaking up about face masks and waking up the next morning to learn the name of another person of color who had their freedom, breath, and life stolen, George Floyd.

I’ve spent the last week reading, watching, lamenting, and trying to find the words. 

They don’t exist. At least not from my mouth as a white woman who still has so much to learn about becoming an ally in this fight against racism and oppression—starting with how I’ve been part of the problem.

My white privilege has allowed me to lament at the horror of racism when it makes headlines, but go about my daily life once the news cycle changes. 

I’m so sorry. The words don’t exist.

But during the last few months with the news cycles going back and forth between the pandemic and racially motivated acts of violence and murder, I’m finally beginning to see how the virus of racism has been killing our country long before the riots that started the American Revolution began our road to becoming a nation. 

I can’t help but notice how COVID-19 has recently divided us the way racism has divided us all along. 

COVID-19 attacks the lungs. People can’t breathe. They’re suffering. They’re dying alone. 

Those of us who aren’t dying, are arguing. 

“It’s just like the flu.” 

“We’re opening up too soon.” 

“Masks aren’t helpful.”

“Everyone should wear masks.”

Racism systematically attacks people of color. They demand justice and equality and beg for air.

“I can’t breathe.”

They’re dying alone, and many of us who can breathe are being silent or arguing.

“All lives matter.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“But I’m not a racist.”

“I can’t breathe.”

A virus is killing people while others are worried about the economy and losing money. 

I know you could argue it’s not that black and white—there’s some grey area that makes it more complicated. But to the people losing their lives or watching their loved ones die, I believe it might simply be that black and white.

Sometimes the virus infects people, and causes no harm. With no symptoms, they may not even realize they’re sick with a virus that is literally taking their neighbor’s breath away. They breathe easy as silent carriers and have the potential to spread the deadly virus exponentially if they remain ignorant of their condition.

I’m no longer ignorant of my condition even though I still have so much to learn. I am sorry my silence and inaction has been part of the problem.

I am a sheep, but I’m not always a good follower.

Jesus calls his sheep by name and leads us to lay down our lives, our freedoms, and our rights to love our neighbors. 

That’s a hard calling, but he’s the Good Shepherd and doesn’t lead his sheep down any path he hasn’t already willingly taken.

I need to be a better sheep. 

I’m sorry my complacency has lasted this long. I want to confront the darkness in myself first and learn to become an ally.

I can breathe, but I’m surrounded by people of color who can’t. They’re the ones being silenced. We’ve got to start listening to their voices and following their lead on the road to reconciliation. 

I’ve always had the freedom to speak. I’m sorry I’ve used my freedom to choose silence for too long because I was scared I’d say the wrong thing or convinced my voice didn’t matter. 

I could very well be mistaken, but I believe listening and risking saying the wrong words is the least I can do to start loving my POC neighbors better. 

I’m here to listen. I’m here to apologize and learn when I do say something wrong or miss the point because I can never truly understand what it’s like to be the victim of the systemic racism in our country.

I can’t speak for people of color, but I will use my voice to amplify their cries and be an ally in the fight for justice. Black lives matter.