Proximity

This morning at the gym, I started with my usual warm-up on the treadmill. My favorite one by the front windows was occupied, but the rest were empty. I sighed, then took my place on a treadmill–being sure to leave one in between me and the treadmill in use. 

On my way home from the gym, I thought about what an odd practice this was. Why did I feel the need for distance between me and a complete stranger? At the time, I reasoned it would be “weird” to see a row of unoccupied treadmills and to start using the one right next to the only machine that was occupied…but WHY? WHY is proximity considered “weird” and distance considered to be the “okay” or “safer” option?

The question has bugged me ever since. I suppose we could blame COVID-19 for making us all a little more concerned with maintaining a “safe distance” from one another. However, I think if we’re being completely honest, we’d admit that our desire to distance ourselves from others was already a practice for many of us long before it was ever a policy. For whatever reason, proximity makes us uncomfortable, and because we human beings don’t like to be uncomfortable, we avoid it like the plague.

And yet, in our desire for distance that makes us feel safe and secure (a false sense of security, I think, most of the time), something is lost. And what is lost is relationality. We don’t actually have to relate to anyone we don’t want to. We can exist in our own “lifetime bubbles” and keep the stranger in our immediate vicinity, well, strange. 

Which only serves to perpetuate the stories we so readily tell ourselves about those around us–that “they” are judging us. That “they” are mooching off the government. That “they” are looking down their noses at us. That “they” think they’re better than we are. That “they” have ill intentions or that “they” don’t want to work for a living. And in the process, our neighbors–those we know and those we don’t know yet–become a nameless, faceless “they”–the people we suspect, not the people we understand.

In his book, “I Take My Coffee Black: Reflections on Tupac, Musical Theater, Faith, and Being Black in America,” author Tyler Merritt writes, “Distance breeds suspicion. But proximity breeds empathy.” This is certainly supported in our sacred text. The religious elite never got close enough to those marginalized by their very narrow interpretations of the law to be anything but suspicious of them. They never got close enough to Jesus to really be anything but suspicious of him either. And yet, Jesus always chose proximity–even to the religious elite. He would call out their poor behavior–sure–but he never distanced himself from them. I can’t help but wonder if this was because he believed that real change would only ever happen up close and personal–not through suspicion, but through empathy?

On Sunday afternoon I was watching the women’s NCAA basketball match-up between LSU and UCLA. My spouse watched with me for a little bit, and of course, Hank and June (our dogs) were there as well. In our house, we are firmly “pets on the furniture” kinds of people. I mean, we even bought furniture with pet guard fabric when we decided to make a living room furniture purchase a few years ago.

So there we were–one odd little family group–all on the same couch–watching a basketball game. My spouse was doing their latest cross stitch project. My dogs–well–the picture says it all. Hank was on my lap (yes, that is nearly as uncomfortable as it sounds–he’s like 75 pounds), and June was right there next to him…leaning in…making it a little weird. As if “next to” wasn’t nearly close enough for our June when it came to her big brother.

More and more I think this is how we people of faith are called to move through the world. Not by seeking more distance between ourselves and the world around us, but by leaning in–being as close as possible to the communities we serve AND to the communities whose minds we are hoping to change. Because the best shot we have for building a stronger, more equitable community, I think, is through empathy–by empathizing with the other’s plight, and by experiencing what it is for others to empathize with ours. And we can’t empathize with treadmill-sized spaces existing between us. We must be proximal to each other’s suffering AND to each other’s triumphs if we have a shot at building a community that is not-so-easily divided.

So this week, dear reader, take a chance. Lean in. Right where you are, just as you are. Get to know your neighbors–both in the houses next to you, and in line at the supermarket, or slide next to someone new in the pew on Sunday morning. Go ahead. Make it a little weird. Distance won’t serve us now–it will only keep the stranger strange. But proximity breeds empathy, and empathy has never known a stranger–only a friend.

Making it "weird" through proximity with you,
Pr. Melissa ​

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