What I have learned being in the minority

I believe everyone should experience being in the minority at times. It has much to teach us. Admittedly, I write this as one who has spent almost the entirety of my life as part of the privileged majority. If that seems too much of a “woke” statement for you, hear me out. I am a white, male American who has a higher education and has occupied positions of authority others often defer to in respect for the office if not the occupant. This alone has positioned me as a person of privilege and influence most of my life. It is a position I’ve occupied somewhat by fate, having been born into my culture and socioeconomic state. But I have also built on the foundation I was born into with certain efforts of self-improvement. While I try not to take my status for granted, or abuse it, I begin this reflection, admitting it.

That said, there have been several times in my life in which I’ve found myself in the minority. Almost always these have been learning opportunities, causing me to pause and reflect on life from the viewpoint of another. I’d like to share just a few of them.

Mission trips: I have been blessed to have participated in short-term mission trips to Mexico, Haiti, and Chile as part of ministry groups I’ve led or joined. While these trips took place in the security of like-lived groups of people, and under the direction of western missionaries sensitive to our places of origin, each offered moments in which I became acutely aware of my minority status.

Arriving at the airport in Porta Prince, Haiti and emerging from what qualified there as customs, our group of Anglo Notre Americanos was engulfed in a sea of native faces and hands, extended toward us for generosity. In some cases, the hands patted down our pockets suggesting donations. It was difficult to move given the surging of the crowd, but we were told to “press on”. The sights of that airport greeting have stayed with me over the years as one of my first experiences (being quite young then) of being somewhat parachute dropped into a culture and context very different from my own.

Later that same week I would be unexpectedly invited to preach at a mission church, filled to capacity with beautiful Haitian people. The host pastor served as my interpreter, sharing (and likely making better) my words to his congregation. The people were generous and kind in receiving a message from one so removed from their lives. But I was the one truly blessed by the experience.

This cross-cultural preaching encounter would be repeated later in my life among a women’s prison church, a Karen congregation, a small Baptist Church of Mapuche people in Chile, and in a smaller start-up church in Calnali, Mexico. In this latter experience I, my gracious interpreter, and a lay leader I recruited, were whisked away via the back of a pickup truck to meet and share with one of the most humble, poor house church groups I’ve known. I was reminded of the New Testament communities Paul helped found as I marveled at the faith and determination of the pastor church-planter, who we’d earlier met as he came to service the plumbing of the home in which we were staying.

What did these faith community minority experiences teach me? In each case I became tactilely aware of the diversity, breadth and depth of the “body of Christ”. One can write, speak and think about the “fellowship of differents” that compile the Church across the globe, but to be immersed among part of that fellowship, if even for a short time, is to taste and see that the Lord is good.

Intimate Encounters: Life has also on occasion provided me with intimate encounters in which I was alone as token American white guy among those of a differing culture or ethnicity. One such encounter happened at a national religious gathering in which I joined a table of African American clergywomen. While we all spoke the same native language, it became clear to me that I was clueless as to the messages being shared between my tablemates. Sharing few common frames of reference, I was not sure if they were laughing and smiling in spite of me, at my expense, or (most likely) oblivious to my presence.

The experience left me thinking about the ways in which communication is subtle, and sometimes overtly not. This is true especially as it is shared nonverbally between people familiar with one another. Despite the group’s polite effort at inclusion, I left the experience feeling very much “other” than. I don’t say this to cast aspersion, but to recognize the times I have been on the opposite side of this equation and contributed to those feelings in others.

A more recent intimate encounter happened in my work as a hospital chaplain. Working as a Protestant chaplain for a Roman Catholic health system provides some minority encounters all its own. In an urban metro location, I quite often am called to share with persons who come from non-Christian faith traditions. Such was the case recently as I spent a considerable amount of time with a Sikh family. This family of immigrants from the Punjabi state of India were clearly acclimating into the American culture. They were professional people, comfortable speaking English alongside their native tongue. They were also a people of faith who quietly exhibited that faith in their personal intercessory prayers for their loved one who was in a trauma situation.

Acting as a liaison, I was present to help convey messages from the medical staff to the family, and to provide a ministry of presence and compassion as they waited. I also acted as a guide, welcoming additional family as they arrived at the hospital and bringing them together with their loved ones waiting in the consultation room. After some polite conversation and assurances from me that I respected their faith and would add my Christian prayers alongside their prayers, I became silent, listening and watching this family care for each other.

Their conversation was in Punjabi, their native tongue, with some English words interjected here and there as technicality or medical jargon required. I watched as their demeanor, tense and anxious, pre-surgeon’s visit shifted to relaxed and joyous post-surgeon visit; he having shared good news. Not much was needed from me, save an encouraging smile, or affirming nod of head. I was the guest, even as I was the host. This family was showing me what love, compassion, kindness and respect for one another looks like. It was a blessing to be so near in proximity and yet so clearly on the outside looking in.

Minority by Position: When I teach college-aged co-eds at our local university branch I am aware of being in the minority. I know little of their generational cohort and preferences. When I taught English as a second language, despite my majority position, I was in the minority. When I walk the halls and enter the rooms of the hospital, identified by my garb and nametag as a “chaplain”, I am aware of my perceived “otherness” in status by patient and staff members alike. When I’ve led worship or officiated services as a pastor, I’ve been aware of the strangeness people sometimes exhibit toward the clergy, as if we are almost another gender (men, women and clergy!). These are all “minority by position” experiences. They set you apart from the group, justly or unjustly, and remind you that you are there because of a service, or presence (ministry) that you provide.

It’s good, on occasion, when one occupies such a position to find yourself on the other side. To sit in the congregation as a worshipper, to be the patient present for a check-up or procedure, or to occupy a place of learning as a student receiving instruction from another. Should you experience angst or discomfort in this role-reversal, finding yourself fidgety, it may be your privilege is poking through. Majority by position people can get used to the office, deference, and privilege it bestows. Haven’t we each at times thought of “that” person as entitled or arrogant? Maybe I’ve been that person?

Minority by Decision: There’s one final minority position I must add to this list. It’s when I identify with the minority by choice or decision. For example, when my candidate for office fails to win the election. Or, when I don’t agree with the majority of my neighbors on an issue. And, when I differ from my family of origin in how I look at the issues of the day. These are times when I find myself once again in the minority. I’ve been in this position more often than not it seems. It’s caused me to inflict permanent bite marks on my tongue!

As a pastor/chaplain you learn to listen to the viewpoints of others more than to espouse your own position, especially if you happen to disagree. This seems to get harder for me as I get older and let go of some of my prior filters. Maybe that’s OK? Living, as we do, in such a time of divisiveness where people proclaim loudly their stance via multiple communication mediums, I fear we’ve lost the skill of agreeing to disagree. We too easily label someone as wrong or misled. We fail to offer the human service of listening to understand.

People increasingly live in silos of information that are repeatedly reinforced by news sources that simply affirm, not question, their thinking. Noise threatens to drown out the solemnity of skilled listening and respectful dialogue.

If you find yourself dreading going to a meeting (maybe it’s even church) or rehearsing what’s off-limits conversation wise on your drive to the family gathering, you probably know that of which I write. You might just be in the minority; or have a hard time tolerating the one who is. So, what to do?

Why not learn? Why not listen? Why not seek to hear and understand, not in order to rebut or scold. Not even in an effort to agree – that may be asking too much. Maybe to question or posit a different point of view, but mainly to meet in common humanity over topics of concern, and sometimes passion.

I wonder, sadly, if we are past this? We have so few models in public service today that show us how to live together majority and minority. Where are the statesmen and women? Where are those who appreciate the contributions of a big tent? Where are those gifted with the humility to say, “I may be wrong about that”? Or “I don’t agree with you, but I still respect you.”?

If we live our lives always seeking to be majority people, we miss out on so much. We miss the gifts of so many. We overlook the possibilities of learning something new.

I read once where by the year 2040 there will be no majority ethnic group in America. Seems to me we are closer to that reality than ever. Do those who cling in fear to the loss of a majority’s privilege and position do so because they see it slipping away? I wonder. Would that rather than dig in our heels, kicking and screaming or lamenting loss, we instead stopped to learn.

© Daniel M. Cash 2024