Seeing Beyond the Obvious

The early 1960's. My small hometown historically had two schools: one for whites and Hispanics, another for blacks. Department stores had separate restrooms, separate water fountains: one for whites, one for blacks. This primarily agricultural region was only beginning to be affected by the civil rights movement.

When I entered seventh grade, the two schools were merged, or as it was called then, integrated. For the first time, all students walked the same halls, sat in the same classrooms, drank from the same fountains. Uneasiness simmered beneath the surface. In spite of that, faculty and students managed to work together.

Each fall, the community held an annual talent show at the high school auditorium. Students of various levels of talent were provided a forum to entertain an audience of their peers.

Early in the program, the emcee introduced her. The spotlight flashed on, and there she sat: a large African-American high school student behind an imposing electric organ. Most of us did not know her. Snickers rippled across the crowd. She began to sing "Moon River." Laughter erupted. It looked as though she was about to be shamed off the stage. Undaunted, she continued her song.

Suddenly, the mood of the audience changed. The more this young black woman sang and played, the more awe-struck they became. She ended with a soulful flair. There was no more laughter. There was instead a unified body of students rising to its feet, pleading for an encore. What began as spontaneous rejection became a triumph of acceptance and accolades.

That magic moment changed me. I was never the same after that. I had been willing to dismiss a fellow student's contribution as inferior even before experiencing it. I had been unwilling to see beyond the obvious external facade. I stood convicted.

But it wasn't a turning point for just me. It was a turning point for our school. This young woman's willingness to share herself through music broke down more barriers than the court order which brought about integration. Integration forced us to co-exist reluctantly . She helped us begin to co-exist as community.

There were tears that night. They were mine. Tears that rejoiced that someone had broken through, had taken rejection and turned it around. Tears that recognized in her my own fear of being laughed at, misunderstood, or discounted.

Now I'm a hospital chaplain. Daily I encounter those who, through illness, have change forced upon them. These are my teachers. These who learn not only to endure but to embrace change. These who find in the embrace freedom and transformation. These who risk sharing the music of their liberated spirits with the world.

And I continue to learn: we are all more than we seem. And God continues to call us to see beyond the obvious, to enjoy the music, and to grow. --Virgil Fry