Honor is tempering your knowledge for someone else to share on his position while extending curiosity to a different way of thinking. Honor doesn’t demand it’s own way. And it doesn’t sit silently waiting for the other person to stop speaking so he can drive home another point as to why you are incorrect. If your stance is secure and confident it allows the opposer to dig his heels in and demand respect out of his real problem, hostility. In which case you continue to honor by allowing him his right of choice to think what he wants while resting in your peace and what works for you. The best negotiations and journalism, always give equal playing time for two sides to be heard. But in reality, we know that board rooms are filled with members, and teams are full of players who like to flex their impish muscles and wield power over those they believe are inferior. The key reason those individuals ignite with justification over their opinions is because they lack the ability to empathize with another’s position. At the end of the day, the ones who walk away inspired and able to receive a point from someone they may not respect, is honoring himself and his opponent.

I’ve learned what not to do because I’ve been behind a lot of scenes. The two areas of intrigue where I have invested my heart and time is education and ministry, which I like to nick-name “being schooled by clergy”. I have learned some of the toughest lessons from men and women of the cloth who want to beat me over the head with scripture to make a point or hide behind some twisted theology. Only in these recent years have I honored myself with the understanding that I am not responsible for how others treat me. I still have dignity when I speak the truth and they judge, hate, or cast blame against me in disagreement. I don’t have to change my stance, apologize or explain myself like the old codependent person I used to be, did. I allow the temper tantrums albeit “in the name of Jesus” because they are spiritualizing their strongarm, but I obtain my reverence by taking hold of my Savior’s.

It should come as no surprise that everyone has different beliefs, but when God gets thrown into the mix and temperatures rise over what is best for other people in His name, I go into protection mode. There was a particular high school in the slums of Savannah where I was substituting where I knew a majority of the students from previous assignments. The teacher was frazzled when I arrived and informed me that he would be in the building and back by the end of the day and told me to “babysit his clan”. Taken aback, I inquired of his statement’s intent and he stopped ruffling his papers, and turned to look me up and down. He commented, “I can tell ya ain’t from here so just put the movie in and hit play”. Now I was curious. “What did you want me to play for these youngsters?” When he responded, “SAW”, I couldn’t hide my facial expression of disdain, not directed at him, but of the chosen movie. These kids have developing minds and I didn’t want to get my conscience involved with hurting anyone’s psyche. It was bad enough that poverty and abuse ran rampant in this Title One district, I couldn’t partake in re-traumatizing a student with graphic images of gore and fear. When I shared with him my concerns and that I had plenty of discussions I could lead instead of showing the movie, he got close and took a pose of superiority, one hand on his hip and the other pointing in my face. His lecture was chock full of my not being able to understand black people or know how to educate them, in which case I interjected that I was the only white chic who attended an AME church in Baltimore, and had been working in the hood for a combined 12 years. He didn’t like me speaking, so he began getting louder and talked over me.

I knew better than to feed his fury so when he claimed to be a preacher, I really had to pray for God to hold my face from dropping its jaw. I honored his position of authority over his classroom and let him rant about the injustices of white privilege coming into his space and questioning “what he do”. His disclaimer was that the schoolboard allows teachers to show violence and gore as long as it wasn’t sexual, and I reminded him that he could prayerfully raise the standard. Students started trickling in which had him lower his voice, evidently he didn’t know that his black students were well acquainted with my presence because they welcomed me by name. I took that as my segue to say, “Preacher, I also am a minister and take seriously my call to cover these kids with kindness and my authority when I enter the room. I cannot show that type of movie with a clear conscience”. He angrily responded, “decisions for people of color are best made by their own and I say they are watching that movie”. “Yet, I am responsible for what happens in the classroom when it is under my domain, so don’t worry I will take it from here”, was my reciprocation. He obviously had to leave for whatever I was scheduled to cover, so I sought help from the youth to pull the chairs into the hallway so we could forsake watching the psychological horror on the screen that he had launched.

It was a risk to defy the directions of a teachers demand, but I rested under my authority in Christ to take the responsibility off my shoulders and fight this battle for me. I used that opportunity to let the kids choose if they wanted to enter the room and watch “SAW” or join us for “life lessons in the hallway” where we discussed topics of differing opinions. To my amazement, everyone chose to be apart of the student-led talk session. It could have gone either way, my getting in trouble by the school principal or the preacher-teacher, but as it turned out, I was covered by the same grace I extended to those under my care. I know how important it is to hold the space for equal expression because all of us can sense, feel or know the emotional barometer when we walk into a room. As spiritual beings we either cling to intuition and the world’s energy or abhor it, especially when heated conversations against faith are ignited. A little mixture of Jesus plus the world equates to sprinkling a little Christianity onto my cornflakes for breakfast and getting hungry again by lunch. I have to know the word, live it and eat it before I can walk consistently in His leading even when stakes are high. Teaching and preaching are calls that require honoring the young minds that are looking for direction, no matter what age. Insecurity doesn’t allow someone else to think differently, but honor does. We don’t have to hate those who challenge our beliefs, nor only love those who believe as we do, for honoring them is sure to illuminate who has the final say over our decisions.