Sunday mornings were a ritual. As an early riser, I frequently accompanied my minister Dad to unlock the church, adjust the heat, and turn on the lights. We often had time to take the short walk uptown, stopping at The Green Door where Dad greeted those gathered for breakfast and then on the extra block to the courthouse steps where I would sit with Dad and the ‘different’ looking men while Dad chatted with them. When we’d leave, Dad would always invite the men to join us for worship.

It was a spring day in the early 1960s. My family’s roots had been transplanted from Pennsylvania to North Carolina for several years now, but we were still enjoying the best of Southern hospitality from neighbors and church folk. I had grown to enjoy particularly the older women of the neighborhood for they always engaged me in conversation as I rocked on a porch, encouraging and laughing as I darted around their yards at dusk catching lightning bugs or helping with a batch of angel biscuits. My backdoor neighbor, Mrs. Everhart, let me help her weed her flower garden and always let me pick a few of the prettiest ones to take home to Mother.

One day, the lady who worked for Mrs. Everhart brought her young daughter with her. I can’t remember the child’s name, she was closer to my younger sister’s age. She and my sister met across the hedge that separated our backyard from Mrs. Everhart’s. They quickly became friends, playing in the sandbox and climbing the red maple tree. I remember as I helped mother prepare dinner that afternoon that Mrs. Everhart stopped by. Later I overheard Mother telling Daddy that Mrs. Everhart had stopped by to say that it was not appropriate for my sister to play with the maid’s daughter. That’s all I remember of the conversation, but my sister played with the little girl often after that.

Early 1990s—some months after participating in a program lead by People of Faith against the Death Penalty, I contemplated attending a prayer vigil at Central Prison on the eve of a scheduled execution. I learned that a member of my church whose daughter had been brutally murdered in Chapel Hill in the mid-1980s was active in this group and would be leading some prayers at the vigil. I stood shivering in the cold from 6:30 p.m. to 1:00 a.m. participating in prayers on the hour. Several children were in attendance with their parents. One girl of about 11, told me about the man she wrote to as she pointed to the window area where his cell was located. One could see the shadow of faces and even an occasional wave. In contrast, across the entrance to Central Prison a second group gathered holding signs calling for the execution. I was unable to remain through the 2:00 a.m. execution; my heart couldn’t take it.

Christmases, as far back as I can recall, were highlighted by caroling to homebound members and nursing home residents. The smiles on the confined people’s faces still radiate in my mind. That was again replayed on December 8, 2002, when 26 children and adults walked the halls of Carol Woods Health Center and Britthaven Nursing Home, and huddled in the fire-lighted den of Joe and Sara Philips, singing favorite carols. The smiles and the conversations we exchanged brought smiles to all our faces, a warm feeling to our bodies, and a few damp eyes as we shared God’s love.

In spite of my rich experiences in social justice ministry and my commitment to share what I have come to value, my adult children have and continue to challenge me when they experience me as prejudicial or insensitive. Yes, we all have miles to go but I continue my faith journey being formed and reformed.

John Westerhoff, Episcopal priest and author of Building God’s People, says “the pastoral dimension of practical theology reminds us that we are stewards of our life situations and of our abilities. All too often we attribute situations to fate or luck and our abilities to heredity or our achievement. We live as if they are ours for our own advantageous use and enjoyment. But as trustees of our lives, we have an obligation to minister, to care for, and to serve all people, or as we promise in our baptismal covenant, ‘to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourselves.’ Stewardship of the gifts of the Spirit implies compassion and concern for the broken and the desperate, the disadvantaged.”

Parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, all of you who are older than the youngest among us, heed the words of a proverb: “Pay close attention to me, son, let my example be your guide.” How will your example plant seeds and cultivate compassion and justice?