We're different. We're the same.

I saw this sign when I walked into the library yesterday.  I was bogged down with a couple dozen books in canvas bags, and I quickly headed to the return slot to unload them.  Then, after checking out another couple dozen books for my classroom, I made a beeline for door.  I was ready to get home and enjoy my Saturday.  Maybe read a (non-picture) book?  Maybe take a walk and enjoy the sunshine and (finally) milder temperatures? 

I stopped myself.  It’s the least I can do.  The very least.  I headed to the community room where the group sponsoring this event had set up information tables and displays about Islam.  They offered pamphlets, books, and food.  As I read the displays, a man approached and asked if I had any questions.  We conversed about some of the information on the signs, and then I continued on my own.  As I finished circling around the displays, he encouraged me to sample some food.  He helped me get a plate of falafel balls, hummus, and pita bread.  I sat down at a table and unloaded my bags on the floor.  We chatted a bit more about our families and jobs.  I told him I'm a teacher, and he mentioned that his wife was the administrator of a school.  He waved her over.  She sat down with me.  “You look familiar,” she said.  We soon discovered not only that we both homeschooled our children for many years, but also that we attended the same homeschool group for a time.  We marveled at the smallness of the world. 

Nobody had mentioned Christchurch yet, but it was there with us in the room.  I don’t know if this event was planned previously or was put together in response to the tragedy in New Zealand.  I didn’t ask.  But I felt the need to say something.  When the conversation lulled, I tried, “It’s terrible what happened.  Such a tragedy.  I’m so sorry for your community and for the world.  It’s so horrible.  There are no words.”  She nodded and said she still couldn’t believe it had happened, so many dead.  We sat silently for a while, filled with emotion.  Then she picked up the conversation again.  Both of us had returned to work full-time in the last couple of years, and we discussed the struggles of balancing family and work.  We talked about schools and education, about our kids in high school and college.  Finally we parted by sharing our names and a warm handshake. 

I returned to my car, thoughtful, reminded of how similar we are in so many ways.  There was a Sesame Street book called We’re Different, We’re the Same that I used to read to my children when they were little.  Yes, we’re different.  Yes, we’re the same.  It’s hard to know exactly what to do in the face of such hatred as manifested itself in the massacre in New Zealand.   Certainly we can advocate and rally and speak up to hatred.  We can vote and be politically active in other ways.  But I also think we can be more intentional about sitting with each other.  My experience yesterday definitely reminded me that I need to do more of this.  Let’s be more present to those who are different or who we think are different from us in some way.  Let's constantly remind ourselves of our common humanity.  Let's remember - we’re different, AND we’re the same.