Latria Graham remembers long afternoons of collecting black walnuts as a child. That the neighbors would pay children to go out and collect the walnuts in these large five gallon buckets. Because one tree can produce 15,000 nuts in a single year. And then she remembers gathering around the kitchen table at night with those five gallon buckets sitting at their feet cracking and shelling the walnuts trying to bag them up and just listening to all the stories that the family would share. Like her dad telling tall tales about him and her uncle playing cowboys as children. That she learned everything she needs to know about her family and herself from all those evenings. And some nights she would eat more than she would bag. But the ones she didn’t eat, they would bag them up and sell them at the family’s farm stand on Saturday morning.

Black walnuts are fascinating. It is said that other trees and bushes will not grow around them, which is partly true. That they release this chemical called juglone, which deters other plants from growing around them that might compete for the same resources. And you’ve got to be pretty determined to crack a black walnut. It has one of the toughest and hardest shells and she says her family are like those walnuts, tough exteriors, strong defenses. But as she says, they are worth the work.

And in Acts, Paul is traveling from place to place, meeting people with all these different experiences and varied questions. Most of the time they are meeting people in the local synagogue, but in Athens, he is debating and having conversation with the Epicurean and Stoic philosophers, some of the most educated people in Athens and in the world. And they take Paul down to the Areopagus where this judicial group would gather and ask Paul to explain this new teaching that they were putting Paul’s faith on trial.

And instead of criticizing these philosophers, Paul tries to make a connection with them. He does not tear them down. He does not try to prove that they are wrong. Instead, he tries to build a bridge to them. He points to this altar to an unknown God and says, let me tell you about this God. And then Paul quotes a well-known Epicurean saying that this is the God in whom we live and move and have our being. Because we are all children of God.

We find confrontation again in the letter of 1 Peter. This time it’s a little bit more dangerous. There is more anger and aggression and the people are unsure about what to do. But this letter does not advise them like the boxer to keep their chin tucked in and their left hand up high. They are not to lead with their jab and get ready for a right cross. Instead, they are to make their defense with gentleness and respect. And if we begin where Paul began, where all people are God’s children, it leads us to the wisdom of gentleness and respect. Because a kind word and a gentle response can build a bridge of change.

But it requires a light touch. And whenever I order something where some assembly is required and I’m out there in the garage surrounded by screws and bolts and parts that I cannot name or identify, I am thankful for those directions that I go through those numbered steps one by one. And I read carefully those simple diagrams because I don’t want the chair to fail or the table to fall apart. That’s a terrible dinner party. But I am always perplexed when the directions say, do not over tighten. Because when I have that bolt in my hand, I assume if tight is good, tighter is better. And I take that socket wrench and I put my full weight into that final quarter turn. The only problem is it can damage the bolt. It can strip the threads, causing much larger problems. That relating to others requires a light touch.

And along with a light touch, we also need quiet eyes. Quiet eyes are different from jumpy eyes. Jumpy eyes is like the bird watcher who has had too much coffee. Looking left and looking right, but never seeing anything. Quiet eyes does not try to see everything. Because in trying to see everything, we end up seeing nothing. That we cannot look at a person’s clothes, or where they are from, or what they do for a living, or how they speak, or how they spell their name, or the color of their skin, the religion they profess, the family they belong to, the person they love, or the past they have experienced and expect to see what is truly important. That quiet eyes helps us concentrate on one thing, where we always see others as children of God. And it leads us to gentleness and respect.

And as we practice a light touch and quiet eyes, it leads to change. That building bridges always leads us to new destinations. That we discover friendships that we didn’t know were possible. We foster a patience within us that we didn’t know we could have. That we ask questions that lead us more to the presence of God around us. We share our story and it alters someone else’s story. We experience again how love bears all things and how love never ends. That we cross bridges which serve this world and strive for peace, compassion, and hope. Because people are worth the work.

And sometimes these changes happen around us. Other times, those changes happen within us. In his beautiful novel, Theo of Golden, Alan Levi writes about the character by the name of Kendrick. Kendrick is carrying around significant heartache because his daughter was injured in an automobile accident. And the hearing is upon them where Mr. Mendez, the driver of the other vehicle, is going to be sentenced. And Kendrick is going to the hearing because he’s able to share how he feels and the heartache that his family has experienced. And the court can take that into consideration in the sentencing process.

Before he leaves the house that day, his grandmother says to him, “Just remember there is mercy and there is justice. And when you are not sure what to choose, choose mercy.” Because bad mercy does not hurt like bad justice. And the prosecutor explaining all of the sentencing options then gave Kendrick a chance to speak. And his answer even surprised himself. He said, “To be honest, 18 months ago, I would not have cared what you did to Mr. Mendez. You could have given him the harshest sentence possible. But yesterday, I saw him for the first time and I saw his pain and I saw the tears in his eyes. That up until yesterday he was just an idea to me. This thing that had hurt my little girl. Then I saw his face.”

And he asked the prosecutor, “Did you look? I mean really look, not just a glance, not just a quick peek. Did you really look?” And a light touch and quiet eyes allow us to really look. And when we do, we can see others as children of God, where our response might surprise even ourselves. Realizing again that people are always worth the work. Amen.