If my dad were alive today, this would be his 103rd birthday. He was a wise and kind man, and I’m going to put this story out there because when it took place fifty years ago, we were in the middle of the civil rights movement of the 1960s and ’70s. with racial tensions much like they are today.
Dad was director of a Bible camp that drew campers, mainly teenagers, from Chicago, Milwaukee and Madison as well as smaller towns and cities in southern Wisconsin and
northern Illinois. I remember how charged the atmosphere at camp felt, how restless and unsettled, especially after the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. I recall one week of summer camp when the talent show consisted of one young black teen after another getting up in front of the rest of the campers and singing Otis Redding’s Sittin’ On The Dock Of The Bay. The hopelessness escaped me at the time, though I’ve since come to appreciate what prompted such repetitive performances.
During that era, a picture hung on the wall of Dad’s office. Called Hook’s Head of Jesus, it was an artist’s rendering of Jesus that made him look very much like a 30-something white American. At some point, black scribbles appeared on the cheeks above the beard. Most people who saw it probably suspected that one of us, Dad’s young offspring, had gotten hold of the picture and used it for drawing practice. But some years ago, my brother told me the real story behind those scribbles.
One week, a young black camper had been giving the counselors an awful lot of trouble. When they’d had enough, they brought him to Dad. The youngster was defiant even with Dad, whose patient, gentle manner and kind humor usually worked wonders on misbehaving campers and staff alike. At one point, the young teen looked up at the picture of Jesus and asked in a rebellious tone why Jesus was white. Dad thought about it and replied, “That’s a good question. I suspect the real Jesus had skin color and hair more like yours than mine.”
Opening his desk drawer, Dad took out a black Magic Marker and offered it to the camper. “You can change it, if you’d like.” When the kid realized Dad was serious, he took the marker and made those black scribbles on the face of Jesus. I’m told he left Dad’s office with a changed attitude.
I’ll leave you to figure out whatever moral there might be to this story. I simply want to remember the birthday of a wise servant of Jesus Christ who taught us a lot with his humble kindness and understanding.
