The Men at the Table

A Conversation on Forgiveness, Heard by Chance

The restaurant was quaint. In fact, it was an old home transformed into an eating establishment, with people sitting at tables scattered throughout different rooms. I walked in the front door to pick up my order and settled into a rickety wooden chair while I waited.

The voices of two men sitting across from each other echoed off the hardwood floors and warm walls. Even if they had spoken softly, their conversation would have carried through the room—they were the only patrons near the entrance. But they spoke loudly—very loudly. Uncomfortably loud. Not in a confrontational manner, but in a way that made you think they believed they were the only two in the restaurant.

I am much more of a whispery person, and that kind of loud talk always makes me a bit uneasy, especially when the conversation involves some sort of misgiving between people. I tried not to listen, but it was clear one of the individuals was apologizing for something. It struck me as odd to overhear such a public apology. Asking for forgiveness seems rare these days, and hearing it vociferously declared caught me off guard.

At one point, the man with his back to me said, “I really appreciate you taking my apology and making it something transformative.”

The other man replied matter-of-factly, “There is no way to exist these days, it seems, other than to f*** people over. We have to cultivate more humanity.”

I gathered from what he said that there is really no other choice these days than to rebuke the status quo of hurting one another and then perpetuating the pain.

To me, this was the statement of our age. The drum I have been banging—the flag I have been planting. It is one of reclaiming our humanity as a subversive act. Upending the cultural trajectory with unexpected and unanticipated gestures of kindness, forgiveness, mercy, goodness, and unearned love.

That defiance was beautifully (and loudly) demonstrated in the least expected place—or perhaps the most expected place—in a home, around a table, over a meal. Even if it was a restaurant. I’m thankful there are others in this world, not just proclaiming the rare jewel of “cultivating more humanity,” but daring to embody it.

Question

Am I actively cultivating humanity through kindness, forgiveness, and empathy in my daily interactions, or am I contributing to the cycle of hurt and disconnection?

Peace,

Brandon

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