When I got my Honda a couple of years ago, it was my first time to have a screen and easy access to a GPS. When I tell it I want to come here, it says the quickest way to get from Guilford to here is to take I-95 to I-91. It is (usually) quick, and mostly uneventful, but it is also rather bland. But when I take that route, I feel like all I really see is the highway.
As I result, I have made it a habit to plan my time so I can leave a bit earlier and wander on the small roads through North Branford, which winds through farms and houses. It takes about ten minutes longer, but I see more than the road when I go that way.
I also go around the traffic circle in Branford, or the rotary, as many of us say, though my first inclination is to call it a roundabout because that is what they were called in East Africa, thanks to the British influence. When I lived in Nairobi, the city had a million people and only one traffic signal. All the other intersections were either stop signs or roundabouts.
As you know, the key to a working traffic circle or roundabout is recognizing who has the right of way—that is, who gets to go first and who has to wait. I was learned about driving in Nairobi, where they drive on what we call “the wrong side” of the road, and the car to the right was the one who go to go first, so I thought “right of way” meant being on the right. I was surprised to learn that even when you are on the left, you have the right of way.
Before cars, the term meant the right to cross or pass through someone else’s property. When cars made traffic a reality, the phrase came to mean who gets to go first. To remind ourselves of that, we put up the signs that are upside down yellow triangles: the YIELD signs.
Yield is an interesting word because it carries more than one meaning. Though we may not think about it when we are sitting in traffic, it’s a word that carries a history steeped in power because it can mean to give in or submit or surrender to a stronger force or person. The problem is the interaction assumes hierarchy and conflict, which doesn’t make for a great metaphor when it comes to relationships.
Yield can also mean a return on investment, or the harvest of a crop—the yield of a farm. It is the reward of our actions, if you will.
We can say, then, that being willing to yield at the roundabout is not so much about giving in to an adversary as it is reaping the harvest of our cooperation and mutuality to get where we are going.
James knew nothing of traffic circles, but he did offer us a “roundabout theology.” Listen to the last part of our scripture again:
You can develop a healthy, robust community that lives right with God and enjoy its results only if you do the hard work of getting along with each other, treating each other with dignity and honor.
“The hard work of getting along with each other”—that’s a phrase worth remembering. Getting along is rich and meaningful—it’s the stuff love is made of—and it’s work. Hard work. We have to mean it. It doesn’t happen by accident.
With that in mind, I want to pass along a couple of things that found me this week as I was thinking about this sermon. One is a quote from Shane Parrish, who writes one of the newsletters I read. He said,
Too often, the people we ask for feedback are nice but not kind. Kind people will tell you things a nice person will not. A kind person will tell you that you have spinach on your teeth. A nice person won’t because it’s uncomfortable. A kind person will tell us what holds us back, even when it’s uncomfortable. A nice person avoids giving us critical feedback because they’re worried about hurting our feelings. No wonder we think other people will be interested in our excuses.
His words may feel odd as we talk about yielding, but I think they help underline that we are talking about investing not giving in. If we are committed to helping each other get where we are going, then doing the hard work of being kind rather than just being nice or polite is a big part of the journey.
The other thought came from a person named Peter who is part of a group of guys I meet every Saturday morning for coffee—at 6:30 am. One of the rituals of our gathering is that one of the others, Bill, always asks, “Milt, what’s the word tomorrow?” I am then expected to give a quick summary of my sermon, which is good for me because I have to make sure I know what the point of my sermon is.
After I talked about the roundabouts, Peter said, “That makes me think of what I learned from my hummingbirds. They are beautiful creatures. I have five feeders set up because I love to see them. You can’t believe how selfish they are. If one bird is at the feeder, another will chase them away to get to the same feeder rather than go to one that is open where they both could eat.” Then he said, “I’ve always thought that would make a good sermon.”
“It will!” I said. “Tomorrow.”
As James said, “Real wisdom, God’s wisdom, begins with a holy life and is characterized by getting along with others.” As we travel together, may we be those who look for ways to yield—to be kind (and nice), to defer, to not have to be first, to look beyond ourselves—to do the hard work of helping each other get where we are going. Amen.
Peace,
Milton
