Let People Be Complicated

A few years ago, my wife and I attended a Lynyrd Skynyrd tribute concert.

It was pure fun. The band was good. The crowd was lively. And when the opening chords of Sweet Home Alabama rang out, the place erupted.

You know the feeling. It’s one of those songs that bypasses your brain and goes straight to your feet. People were singing. Smiling. Dancing.

Then the lead singer walked onto the stage carrying a large Confederate flag.

And just like that, the mood changed. At least for me.

Some people cheered. Others looked uncomfortable. A few sat down. I wasn’t quite sure what to do.

The song was still catchy. The flag was still offensive and utterly unnecessary.

Fun music and divisive imagery from the same artists. Both things were true at the same time.

I’ve thought about this ever since.

Because that moment wasn’t really about a flag.

It was about complexity.

We seem to have lost our ability to let people be complicated. We want everyone sorted into neat categories.

The problem is that real human beings refuse to cooperate.

Take Martin Luther.

Luther challenged corruption, translated the Bible into the language of ordinary people, and helped spark the Protestant Reformation. His writings have influenced my faith and the faith of millions of others.

He also wrote things that make me wince.

So what do I do with Luther? Reject everything he taught? Accept everything he wrote?

Neither.

I learn from his wisdom and reject his errors. I let him be complicated.

Or consider Aung San Suu Kyi.

For years, she was celebrated around the world as a symbol of courage and democracy. She endured house arrest and became a global icon of peaceful resistance.

Then came events that caused many of her admirers to rethink everything they thought they knew about her.

Was she a hero? A disappointment? A villain? A saint?

Perhaps she was what she always had been: a human being.

Complicated.

Just like Luther.

Just like the guy waving a Confederate flag while singing a song I still enjoy.

The older I get, the more convinced I am that maturity requires holding two truths, maybe more, at the same time.

A person can be wise and foolish. Generous and selfish. Courageous and fearful. Admirable and deeply flawed.

In the junkyard, every vehicle has something wrong with it. That’s why it’s there.

But most of them still have something worth salvaging.

That’s why I’m there.

People aren’t much different.

Now, before someone misunderstands me, this isn’t an argument for ignoring bad behavior. It’s not a plea to excuse racism, abuse, corruption, or injustice. Wrong is still wrong.

The question is whether a person’s flaws erase everything else about them.

Life isn’t that simple. And neither are people.

And my reaction at the concert provides I’m not that simple either. I still enjoy the music. I am still offended by somebody waving a flag of insurrection in my face.

We all know people who are complicated. People who embody contradictions of love and anger, joy and despair, courage and fear. We work with them. We live with them. We share meals and memories with them.

When they are close to us like that, they are simultaneously easier to love and harder to love. Easier because we know them, we see the goodness, and we choose to love them. Harder because being close to the contradictions can be dangerous. They can, and do, hurt us.

I can only imagine that God sometimes sees us this same way.

Fully aware of our contradictions. Fully aware of the ways we disappoint Him. And somehow still unwilling to give up on us.

So the next time one of your heroes disappoints you, take a deep breath.

You don’t have to excuse what is wrong.

You don’t have to abandon what is right.

You can hold both truths in your hands.

You can let people be complicated.

And don’t be upset when your heroes become more human.

The surprise isn’t that they are flawed.

The surprise is that we ever expected otherwise.