Minnesotans fight Wal-Mart openings like Lindsay Lohan fights jail sentences. There's lots of delays and lots of lawyers. The smaller retailers are incensed, the unions display bravado and grit, but most certainly know they've got a fight on their hands. The stories of Wal-Mart indiscretions are certainly well known, but in the Land of 10,000 Lakes, they are repeated like scripture. Like anything else in life, you rarely get the entire story from the offended or the guilty.
Wherever I've lived, small town or metropolis, Wal-Mart wins. Eventually, the walls will go up, the trucks will deliver, the blue vests will go on, and prices go down, or so they say.
I like Target too. The spiffy, well-designed appearance, the cleanliness, the speedy checkouts, and the smaller square footage all appeal to me.
So I avoided controversy like Jon Huntsman avoids votes. I shopped at both joints. I got in, I got out, I picked up the tomato sauce or the toilet paper, and I was the hero.
Such was life until a few years ago, when Wal-Mart moved to a town near where I lived. During a discussion with some acquaintances about the new retailer, one quipped, "It's busy, but those aren't (insert the name of the town here) people in THAT store." They were serious.
I took a deep breath, readied my reply, and said...nothing. It wasn't worth it. It was just so sad and despicable. You know. They were those people. The kind you laugh at on PeopleofWalMart.com, the kind that cut your grass and fix your sink and build your homes and pass the cheeseburger and fries to you at the drive-through. The kind that you laughed at in your schools. The kind that...you would never invite to your church, because you don't know any, and besides, they would embarrass you.
So after reflection, I knew it wasn't a Wal-Mart vs. Target thing, it was an us vs. them thing. It was the sad state of the American church in which lifesaving stations have become social clubs. It's never stated up front, but it's a well-placed jab in the face of anyone who might fall into the category of "those people" and drives into suburban church parking lots across America. And it says this. You're not welcome here unless you look like us, think like us, and act like us. Because if you don't, you'll spoil the show.
So today? I still shop at the nearest store, whether it is the big box, or the red circle place. I like them both just fine. It just so happens in Escazu, Costa Rica, there is no Target. But in Central America and your city alike, there are countless people who need Jesus. They might not look, act, think, vote, or eat like you do, but all it takes to begin is "Hello, how are you?" And one more thing, you have to put your smartphone in your pocket and actually listen to their answer.
Such was life until a few years ago, when Wal-Mart moved to a town near where I lived. During a discussion with some acquaintances about the new retailer, one quipped, "It's busy, but those aren't (insert the name of the town here) people in THAT store." They were serious.
I took a deep breath, readied my reply, and said...nothing. It wasn't worth it. It was just so sad and despicable. You know. They were those people. The kind you laugh at on PeopleofWalMart.com, the kind that cut your grass and fix your sink and build your homes and pass the cheeseburger and fries to you at the drive-through. The kind that you laughed at in your schools. The kind that...you would never invite to your church, because you don't know any, and besides, they would embarrass you.
So after reflection, I knew it wasn't a Wal-Mart vs. Target thing, it was an us vs. them thing. It was the sad state of the American church in which lifesaving stations have become social clubs. It's never stated up front, but it's a well-placed jab in the face of anyone who might fall into the category of "those people" and drives into suburban church parking lots across America. And it says this. You're not welcome here unless you look like us, think like us, and act like us. Because if you don't, you'll spoil the show.
So today? I still shop at the nearest store, whether it is the big box, or the red circle place. I like them both just fine. It just so happens in Escazu, Costa Rica, there is no Target. But in Central America and your city alike, there are countless people who need Jesus. They might not look, act, think, vote, or eat like you do, but all it takes to begin is "Hello, how are you?" And one more thing, you have to put your smartphone in your pocket and actually listen to their answer.
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