The Survivor Tree at the Oklahoma City National Memorial

Photograph by Dustin M. Ramsey via Wikimedia Commons

I was back in Oklahoma recently as the guest of Governor Kevin Stitt and his wife, Sarah. I was honored to be asked to speak at the memorial site of the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing that claimed the lives of 168 innocent Americans and injured several hundred more.

We were there for a “Disagree Better” summit where Governor Kevin Stitt and dozens of Democratic and Republican leaders, business leaders, faith leaders, and education leaders all committed to elevating dignity in public discourse.

The memorial is stunning. It doesn’t matter that the bombing took place almost 30 years ago.

Antonio Ansara Cooper, Jr. Photo by the Oklahoma City Bombing National Memorial and Museum.

I was still heartbroken to see the faces of children like Antonio Ansara Cooper Jr. (He liked peas, green beans, carrots, and fruit) and Kayla Marie Titsworth (She was always the first one there when you needed a hug and kiss).

Kayla Marie Titsworth. Photo by the Oklahoma City Bombing National Memorial and Museum.

I imagined the lives those innocent human beings had hoped to lead and the future they’d hoped to see—walking to school, ice cream desserts, falling in love, a hike in the mountains, a trip to the beach—all things I often take for granted.

Those futures were stolen from them in a second of unspeakable terror. I wondered why it’s so difficult for us to abandon violence as a way of solving problems.

I walked into the museum’s contemplative spaces and was lured into silence. I saw the “survivor tree,” an American elm that withstood the bomb’s impact and still stands. I realized that you and I are survivor trees, too. To whom are we giving shade and rest? Where are we planting our roots? To what stars are we stretching out our branches?

Our community of uniters has often shared a belief that we are living amid a “spiritual crisis.” Too often we’re being told that nothing endures, nothing really matters, and that we’re all alone. The Oklahoma City National Memorial is an experience of the opposite.

I found myself knowing that these lives really did matter. That their stories endure. That their value was sacred. I gazed into their precious eyes and felt their presence all around me. It’s hard to find the words, but I somehow knew that they’re safe now. And somehow, all of us are too.

Governor Stitt’s summit was an attempt not just to pay tribute to those who died but to take seriously the challenge of reducing contempt and hatred in our own time. The conversation between the Republican Kevin Stitt and the Democrat Representative Suzanne Schreiber struck me. They celebrated the bills they passed together, like medical debt transparency, and they disagreed on bills that divided them, such as immigration and school choice.

At one point, Schreiber made a powerful point: “I wish I didn’t have a ‘D’ after my name,” she said. “I wish I had an ‘O’ after my name for an Oklahoman.” I wondered what letter I’d put after my name if I were given the choice. Would it be “U” for the Unity Party?  Or “J” for the Justice Party? I think I would choose “D,” but it would stand for the Party of Dignity.

Our convener, retired federal Judge Thomas Griffith, brought the unforgettable Will Rogers into the conversation by reminding us of one of his great quotes: “Never miss a chance to shut up.”

Schreiber repeatedly emphasized the importance of being quiet and listening to others to understand their deepest hopes. So, too, did David McAllister-Wilson, president of Wesley Theological Seminary, and Dr. Mautra Jones, president of Oklahoma City Community College. Whether in politics, education, religion, or law, everyone noted that the capacity to listen is a prized skill.

Now that the political conventions are over and we’re in the final weeks of a high-stakes presidential campaign, I’m sure there will be less listening and more contempt. I get it: contempt works—or at least it seems to work.

But Kayla Marie and Antonio and all the innocent victims of Oklahoma City reminded me that perhaps our most sacred job right now as Americans is to end our addiction to contempt. Even when things are heated, we can each listen a little more and be a force for change, one uniter at a time.