My heart is broken, or at least that is how it has felt the
last couple of weeks. I have been moved
by discussions of race and social injustice, and noticed our knee jerk
reactions to blame and accuse “those people” on both sides of the issue. In the news, I learned that my former tennis
coach was arrested for sexual misconduct with a 14-year-old student. Outraged comments poured forth, “Yet another
Christian pervert . . . let him burn in hell.”
We are quick to point fingers of harsh judgment and condemnation
believing we would never act in such a devious way. We choose to blame and
accuse in hopes to find reason and meaning into senseless acts.
There seems to be a shortage of dialogue and an
unwillingness to look deep into ourselves.
To see that we too have the capacity to destroy lives either through our
direct actions or through our silence.
I have been intrigued with the Holocaust since my
adolescence. It began with reading The Diary of Anne Frank and Corrie ten
Boom’s The Hiding Place. My intrigue started with questions of
survival and resilience. Then it became
an interest in the manifestation of evil – how did ordinary German citizens
become sadistic murderers? Lately my
interest has resurfaced, only this time I have started looking at the silent
consent the general German population gave towards open prejudice and hate
crimes. I have always believed that if I
had lived in Germany during WWII, I would have worked the underground Nazi
resistance. I have a history of
advocating for the underdog. I am
related to Willie Brandt, former Chancellor of West Germany and known
resistance worker. I have said it was in
my blood. It was in my theology – we must
be willing to lay our lives down for our neighbors. I recently read Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy, by Eric Metaxas. I resonated with Bonhoeffer’s theology and
his ethics. We must do what is right no
matter what the cost.
And then I look at my children. I suddenly begin to waiver in my steadfast
convictions. I no longer know what I
would do if I had to choose between the life of a stranger, or even a beloved
neighbor if it meant jeopardizing the life and safety of my children. They have also changed how I look at my own
life. I am less likely to take risks
that could compromise my role and involvement as mother in their life. Suddenly I can see myself as a passive
condoner. I can see blood on my hands –
my silence makes me no less guilty than if I had carried out the crimes myself.
I was examining my conscience -- searching my soul for roots of sin. I came to greed. I do not consider myself a greedy person. I live in a modest house with modest
furniture and I drive a modest car and a necessary minivan. Our household income is only slightly above
the national average which means we have enough to provide our needs but not
much in terms of extras. I want for
little. I often envy those who seem to
have great fortunes, especially the ones who I assume are also jerks, but
honestly I would not want their life. I
was ready to write myself off as greed-free, but I started to dig a little
deeper. I close my eyes to the plight of
my impoverished neighbors, both those in my immediate vicinity as well as in
countries far away. I choose to place
the safety and comfort of my family ahead of those who are dying. I am a passive condoner to the oppression of
the poor. I am coming to believe that my
silence, my choosing to remain comfortable rather than look the hungry in the
eyes, makes me just as guilty as corrupt governments and other greedy thieves.
As a result, I have begun to contemplate deep questions that
lack an easy answer: How are we to live?
What does it mean to truly love our
neighbor? What does it look like to deny
ourselves and lay down our lives for God and one another?
I have been begging for some clarity. Please, someone tell me exactly what I am
supposed to do and how I am to be! I
have even wondered, do I sacrifice my house and become homeless in order to
help the plight of those around me? Do I
put my own personal safety or that of my children on the line in order to show
mercy to my neighbor? Do I move my
family to the ghettos or the third world in order to bring some hope and a
little bit of love into dark and starving corners of the world?
What I am discovering is a lack of clear cut answers. It’s messy.
Just as it is easy to do nothing except point fingers and blame others,
I find it just as tempting to become paralyzed in the presence of overwhelming
oppression, starvation, injustice, and corruption. I remember walking through the streets of
Hanoi, Vietnam feeling like I was being suffocated. Everywhere I looked were street children begging
for food and disabled bodies, some ravaged by the effects of Agent Orange used
by my fellow Americans during the war.
There is so much to do, so many neighbors in need of help it is hard to
know where to begin. Mother Theresa told
people to each find their own Calcutta.
I still have no clear answers as to what I am supposed to “do”
with my life. What I do know is that I
must see myself as not only working toward a solution, but humbly accept that I
am part of the problem.
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