Before you begin to read this, I want to
express... clearly... that I expect this to be one of the most unpopular things
I have ever written. I expect
backlash. I don't even want to write
this. And yet, here I am...
"Wherever
there is a carcass, there the vultures will gather" (Matthew 24:28, NIV).
It's like we're vultures. I
feel like a vulture.
The world is filled with tragedy,
friends. Filled... with... it...
I have always been relatively sensitive to
this. I can remember specific, detailed
information about airplane crashes, accidents, disappearances, and murders that
I would have heard about on the news as a child. This stuff sticks with me, but I would like
to take a moment to authentically communicate some things:
*I have no idea what it feels like to board a
vessel that is not seaworthy... with toddlers in tow... because this is the safest choice I can make for my family...
only to watch them all drown. Remember
the Syrian refugee crisis? We were all
upset about it last September, but as it wears on, and real people continue to
live and die in unacceptable circumstances, all but a handful of people I know
(missionaries on the ground, immigration lawyers, etc.) have moved on. At some point, this crisis ceased to be the
hot button topic, and let's be real it was sooner rather than later. To blog about Syrian refugees, today, is
social media suicide. There are no
ratings in it. Almost nobody cares. And yet there is a father and husband out
there, completely alone.
*I have no idea what it feels like to be the
mother of black children who may be shot, with or without cause... whose
stories will never be fully known and whose deaths will almost certainly not
result in any kind of justice, because our system is flawed. Every time this happens (and it's mind
blowing how often it happens), we all get upset. We blog it.
We spew FB statuses and tweets.
And then the next shiny distraction comes along and we forget their
names. Each one creates a moment during
which we can potentially be illumined
by the spotlight, but as the attention shifts and the light dims, we don't even
panic for a split second. There will be
another story to take advantage of, soon enough. It will take the place of this one. Never mind the family who could never have
another child to do the same.
*I have no idea what it feels like to be the
widow of a police officer shot in the line of duty... perhaps one who was one
of the good ones... simply because there are bad ones. I have no idea what it feels like to wonder
if it's safe to let my children sit close to the car windows as their father's
body is paraded through a town filled with people who mostly loved him and a
couple of mentally unstable ones who might try to take another shot. The pictures will flood the media. They will become the poster family for taking
a stand against violence inflicted on public servants. And then the next time any of us is pulled
over for speeding, we'll hate law enforcement all over again and find ourselves
completely unable to pull that family's images back to our memory banks. We don't have to walk into the house filled
with candid photographs of what life used to be like.
*I have no idea what it feels like to walk
into a club and be gunned down because of my sexual orientation. Are we still talking about this? Oh, we're not? Because a couple of weeks ago if you didn't
make a statement within minutes of this tragedy, somebody was calling for your
head. Now that 50 people are dead and
buried it seems as if, maybe, the narrative has run its course.
*I have no idea what it feels like to have
my preschooler fall into a gorilla pit at the zoo or to have my toddler
violently snatched away from my side... and this life... by an alligator, while
vacationing at Disney World. We all become
experts, though, when it happens to someone else, don't we? My goodness, how about some compassion and
humility! I am one of the most
protective mothers I know... to a fault... to the point that people criticize
me for it... and even I have had moments
during which my children have slipped away from me. Graciously, these have not ended in tragedy,
but I think it might be time to admit that we're not any better than anybody
else, and accidents happen to everyone.
I'm pretty sure I could go on and on and on. Even this post is a sad testimony to the fact
that we forget the suffering of others in a very short amount of time, because
all I have noted are recent events. But
this is the point: We are called to be vulnerable, not to exploit the vulnerability of
others. Oh, good grief! This is awful! It is far easier to exploit! But we just have to stop.
I recently set a new standard for myself (and subsequently
broke it, already, with this piece). I'm
not planning to write anything more about issues for which I am not actively working
to find solutions. This has decreased the
number of topics about which I can write... with integrity... by an alarmingly
large number. It seems, though, that
integrity matters to me, so there are two things I can do about this. I can write less, or I can do more to promote
change and redemption in the world.
Well, you know how much I love to write, so guess which choice I'm
making...
L.
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