Most of us have been reeling from the beyond-distressing footage of terror and desperation at Kabul Airport. We know, frankly, that this toxic chaos has been carelessly created in our name. We long for a trustworthy voice to enter the picture, yet it seems that this is not going to happen. We want to relieve every situation of despair. Lord, have mercy.
We mourn for Haiti, another nation so thoroughly exploited and abused down the centuries that continuing poverty makes it far less able to withstand the latest "act of God" earthquake, which wealthier places could take in their stride. Lord, have mercy.
We know that for all the suffering we are shown on our screens, there are corresponding horrors elsewhere which are hidden, which have not been highlighted, which are not being witnessed, and are yesterday’s news. Lord, have mercy.
As Jesus observed: “Whoever has will be given more; whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them.” Lord, have mercy.
Lutheran pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber compares the anguish overload we experience from seeing relentless footage of suffering on our screens every day to an electrical fuse-box being overloaded and tripping out. She makes the sensible claim that we are not designed for this. “The human heart and spirit were developed to be able to hold, feel and respond to any tragedy, injustice, sorrow or natural disaster that was happening in our village.”
Trying to meaningfully bear witness to all suffering everywhere, all the time, is impossible and unhelpful.
It also obscures the important fact that most societies cope, even in the worst circumstances. Communities rally round and organise themselves in the face of the direst hardships. Courageous individuals broker deals on behalf of their people. Children play and kindness and generosity exist at all times and in all places. Human beings are resilient and there is nearly always hope. Yet this is not news, and it tends to be overlooked, leaving us onlookers with an unwholesome saviour complex, and those who do need support mired in the role of passive victims.
My parents were over from Dublin on a visit to us in England last week. It was over a year since we had been together because of you-know-what. We were "saying grace" – thanking God for our food – when my Dad mentioned that it made him feel uncomfortable thanking God for food, when so many have none. Is there not something callous about being grateful for something that many others do not have? I had never considered gratitude from this angle before. Surely all good things come from God? Surely it is God's will for all of us to have what we need? We had a spirited discussion and – true to form – did not reach any conclusions!
Yet how best can we live with the dissonance of our good fortune, our unearned privilege? There is a proverb from the Bible: “Those who oppress the poor insult their Maker, but those who are kind to the needy honour him.” This is as sound a starting place as any.
Each of us has our part to play in any influence we can wield, in our generosity, in our advocacy, in our service, in our global citizenship. We need to pray. We need to hold our leaders (and each other) to account. But we cannot all strive for change in all things, all of the time. We need humility to discern where we are each to play our small part.
As people of faith, we are called to recognise God in the face of the other. This is what Jesus embodied when he lived as one of us. He lived in solidarity with the powerless. His own family sought asylum from persecution when he was a baby. He was sentenced to death under trumped-up charges and was tortured and executed by an occupying power. In Jesus we witness the painful mystery that God himself hides in human suffering. He descended into hell ahead of us. We believe that somehow he draws closest to those of us who have lost everything, and he weeps, and he honours, and he loves.