Frankly, My Dear, …

Yesterday I got to have a conversation with my nephew, newly returned from a semester’s study at the American University in Cairo, Egypt. I listened as he talked about his experiences in Egypt, and then we talked about why things work the way they do there as compared to here in the USA, and also compared what works best here and what works best there. Since I have lived more than 10 years each in three different countries on three different continents, this is the kind of conversation I love the best. And I was impressed with Jesse’s appreciation of the inherent logic of Egyptian culture and his ability to take a critical look at his own culture, yet being clear that he is not a relativist and there are things he can’t condone. I threw myself into comparisons of university systems, political structure, crime, the situation for women, Christianity and Islam etc.

Then it occurred to me to wonder what a homeless man or woman in Seattle or Cairo might think of these issues, and whether s/he would consider those issues important or assess them in the same way Jesse and I were. 

I could almost hear God saying, kindly and gently, “Susanne, this is a sweet and lovely conversation, and these are charming ideas. I love you dearly. But frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn what you think.” Then I remembered what the prophets say over and over again, which I forget over and over again: The true measure of the moral condition of a society is measured by examining the situation of the marginalized in that society.

For the first time in my life, probably, I saw my opinions for what they are: the opinions of a woman who is among the wealthiest 6th percent of this planet’s inhabitants by virtue of being a middle-class Norwegian living in the USA. I may be well-intentioned, but my vision is horribly distorted by the circumstances in which I live. And my concerns are correspondingly irrelevant to God’s purpose for the world and the majority of God’s sons and daughters. 

Even with this insight and my desire to take God’s view of human life, I have to wonder whether I will ever be capable of understanding God’s purpose for me and others. Can I understand God’s purpose for the church? Do I have any hope of comprehending what true community looks like, when my community consists mostly of Quakers like me, who think we are living simply and being environmentally friendly - all the while being among the top percentiles of wealth and knowledge on planet Earth?

If there is hope, it is only with God’s grace.

Lord, I humbly acknowledge that I know nothing. I pray that you would open my eyes to the things that I cannot see with my human eyes or understand with my human comprehension.

Query for prayerful imagination:

How might God’s priorities for the world look different if I were at the middle - 50% of the people in the world own more than I do and 50% own less than I do? 

- if 75% of people own more than I do? 

- if I were in the bottom percentile - if 99% of the world’s people have more than I do? 

Ruined for Life

The Jesuit Volunteer Corps (JVC) has as its informal slogan “Ruined for Life”. I love that phrase and appreciate that many of us are “ruined for life” without ever having been in JVC. What I like about the phrase is how amazingly intentional they are about creating a process of alienation in which a person with privilege is given an experience of what life is like for the poor. After getting to know individual men, women, and children who are poor, a ruined person will forever choke on foie gras and champagne. We are ruined because we can no longer settle for merely ensuring the well-being of our own circle of friends and family while we engage in charity on the side. As ruined people, our circle of care has expanded to include the marginalized, and we can only be content when each child of God has access to food, shelter, education and meaningful work. Which means we can never be content. We are ruined.

Being ruined hurts. Like most spiritual processes, being ruined is not a once-in-a-life-time event. It happens again and again. Sometimes we go in with eyes open, as with JVC. Other times it catches us by surprise:

I woke up this morning feeling sad and alone, feeling that no-one understands what I’m talking about or writing about these days - not really. I was discouraged by my city’s (Seattle’s) way of responding to the crisis of homelessness. I felt irritable about the Bible study I went to last night. I couldn’t bring myself to go to Quaker Meeting this morning because I was sure I wouldn’t connect with anyone, and I was ready to write off liberal Quakerism altogether.  After I had persuaded myself that none of my friends are with me on my current exploration of abundance and gratitude, I talked myself into believing that my husband doesn’t understand my musings about the graces I receive at the Recovery Cafe, either.

When I had written everyone off, I reminded myself not to engage in self-pity but to look for something for which to be grateful, of which there ought to be plenty since we all are enfolded by God’s abundance. Then I could see clearly again, and I saw the multitude of people I know and people I have not yet met who have been ruined for life. I knew that I have just been “ruined for life” all over again.

For that I am truly grateful. Therein lies hope, because compassion grows forth from the ruins of people like you and me.

Query for prayerful consideration:

When I feel alienated from everyone and everything, where do I find hope?

The True Treasures of the Church

This is the story of St. Lawrence the Deacon, adapted from Wikipedia:

In 258, the prefect of Rome demanded that Lawrence turn over the riches of the Church. Lawrence asked for three days to gather together the wealth. Lawrence worked swiftly to distribute as much Church property to the poor as possible, so as to prevent its being seized by the prefect. On the third day, at the head of a small delegation, Lawrence presented himself to the prefect, and when ordered to give up the treasures of the Church, he presented the poor, the crippled, the blind and the suffering, and said that these were the true treasures of the Church. Lawrence declared, “The Church is truly rich, far richer than your emperor.” For this Lawrence was martyred.

Once again, here is a story that took me a long, long time to understand. How can the poor, the crippled, the blind and the suffering be the true treasures of the church?

Here’s what I think it means: As I recently heard someone say at a conference on homelessness, the condition of the poor and the marginalized tells us most plainly what the moral condition of society is. Indeed, that is the message of the prophets throughout the Old Testament, and that is what Jesus explained to us in Matthew 25:40. What we do for the “least” of our borthers and sisters, we do for God. If you and I, as reasonably financially comfortable persons, want an objective view on whether we are living in right relationship with God and God’s creation, all we need to is look at how well our society is taking care of its “poor, crippled, lame and suffering”.

The German theologian Jurgen Moltmann was in Seattle recently, and he said it in a similar way: The perpetrators of violence want to forget what they have done. Perpetrators of injustice need the victims to remind them of their wrongdoing.

The poor, crippled, lame, and blind among us are beloved children of God in their own right. They do not merely exist so that I may get a chance to get things right. As beloved sons and daughters of God, they and I - we all - deserve love and support because we are created with and for love by God. Nonetheless, one of the ways the poor are the true treasures of the church is that they help us to see ourselves as God sees us, examining how well we are doing at loving God, ourselves, and our neighbor.

Queries for prayerful consideration:

What is this treasure that the poor have given to me?