Don't Look Away
It’s too much.
My heart has been pushed beyond breaking over the images from Haiti, Afghanistan, and so many other places (including here in the U.S.) that are at a fever pitch of anguish and conflict.
I held stories of my friends’ Vietnamese parents, triggered by images out of Afghanistan, reliving the terror when Saigon fell and they became refugees frantic for safety. This last week has been one where sitting in grief is what I am capable of right now. I lament as I sit with the reality that what we are witnessing cannot be divorced from deeply rooted systemic injustices that have been causing suffering for vulnerable people for a very long time.
These generations-old issues make a pathway for war and natural disaster to be even more devastating, as we are seeing. Yet because of the longevity of the systemic issues—systemic sins—we can forget the lived reality of the vulnerable in the midst of our fast-paced news cycle and shorter historical memory.
How do we reckon with the sinking feeling that we as individuals, or that we as the Church, have been ignorant? Or worse, complicit?
How do we wrestle with the frustration that God is not moving in ways that would obliterate all evil in this world?
What do I do with this doubt? This anger?
What should I do?
Give it to God.
I don’t mean this flippantly as a platitude, nor am I saying abdicate connection and responsibilities as followers of Jesus in this broken world.
Instead, release the burden of outcomes to God and honor the emotions you have by actually feeling them.
Your faith is not negated by doubt. God can handle your doubt. He doesn’t require you to feel warm and fuzzy toward him to still care deeply about you. The real question is: Are you afraid your faith cannot withstand your doubt? This is not a trivial fear and I encourage an honest exploration of it with your community and those you trust.
I know it may feel safer to distance ourselves from the pain of others and our own doubts. But the danger in distance is that God made us for connection, not distance. He made our flesh that bears his image in such a way that we would fully connect with, nurture, and care deeply for all of creation—that we would be fully present in creation, even when fully present may mean we are grieving.
Jesus wept. He knew suffering (John 11). He has compassion for the pain of the oppressed and the pain and doubt you may carry. Don’t shy away because you can’t put on a happy face as you approach the throne of God.
God does not demand toxic positivity that will erase your fragile and beautiful humanity. He offers himself and the faithfulness of loving you, no matter what. He does this so you, so we, can continue to be fully-human image bearers who are capable of deep love—able to desire and take action to make this world more like heaven despite the magnitude of brokenness within ourselves and the world.
So what should you and I do? Don’t look away. Allow your heart to get involved with desiring justice and loving people well even when it costs and when it hurts. Allow yourself to be filled with holy discontent at injustices that harm people and creation. This goes for us as individuals and us collectively as the global Church.
We cannot be bold and love like Jesus if our eyes are closed and our hearts locked away. The church cannot be the hands and feet of Jesus if we choose an emotionally safe distance over being present with people in their pain.
