When we encounter poverty, especially for the first time,
something in us changes, something internal pulls, and something new stirs. For
me that was probably some time in Mexico with Parkview Youth Group. Wow, they live here? People go to church
here? Do they have other shoes?
When we encounter poverty, especially for the first time,
there comes this realization of how blessed we are. And if we are honest we
both hurt for the poor and becoming exceedingly thankful that we aren’t.
In these encounters, we also realize that God is with these people in some really
special way. After all, we come to understand that he physically meets their
daily needs. And so we become enlivened and excited to serve them and be with
them because we know God is letting us do his work. And so we work. And then we
leave.
And we leave and become confused. We come home and feel
discontent, after all, our lives just had so much purpose. So we promise to
change our lifestyle somehow. And perhaps we start giving more. I started
sponsoring a World Vision girl.
And then life goes back to normal. And you occasionally
remember a sight you saw, or you remember the lack of sanitation, and you say a
quick prayer. But overall, you adjust well to your surroundings at home again
and only become truly stirred the next time you get on a plane and decide to
encounter poverty again.
So what happens- why do we care for awhile at all? And why does that fade?
In my encounters, my sympathy and guilt could only last so long. I felt
a divide and sort of came to the understanding that this was just their plight, and what else could I do? If I was
really honest I would tell you that I couldn’t’ relate to people who were
so different. And so I made up narratives about the differences between us and
them. Like, oh they are stronger so they
can handle the heartbreak. Oh, this is all they’ve ever know, so they can’t
long for what they havent’ seen. Or, it’s not like we could help where we were
born. It’s not my fault my parents had money.
And I rationalized as I tried to make sense of it all. Because I, like you,
only knew how to care so much. With every mission’s trip, that feeling came and
went. And I just couldn’t figure out what all this poverty had to do with me.
That is, until the poor became my sisters and suddenly didn’t look
so different than me. As we shared a home, I found
out that they, like me, like to have warm showers. And they, like me, like to
do other girl’s hair. They have stomach aches when they consume some parasitic
bacteria. They get nervous trying to speak a new language. They really wanted
to succeed in school. They liked playing, watching movies, they hated laundry
and always wanted midnight snacks. And as they became we I found out that there were fewer differences than similarities between us as people. They were my sisters. And so poverty became ours.
Poverty is confusing. And it moves us and stirs us in
strange ways. And at each taste of it, we feel pulled to partake in some way. But
it’s too foreign, too vague, too unknown. And the taste goes away. And we stop
caring simply because we don’t’ know what else to do.
When will we see that the lines between us and them are faded? When will we stop long enough to stand in poverty with our equals? When will we see them as our brothers and sisters?
Well, when we develop relationships.
We each know we were meant to love the poor. It's time we stop running from that. Make friends with your taxi driver to the airport, he has stories to share. Stop and talk to the foreigner, show her how to get a cart from Aldi. Get involved in someone's life and share a burden. You will be eternally changed. And you will ache for heaven. But you won't have to wonder what that tug is anymore.
We must let poor into our lives. We must accept the foreign
as family, we must do it together. Because all of that stirring inside of us,
well, it’s a stirring that calls us to claim poverty as ours. It's a stirring for Shalom.
