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Hunger

I saw the dying people of Sudan yesterday. They were thin wooden statues, with mournful faces and blank eyes. I saw a child drinking his mother's milk, a mere sack of skin and bones. Then I saw its mother, not much better herself.

This is such an unpopular subject. I know I would wince to read it in someone else's writing, or to hear this said to me. I cannot handle these images; they are too alien; too strong. If I'd let them affect me I couldn't live normally. Could I? I can assign blame; the Sudanese are fighting a civil war over religion. I can rationalize why I shouldn't be concerned with people who are so far away. My reaction when confronted with human suffering is to turn away.

Why is it that I want not to turn away? Something in me burns when I see someone I could help, but I usually turn away. When I see someone I couldn't help without sacrificing my own comfort, I turn away even quicker. What am I in the world for? Is it for my own enjoyment or to lift others up?

What can we do about the needs of dying poor in countries that are drowning in sin? Can we walk away like the Pharisees and say: "They are paying for their past sins, let's keep away from them?" What, then is the alternative? Imitating Francis of Asisi or Mother Theresa?

Once again, the calm answer comes to me from God saying: "I made you; I made you for good works. I have already prepared them to you. I am the one who calls you and sustains you. Do not fret." I know that God will give me work in his kingdom if I let him. Wherever He sends me, his word will not come back to Him empty but prosper.

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