“I’m
finding that most Christians find it easier to ask my testimony than deal with
my current reality.”
As
the young woman sitting across from me said that, I found myself soberly realizing
the weight of the truth that one sentence carried.
My
mind quickly flooded itself with examples of issues that all too often the
American Christian community has deemed it easier to ignore as reality than
come to grips with the brutal truth.
Racism.
It
exists. In subtle and not so subtle ways.
Mental disorders.
They’re
real. They’re becoming common.
Domestic abuse.
It
happens more than most care to admit.
Christian
persecution.
Brothers
and sisters are dying all around the world.
Syrian refugees.
They
need a place to call home.
I’m
beginning to admit that all too often I
like my bubble too much to let it be popped by the reality of pain that so many
people are living in. But it’s time I realized, believed, and consequently
acted upon the truth that sacrificing my personal comfort or comfort zone brings
about a greater good. It’s also time to
realize that Christ was serious when He said to follow Him meant picking up a
cross. (Luke 9:23)
My
cross in America isn’t going to be the one fleeing for my life. Maybe my cross is the one standing up for
those who are. Not because of anything I can do individually. But because
of the power of Christ in me. The more I
research issues stemming from places of hatred, the more I understand why I have a cross to bear.
† People being dismissed as
less valuable because God blessed them with a gorgeous skin tone that happens
to be different than mine.
† People being turned away
from safety because we’re afraid that we’ll run out of room, resources, or
comfort with more refugees.
† People being dismissed as
dramatic rather than hurting because they have a mental disorder instead of a
physical one.
† People being told pain is
God’s will because it happens to come from the hand of a husband instead of a
stranger.
I,
for one, am tired. Tired of choosing
myself over my world. Jesus chose
the world when he picked up His cross. It’s
time that I choose the world and pick up mine.
Maybe that means…
that I start partnering with local organizations to learn
about racism and work together to end it. And maybe I start confronting that
friend who crosses the line. And educating that friend who makes well-intentioned
but ignorant statements.
Maybe that means…
that I educate myself on resources for people struggling
with mental disorders so that I can partner with hurting people instead of
being scared, pious, put out, or uncomfortable around them. And maybe that I
don’t instruct that friend to pray their way out of depression and instead I
just listen to the pain they’re living in.
Maybe that means…
that I realize domestic abuse is a real and terrifying reality
for many women in church-going homes across this country and I research ways to
actually help or pray for women in that situation. And maybe instead of joking
about spousal abuse, I start to invest my time helping agencies who help women.
Maybe that means…
that I start
sacrificially giving to organizations that are helping underground churches
around the world so that my brothers and sisters who are fighting for their
lives will receive some support from a family across the ocean. And maybe I
start with something as simple as supporting a child in need through a reputable
organization.
Maybe that means …
that I contact my congressmen and senators that I’m
deeply saddened that they have decided we have no room in our state for those
running for their lives. Especially given the fact that we’re closing in on the
Christmas season. And maybe I find out what organizations in my city or state
are working to help refugees and I consider going on a mission trip or opening
up my home to help them.
That one day, I’ll wake up and see a difference in my
world, and know that it came from a single small step of obedience that God
blessed into an unimaginably wondrous answer to prayer.
