Blame, Silence, and Solutions.

My heart is broken, or at least that is how it has felt the last couple of weeks.  I have been moved by discussions of race and social injustice, and noticed our knee jerk reactions to blame and accuse “those people” on both sides of the issue.  In the news, I learned that my former tennis coach was arrested for sexual misconduct with a 14-year-old student.  Outraged comments poured forth, “Yet another Christian pervert . . . let him burn in hell.”  We are quick to point fingers of harsh judgment and condemnation believing we would never act in such a devious way. We choose to blame and accuse in hopes to find reason and meaning into senseless acts.

There seems to be a shortage of dialogue and an unwillingness to look deep into ourselves.  To see that we too have the capacity to destroy lives either through our direct actions or through our silence. 

I have been intrigued with the Holocaust since my adolescence.  It began with reading The Diary of Anne Frank and Corrie ten Boom’s The Hiding Place.  My intrigue started with questions of survival and resilience.  Then it became an interest in the manifestation of evil – how did ordinary German citizens become sadistic murderers?  Lately my interest has resurfaced, only this time I have started looking at the silent consent the general German population gave towards open prejudice and hate crimes.  I have always believed that if I had lived in Germany during WWII, I would have worked the underground Nazi resistance.  I have a history of advocating for the underdog.  I am related to Willie Brandt, former Chancellor of West Germany and known resistance worker.  I have said it was in my blood.  It was in my theology – we must be willing to lay our lives down for our neighbors.  I recently read Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy, by Eric Metaxas.  I resonated with Bonhoeffer’s theology and his ethics.  We must do what is right no matter what the cost.

And then I look at my children.  I suddenly begin to waiver in my steadfast convictions.  I no longer know what I would do if I had to choose between the life of a stranger, or even a beloved neighbor if it meant jeopardizing the life and safety of my children.   They have also changed how I look at my own life.  I am less likely to take risks that could compromise my role and involvement as mother in their life.  Suddenly I can see myself as a passive condoner.  I can see blood on my hands – my silence makes me no less guilty than if I had carried out the crimes myself. 

I was examining my conscience --  searching my soul for roots of sin.  I came to greed.  I do not consider myself a greedy person.  I live in a modest house with modest furniture and I drive a modest car and a necessary minivan.   Our household income is only slightly above the national average which means we have enough to provide our needs but not much in terms of extras.  I want for little.  I often envy those who seem to have great fortunes, especially the ones who I assume are also jerks, but honestly I would not want their life.  I was ready to write myself off as greed-free, but I started to dig a little deeper.  I close my eyes to the plight of my impoverished neighbors, both those in my immediate vicinity as well as in countries far away.  I choose to place the safety and comfort of my family ahead of those who are dying.  I am a passive condoner to the oppression of the poor.  I am coming to believe that my silence, my choosing to remain comfortable rather than look the hungry in the eyes, makes me just as guilty as corrupt governments and other greedy thieves.

As a result, I have begun to contemplate deep questions that lack an easy answer:  How are we to live?  What does it mean to truly love our neighbor?  What does it look like to deny ourselves and lay down our lives for God and one another? 

I have been begging for some clarity.  Please, someone tell me exactly what I am supposed to do and how I am to be!  I have even wondered, do I sacrifice my house and become homeless in order to help the plight of those around me?  Do I put my own personal safety or that of my children on the line in order to show mercy to my neighbor?  Do I move my family to the ghettos or the third world in order to bring some hope and a little bit of love into dark and starving corners of the world? 

What I am discovering is a lack of clear cut answers.  It’s messy.  Just as it is easy to do nothing except point fingers and blame others, I find it just as tempting to become paralyzed in the presence of overwhelming oppression, starvation, injustice, and corruption.  I remember walking through the streets of Hanoi, Vietnam feeling like I was being suffocated.  Everywhere I looked were street children begging for food and disabled bodies, some ravaged by the effects of Agent Orange used by my fellow Americans during the war.  There is so much to do, so many neighbors in need of help it is hard to know where to begin.  Mother Theresa told people to each find their own Calcutta.  

I still have no clear answers as to what I am supposed to “do” with my life.  What I do know is that I must see myself as not only working toward a solution, but humbly accept that I am part of the problem.