Youthful conviction

If you read my blog, you probably realize that the idea of social justice is something I've been wrestling through. It's taken me years to even begin to reach the point of having my heart broken for the things that break God's heart. I used to be the one who wanted to help those less fortunate than me to make myself feel good, to "be a good Christian," and, probably on some level, to show my superiority. I honestly believed that I wasn't in "their" (meaning the poor) shoes because I worked hard. I had a job because I pursued it relentlessly. I wasn't in debt because I made good choices. I received an excellent college education because my studiousness allowed me to do so. Only recently have I realized that all of my opportunities came from my socioeconomic position. I am white, born to parents who taught me to value education, who sacrificed to allow me to thrive, who were able to move so that I could attend excellent public schools. While I wouldn't say that until recently I was apathetic to the poor and suffering, I will say that my heart was not broken for them as the Lord's is. 


At Furman, as I learned more of the human consequences of sin, I recognized the complexity of poverty and oppression. When I began to teach high school in Macon, I showed my FPD students the documentary Invisible Children. As someone who prizes education and despises ignorance, I wanted to enlighten my students to the world outside of their bubble. But it was their hearts that moved to ACT after hearing about the plight of child soldiers in Uganda by raising money to help fund schools. Now, with the students in my Christian Thought class, we've been talking through James 1:22-27:

"²²But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves. ²³For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks intently at his natural face in a mirror. ²⁴For he looks at himself and goes away and at once forgets what he was like. ²⁵But the one who looks into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and perseveres, being no hearer who forgets but a doer who acts, he will be blessed in his doing. 

²⁶If anyone thinks he is religious and does not bridle his tongue but deceives his heart, this person’s religion is worthless. ²⁷Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world."

This idea of "being doers of the word" has been plaguing me. My heart is broken for the orphans, for mothers who can't feed their children, for the victims of human trafficking, for women denied education, for mothers dying in childbirth, for babies who contract HIV, for aging grandparents trying to provide for their grandchildren after AIDS ravaged their family, for countries still reeling from ethnic genocides, for gender-based abortions, for communities who have no clean water, for honor killings, for the fistula crisis in Africa, for Haitian children who still can't find their parents, and on and on and on. Sin has very real, painful, dire consequences. But what can I do about it?

As I read through my students' recently assigned papers answering the question of God's vision of social justice and how American Christians respond, I was humbled and inspired. Their youthful conviction struck me. One student wrote, "We as Americans are sheltered, spoiled, and most of the time blissfully unaware of the tragedies of everyday life in other countries...But when we show justice and God's love to people, we are following after God's own heart, because he cares about them deeply." Another student beautifully summarized, "Human nature keeps track of social justice by hours and calls it community service, but God's vision of social justice is constantly measured in the heart and demonstrated through words and actions." This student then continued, "Americans are narcissistic. Sinful nature causes us to focus on ourselves and forget those suffering around us, but Jesus begs us to travel through the narrow gate and go beyond the simple desires of our flesh."  (Can you tell I have a future writer on my hands!?) Another student wrote about God's association of himself as "defender of the poor" in Isaiah, determining that "God needs us to be earthly defenders, going out of our way to show people the love and mercy" that Christ showed us on the cross. She continued that "Christians have turned their faith into a habit, instead of creating a personal relationship with God. Since they have no relationship with the Lord, they cannot successfully make just relationships with society."

Most students decided that we as Christians fail to act on God's design for justice. Tim Keller argues for biblical justice based on the Hebrew term, mishpat, which means to treat people equitably and render what they are due, whether punishment, protection or care. However, Keller emphasizes that mishpat must work in tandem with chesedh,  the Hebrew term for "mercy." My students beautifully expressed their belief that God's vision of justice necessitates "doing justice out of merciful love," a mandate perfectly enacted through Christ's death for us on the cross. Jesus died to take our punishment, but he did so out of merciful love to protect us from eternal separation from God. How then could our hearts not transform and extend this same mercy to others? One student aptly concluded her paper with Psalm 33:5: 

^"5He loves righteousness and justice;    the earth is full of the steadfast love of the LORD."

I pray that I would help show God's steadfast love, righteousness and justice. And I'm thankful that my students' convictions helped remind me to act on these commands. As a teacher, I continually strive (obviously) to instruct my students; but in the meantime, my students end up teaching me so much along the way. 

Where were you?

Today in class, I asked my students if they remembered September 11, 2001. All of them were either in 1st or 2nd grade, and many of them remembered parents and teachers crying and being glued to the TV. One of my students said his mom told him the people jumping out of the towers were landing on trampolines, I guess in an attempt to shield his innocent heart from pain. I told them how I was a junior in high school, their own age now, and saw the plane sticking out of the tower on a TV in my school's library. It seemed like a bad movie. For the rest of the day, we watched the horror unfold, people leaping from the towers, the towers ultimately falling, hearing about the pentagon. My dad rushed out that afternoon to buy an American flag, embarrassed that we didn't own one to fly in remembrance.

As I spoke with my students today, it dawned on me that in the past ten years, I rarely, if ever, recall September 11. I don't pray for the families who lost so much, or who still suffer with sick family members who fell ill from inhaling the dust and debris during rescue attempts. I don't pray for mothers and fathers who lost all their children that day, or for wives and husbands who lost their spouses. I forget that many children are growing up one parent short because of that fateful day and the aftermath that followed. One of my students thanked me after class for letting them talk about their memories and honor those lost in the towers. Another of my students teared up and grabbed a friend's hand while listening to a little boy's oral history about losing his "Pop-pop" and wishing he could tell his grandad how much he loved him. On a Friday, a day the students are normally so antsy, chatty, and ready for the weekend, my students sat in silence and listened to these oral histories, these voices releasing their pain and asking others to remember their loved ones. The sorrow of this tragedy weighed on my students, as it did me.

The truth is, I wouldn't have thought to do anything if a parent hadn't emailed me a reminder to honor the memory of 9/11 victims. How soon we forget. I can only imagine the worst part of losing someone in a tragedy is that you feel like the world forgets about that person who was so dear to you and who was snatched away so abruptly.

NPR is gathering oral histories of victims' families and friends to help honor those lost in 9/11. Click here to listen to some of their stories and to remember and honor those who lost their lives.Scroll down to the bottom of that article to see many stories from those remembering 9/11. Click here to see NPR's special series reflecting on 9/11.