Some Final Thoughts

"Painting has always been a quiet respite for me. The long cadence of the brush upon whatever blemish I’m trying to hide allows me time to think beyond the preoccupation of the moment. Today, as I put the final coat on my woodworking project for this week, my thoughts turned to that Whitman poem we all had to learn in high school; you know the one. It’s called I Sit and Look Out. I’ll copy it here to jog your memory:

I sit and look out upon all the sorrows of the world, and upon all oppression and shame, 

I hear secret convulsive sobs from young men at anguish with themselves, remorseful after deeds done, 

I see in low life the mother misused by her children, dying, neglected, gaunt, desperate, 

I see the wife misused by her husband, I see the treacherous seducer of young women, 

I mark the ranklings of jealousy and unrequited love attempted to be hid, I see these sights on the earth, 

I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny, I see martyrs and prisoners, 

I observe a famine at sea, I observe the sailors casting lots who shall be kill'd to preserve the lives of the rest, 

I observe the slights and degradations cast by arrogant persons upon laborers, the poor, and upon negroes, and the like; 

All these--all the meanness and agony without end I sitting look out upon, 

See, hear, and am silent.

--Walt Whitman

I recalled this poem because of a conversation I had with Jason (not his real name), one of the team leaders at Village of Hope. On a walk  to the neighborhood of Chituc yesterday, our team got the chance to more intimately see and hear the many paradoxes of daily life in Guatemala. Chatting with Jason, as we walked he told me about his family and his middle class upbringing in Guatemala City. As a 20 year old, well-educated young man, Jason talked about how the hopes and dreams of many members of his generation are confounded by the betrayals of his country’s political leaders, the loss of faith in many of the nation’s most fundamental institutions, and the grinding poverty that suffocates nearly 60 percent of Guatemala’s citizens. 

As we passed near the incongruity of beautiful homes bordered by high walls and razor wire, and within a few paces of hovels adrift in oceans of despair, I wondered which class of Guatemalans was the more imprisoned, and the more impoverished. Jason explained to me that it wasn't until he began working at Village of Hope, that he became both motivated to address the needs of the poor, and conscious of fact that his welfare is bound up with theirs. “In Guatemala, we don’t really think about it, we just have to take care of ourselves.” he told me, “The problems are just too big.” Jason said that as a matter of self-preservation, this is the view his parents have adopted, and which they have sought to inculcate in their children; but for the past nine months Jason has been growing in his understanding that the long-term survival of Guatemala, and thus his own material well-being, are closely interwoven. His insights led me to think about my own sons, and how the widening social and political fissures in the U.S. are creating walls of fear, alienation and indifference--I wonder about the America they will inherit, and I pray that, come what may, the love of Christ would be their sure foundation, and the anchor for their souls.

Whitman’s poem and Jason’s crisis of conscience reminds me of the tension in which we live. As committed followers of Christ, we cannot succumb to the paralysis of silence nor can we imprison ourselves in fortresses of indifference. The insolence of office, and all the outrageous injustice that flesh is heir to can almost bring to our lips the question we dare not ask: Why, God? Instead, we must resist the impulse towards presumptuousness or cynicism, and allow the anguish we feel at the sight of unspeakable suffering to drive us to our knees, where we may see Jesus high and lifted up. There, we find something better than an answer to a question; we find the answer to our deepest need: the source of all hope and the assurance of what our hearts most yearn for.

Jason says that he has begun to challenge his parents whenever the conversation allows, but it’s been tough sledding. I didn’t ask, but I don’t get the feeling that his folks are believers; and as of this post I realize that I’m running out of week in which to really explore whether Jason’s passion for the poor is rooted in a zeal for the gospel. Nevertheless, my prayer for Jason is also my petition. As I seek one person at a time to identify with the reality of suffering in the world, may the deeper cause of sin, and the deeper need for a savior inform my understanding and my actions. And, as human institutions and man-made solutions demonstrate the inherent futility of all earth bound answers to the fundamental human question, may the people of God never go silent on Jesus as the answer, speaking the truth in love, and displaying love through good deeds." - Edd