Isolation of one, isolation of many
#architecture #architexture #sunrise #urban #city #johannesburg (at The Constitutional Court of South Africa)
What our culture calls #blessed, I call a burden. My Sunday @GracePointSA sermon.
My Sunday @GracePointSA sermon. Climbing the tower and your most important step…
The video that preceded this Sunday’s sermon, “A Role to Play”
Of Superfriends and “dating” the church - my Sunday sermon from @GracePointSA. #gpBody
Heartbreaking photographs abound.
The internet has brought us countless riveting images from around the world. We see protesters fighting for freedom. We see terrorists taking lives. We see devastation as nature reclaims her own and we see despair as humanity struggles to cope.
We see images like the one above. I don’t know how it makes you feel. I don’t know what thoughts come to mind as you look at it. Probably something along the lines of “that is so sad” or “that just shouldn’t be”.
We feel a twinge of something in our souls for a minute and then snap into reality and lament that they have to live that way. They are hungry. They are thirsty. They are dying.
And until we live in a world we have disposed of “they”, they always will be.
One of the great blessings of spending part of my life in Africa is the way God shaped my perspective and removed my ability to look at photos like this one with impersonal detachment. It is also a great burden. Those girls…that photo…it is intensely personal.
And yet…we all choose to keep a safe emotional distance, just out of reach of responsibility.
That cannot remain.
We must not say “they”.
They are hungry? No, our children are starving.
They are thirsty? No, our children are desperate for clean water.
We must claim these lives. They are ours. Those ARE my children, roughly the same ages as my own two daughters. By a simple trick of geography, those girls were born into famine and my girls were born into abundance. But both sets of girls have equal value. The weight of their souls is identical. The love of the Father for them, the image from which they were cast, is no different.
I wept when I saw this photo. Those are my girls.Those are my precious babies, struggling to make another day. Those are my princesses, a continent away.
My older, Bella Areah (named for an African woman of incredible strength and compassion), is always looking out for her younger sister. She sneaks treats to her sister and shares even when selfishness would be far easier. And that younger daughter of mine, Brixton Elaine (named for a Johannesburg ghetto that is so dark and yet so ready for a new light), is fiercely independent and yet innately trusts her big sister. She follows in her footsteps with confidence, knowing that the path has been laid and is safe in the moment.
Those are my children. Those are our children. We must claim them. And we must make change to see them thrive.
I honestly don’t know what that means exactly. I don’t have the solution to end famine or cure disease. I do know, however, that it is not something that “they” are burdened with. It is ours as well.
We are in it together. As soon as we dispose of “they”.