Confession: I don’t have an answer to the question.
Sometimes I think I don’t even know the question.
To any of you who felt jerked around in this story—“Where is this girl at, anyway? First this and then that–” Remember there’s a reason. I’m feeling jerked around too.
I like to imagine, in my fonder moments, that I am entirely independent and rational. I think I’ll wake up tomorrow morning free to choose what to wear, what to eat, what to buy… but that’s something of an illusion. Even waking up is not exactly by choice. And I wear what’s here. I eat what’s available. I buy what’s been brought to my town from Italy (kiwi) and Argentina (grapes) and China (toilet paper).
Some would say it’s impossible for me to buy, say, a fair-trade banana or an ethically produced smartphone.
What if the products I buy are only available to me because the world is not operating on the principles of Jesus?
Don’t you think that’s the case, more often than we’d like to admit?
Here are some thoughts I’ve been mulling.
1. With increasing knowledge comes increasing responsibility.
I mean not only increasing private knowledge, which can perhaps be turned off at will, but increasing public awareness. When abortion was first talked of in America, it was acceptable to call it “removing a blob of tissue.” Now that we’ve probed the tiny beating heart, discovered the grimaces away from light, unwrapped the oh-so-human features, even abortion advocates don’t talk that way anymore. We argue about what to do with it, but we all know it’s a baby in there.
Alan Paton wrote a story on the oppression of South Africa in the mid-1900’s. Through the mouth of one of his characters, he said this:
What we did when we came to South Africa was permissible. It was permissible to develop our great resources with the aid of what labour we could find. It was permissible to use unskilled men for unskilled work. But it is not permissible to keep men unskilled for the sake of unskilled work… It is permissible to develop any resources if the labour is forthcoming. But it is not permissible to develop any resources if they can be developed only at the cost of the labour. It is not permissible to mine any gold, or manufacture any product, or cultivate any land, if such minding and manufacture and cultivation depend for their success on a policy of keeping labour poor. It is not permissible to add to one’s possessions if these things can only be done at the cost of other men. Such development has only one true name, and that is exploitation. It might have been permissible in the early days of our country, before we became aware of its cost, in the disintegration of native community life, in the deterioration of native family life, in poverty, slums, and crime. But now that the cost is known, it is no longer permissible. –[amazon_link id=”074326195X” target=”_blank” container=”” container_class=”” ]Cry, the Beloved Country[/amazon_link]
An individual may bury his head in the sand if he likes, but society often knows better. We bear increasing responsibility, are given constant opportunities to unlearn our own errors. What’s happening in China’s factories and on Columbia’s plantations is easier to discover than it used to be. Celebrate the growing awareness.
2. With increasing knowledge comes a need for increasing faith.
One hundred years ago, there was little information about the poor in Brazil, or the politically oppressed in the Philippines. We trusted that God was holding the world together and looking out for His children. Today, we have daily and hourly breaking news from every quarter of the globe, and we feel immediate compulsion not only to care, but to fix.
There is much to care about—where my store’s coffee came from and how it treats its suppliers, where it dumps its waste and how much it pays its workers, whether it was started by a Wiccan and whether it will spend my money to campaign for gay rights.
In the 21st century, we still need to trust that God is holding the world intact and looking after His children. While learning, while caring, while working to alleviate, we need to resist the feeling that the world’s survival depends solely on us.
3. In fact, we must accept the fact that the world system is opposed to Christ.
We Christians reject the world system utterly. But we also live in it. Like it or not, the world system is what brings us bananas and smartphones (and convinces us we need lots of them).
When Walmart is dethroned, another turtle will rise to the top. Perhaps we cannot change this. Instead of just targeting upper turtles, can we crawl a little lower on the stack ourselves?
4. We must become willing to forego personal happiness for the good of others.
Propaganda should make us laugh. Advertising is all about people who want to take our money convincing us that personal happiness is the ultimate meaning of life, and personal happiness lies with their product. Clothing ads promise to make us look like a million bucks for only forty. Toothpaste ads promise us soul mates if we smile right. Oh really? That’s a turtle tower. They’re telling us Get higher on the stack. And P.S.—let us ride on your back to the top.
Everyone says “You can’t change the world, you know.” But the world is a very complex collection of moving parts. When I change a few of the moving parts, I have changed the world, and it won’t stop there. It matters to me if Chinese workers are oppressed. It matters if the stores I frequent believe in expendable labor. I care. And though I cannot change it all, I have daily opportunities to lay down my selfish demand that the world deliver happiness to Shari Zook at the expense of everyone else.
Maybe I can go without that commodity. Maybe I can grow some food instead of having it rushed over from Honolulu. Maybe I can find a way to give instead of take. The choices I make form habits, and my habits form me. Do my habits reflect selfishness or servanthood?
I want to cry out with the oppressed, to add my voice to theirs and make it loud in God’s ears. How do I do this? Am I trying to find out?
5. We need to remember that it’s humans we’re talking about on every level. And Jesus loves humans.
I can be so absorbed in solving world problems that I miss the ones under my nose.
I still vote with my money, and as often as possible I’m voting for the little guy. But when I really must shop from the big guy, I’m surprised to find that all of his workers are little guys. My Walmart cashier is a little guy, wanting to keep her job. My McDonald’s employee is a little guy, flipping burgers, chopping lettuce, handing me my receipt. I can’t offer help to a system. I can offer help to a person.
Into every place I go, I take Jesus—an excellent reason for entering the most depraved areas of the universe. And in every place I go, I meet Jesus. He’s there having a meltdown in the candy aisle. He’s there being harangued in a back room by his irate employer. He’s having trouble making decisions today because his mother is dying. He needs help with his cane and his bags.
Do I care?
I’m learning here. Thinking and rethinking. What do you have to say? What parts am I missing?