Of Starfish and Filipino Babies
Recently I helped fund the birth of a Filipino baby whose mother I've never met, and probably never will. Our connection is through a missionary our church is supporting who serves, among other ways, as a midwife for some of the women in her neighborhood. We in the States don't come into contact with much true poverty, both by careful design in our personal lives, and by that fact that it frankly barely exists in a country where "the poor" are more likely to be obese than underweight and sometimes have better cell phone plans than I do. And besides, we know somewhere in the back of our minds (and often the front) that there's that great government safety net that will make sure no-one ever really gets hurt. Sure, there are some holes in it, but we Know that if someone shows up at the emergency room and needs a C-section, she'll get one and they'll worry about who pays later. This isn't the case in the Philippines. The doctors won't even look at you if they don't believe you have the cash. So this poor woman's best chance for her baby's survival, and possibly even her own, is the kindness of some perfect strangers on the other side of the world who, for the love of Christ, are willing to extend her aid.
When faced with the immediacy of the request in my e-mail box, I admit to a whole host of emotions and thoughts, some charitable, some most certainly not. Please don't judge me too harshly when I admit that one of my first emotions was frustration or irritation: it was already 9:30 pm, there were - or at least seemed to be - a lot of Logistics to deal with (not my forte.) Besides, isn't the internet something we're supposed to use to keep people at arm's length while fostering the illusion of intimacy? I'm not supposed to actually have to Do anything! Of course, there was also concern and sympathy for the woman, her husband, and her baby, and for my friend the missionary and how difficult a spot she is in. I wanted to help. I could help. I Would help!
And then, up pipes that rather cold, obnoxious voice of practicality that I seem to be cursed with. Could I afford to help? Absolutely. Giving birth in the Philippines isn't all that expensive, even when done at a hospital. Even a C-section in The Philippines isn't all that expensive - peanuts compared to a perfectly normal birth procedure here in the States. And I am part of a larger body: we'll all work together, and the funds will certainly come through. But what if this becomes a pattern? Could I afford to help the next time? Well, yes. But the next time? And the next, next, next, next time? Clearly at a certain point I run out of either resources or the willingness to apply them - I am afraid I know which one is most likely to happen first in my life. But even were that Not true, it's perfectly obvious that nothing that I can personally do can help every pregnant women - even every pregnant woman in a relatively small section of The Philippines - who is in a medical crisis. I can Never do enough. The math simply doesn't work. So... that little voice asks... why bother even helping this one?
That voice, I fear, is that of the Enemy.
The story of the boy and the starfish has been told so many times and in so many contexts that it's become cliche. Nevertheless, I believe it applies here. In the fable, a man happens upon a boy on a beach littered with starfish stranded by the outgoing tide. The boy is methodically picking up the fish and throwing them back into the waves. "Kid, you're crazy," says the man. "There are thousands of starfish on this beach. There's no possible way for you to help every one of them. You can't even make a difference!" The boy unconcernedly tosses another fish back into the water. "I made a difference to that one," he replies.
Jesus told us quite clearly that the poor would always be with us. He said this in the context of defending a woman who was lavishing gifts upon him personally that one of his disciples snarkily pointed out could have been better sold and given to those in poverty. It would obviously be a serious mistake to draw the conclusion that he doesn't also expect us to help those poor who are in our capacity to help - not only his own teachings but that of the entire rest of scripture make that clear. But he also obviously doesn't expect us to Succeed. That is, we will Not End Poverty. There, I said it. The war is un-winnable.
It does not follow, however, that it should not be fought.
Because we are of infinitely higher worth than starfish (or sparrows, for that matter). And making a difference to even one - well, Jesus also said that whatever we do for the "least of these" we are in fact doing for him personally. That should be motivation enough.
How and when and where and in what quantity we help... those are all questions that we must individually and prayerfully wrestle with. They're unpleasant questions, and I don't Like dealing with them. They make me examine the quality of and the limits to my own faith and commitment. They make me resent my own inadequacy and that of my race. They anger and upset me on so many levels, and I'd ever so much rather they'd just go away and leave me in comfort! But thankfully I can occasionally be jolted from my safe zone. Because at least at this moment I am content that one mother and her healthy child in the Philippines are a step closer to being "back in the water" with a little help from me. And that is enough.
When faced with the immediacy of the request in my e-mail box, I admit to a whole host of emotions and thoughts, some charitable, some most certainly not. Please don't judge me too harshly when I admit that one of my first emotions was frustration or irritation: it was already 9:30 pm, there were - or at least seemed to be - a lot of Logistics to deal with (not my forte.) Besides, isn't the internet something we're supposed to use to keep people at arm's length while fostering the illusion of intimacy? I'm not supposed to actually have to Do anything! Of course, there was also concern and sympathy for the woman, her husband, and her baby, and for my friend the missionary and how difficult a spot she is in. I wanted to help. I could help. I Would help!
And then, up pipes that rather cold, obnoxious voice of practicality that I seem to be cursed with. Could I afford to help? Absolutely. Giving birth in the Philippines isn't all that expensive, even when done at a hospital. Even a C-section in The Philippines isn't all that expensive - peanuts compared to a perfectly normal birth procedure here in the States. And I am part of a larger body: we'll all work together, and the funds will certainly come through. But what if this becomes a pattern? Could I afford to help the next time? Well, yes. But the next time? And the next, next, next, next time? Clearly at a certain point I run out of either resources or the willingness to apply them - I am afraid I know which one is most likely to happen first in my life. But even were that Not true, it's perfectly obvious that nothing that I can personally do can help every pregnant women - even every pregnant woman in a relatively small section of The Philippines - who is in a medical crisis. I can Never do enough. The math simply doesn't work. So... that little voice asks... why bother even helping this one?
That voice, I fear, is that of the Enemy.
The story of the boy and the starfish has been told so many times and in so many contexts that it's become cliche. Nevertheless, I believe it applies here. In the fable, a man happens upon a boy on a beach littered with starfish stranded by the outgoing tide. The boy is methodically picking up the fish and throwing them back into the waves. "Kid, you're crazy," says the man. "There are thousands of starfish on this beach. There's no possible way for you to help every one of them. You can't even make a difference!" The boy unconcernedly tosses another fish back into the water. "I made a difference to that one," he replies.
Jesus told us quite clearly that the poor would always be with us. He said this in the context of defending a woman who was lavishing gifts upon him personally that one of his disciples snarkily pointed out could have been better sold and given to those in poverty. It would obviously be a serious mistake to draw the conclusion that he doesn't also expect us to help those poor who are in our capacity to help - not only his own teachings but that of the entire rest of scripture make that clear. But he also obviously doesn't expect us to Succeed. That is, we will Not End Poverty. There, I said it. The war is un-winnable.
It does not follow, however, that it should not be fought.
Because we are of infinitely higher worth than starfish (or sparrows, for that matter). And making a difference to even one - well, Jesus also said that whatever we do for the "least of these" we are in fact doing for him personally. That should be motivation enough.
How and when and where and in what quantity we help... those are all questions that we must individually and prayerfully wrestle with. They're unpleasant questions, and I don't Like dealing with them. They make me examine the quality of and the limits to my own faith and commitment. They make me resent my own inadequacy and that of my race. They anger and upset me on so many levels, and I'd ever so much rather they'd just go away and leave me in comfort! But thankfully I can occasionally be jolted from my safe zone. Because at least at this moment I am content that one mother and her healthy child in the Philippines are a step closer to being "back in the water" with a little help from me. And that is enough.