The following is an excerpt from The Revolution: A Field Manual for Changing Your World (RELEVANT Books), releasing April 4.
As I began to write an introduction for The Revolution, every cable news channel is on overdrive, fixated on one thing: the devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina after the Category 4 storm slammed into America's Deep South. Hours and hours of footage air throughout the day, mobilizing viewers to help those affected by devastating flooding. Meanwhile, pundits pontificate about our government's willingness (or perceived lack thereof) to help the mostly poor, black population stranded in a watery wasteland. Floods of money pour into major charities' coffers from generous citizens. First responders and socially conscious journalists flock to the scene. And compassionate folks everywhere lament the tragedy.
Every season has its Katrina-like disasters—some natural, some man-made. From hurricanes and terrorist strikes to the quieter, perpetual disasters like hunger, AIDS and human trafficking, societal ills of all kinds are ever-present and great. But greater is the love that can overcome these ills. If God is love, and if we are made in His image and likeness, surely there is enough love in this world to wipe away every tear that falls from the eyes of those afflicted by pain, hunger, war or some other misery.
But how do we collectively tap into that love? What are the ways, both broad and specific, that we can address human strife, human need? And what barriers often stand in the way of us doing so?
In all the ruminating I've done, I've come to some basic conclusions about myself and, perhaps to a certain extent, my generation when it comes to charity:
We're quick to respond, but also quick to forget.
Our generation is moved by intense, dramatic displays of horror and injustice—and we may be willing to open up a vein and start giving until we're drained of all our blood ... for a few days, anyway. Then the memory fades as quickly as our favorite cable news network jumps to another set of news alerts, and for us, life soon moves on to more exciting things.
We're media-moved people.
A movie vividly depicts genocide, and we're immediately online as soon as the credits roll, making a donation to GenocideOrganizationX.org. We see coverage of a terrorist attack unravel on cable TV, and we head to our blogs to post supportive banners. A poignant series on famine in a foreign country has us ready to board a plane with suitcases full of food. Individual crises that become media sensations compel us—but everyday, perennial tragedies like international hunger or poverty simmer quietly in our social subconscious.
We will give freely—as long as doesn't hurt.
We are heartened by outings to serve meals at homeless shelters—especially when we can enjoy a fine dinner at a posh restaurant afterward (if you think I'm making this up, I'm not—I've seen it happen). Like the law-abiding rich young man in Matthew 19 who wanted to do "good," we struggle to give up our own comfort to heed the call of Christ; we're constantly looking for easy and/or indulgent ways to give. But as Mother Teresa said, "I hope you are not giving only your surplus. You must give what costs you, make a sacrifice, go without something you like, that your gift may have some value before God. Then you will be truly brothers and sisters to the poor who are deprived of even the things they need."
We don't have time.
We're hyper-scheduled and overbooked, working 60, 70, even 80 hours a week to bring home the proverbial bacon. All this work leaves little time for band practice, book clubs, sporting events, church meetings and classes. Oh, and, of course, "me" time. To quote from the VeggieTales' "Good Samaritan" cartoon, "We're busy, busy, dreadfully busy. You've no idea what we have to do. Busy, busy, shockingly busy. Much, much too busy for you."
We've got baggage.
Our hearts and minds are burdened by internal conflict. We feel the guilt of living in varying degrees of comfort while our peers half a world away dress in rags and eat little more than dust. It's hard to reconcile our comfortable lives here in America to the lives of those we serve—uneducated people born and raised in poverty, who refuse to depart from what we see as self-destructive, ill-informed lifestyles and don't want to be "saved"; people who will gladly take a handout but don't make any effort to positively change their lives for the long haul.
We're conflicted idealists with cynical alter egos.
We center a lot of our beliefs about how Christians should treat others on the "social gospel" proclaimed by Christ in Matthew 25, yet we can't help but wonder what Christ meant when He said, "The poor you will always have with you, but you will not always have me" (Matt. 26:11, TNIV). And we can't quite reconcile that teaching with the goals of most international anti-poverty campaigns that would eradicate poverty—and actively plan to do so.
There is a revolution that must take place. It is a personal revolution, a communal revolution; above all, it is what Mother Teresa once called a "revolution of love." Instead of relying on anger, bitterness and even violence to spur action to bring about change, we—militants of this revolution of love—use heavenly, God-ordained weapons of charity, love, peace and willful self-sacrifice to serve others using the richness of our talents, knowing that even though only God can eradicate all the world's ills in His time, while we're here on this earth, we can each fulfill His ultimate command to love our neighbors as ourselves.
Heather Zydek is the editor of The Revolution: A Field Manual for Changing Your World (RELEVANT Books), featuring a foreword by Jim Wallis and 12 essays by leading social activists. She is also the editor of the The Revolution page at RELEVANTmagazine.com.
I'm sure you've heard this Psalm before -- regardless if you read the Bible or not.. This past week at the Gathering Issac Anderson talked about Psalm 23. He talked about it like i've never heard before and it was something that I needed..Psalms teach us the language of intimacy...with God. This Psalm teaches us how to
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