The Facade of All Our Tears

We are good at it as we all know.  We express our sorrow, our pity and explain how we feel so bad for all the ills affecting others.

We are only so quick to exclaim, “God bless you.” And then walk away as if the other person were in an entirely different world.

This is kind of like rolling up the windows in our vehicles when cruising through a slum area. We like to feel safe and thus locking our car doors and excluding the outside from getting in, we distance ourselves from the reality of urban plight. But yes, we feel terrible that people have to live in such conditions. Our hearts are beating peanut butter and jelly over it we feel just that bad.

The same is true with the homeless or those others in want.  We feel so poorly about them we write huge volumes to explain their existence. We study, categorize them and grant degrees to people who understand them and might even formulate a committee to espouse facts therein to illuminate the situation.

And once we understand the problem, we feel badly for them and wonder how it will ever change.

That’s why we feel badly about slavery, or about the defeat of Native American Indians, or now even of the immigrant.

No one is going to get up out of their home and turn it over, but they feel oh so bad about it all.

It’s about privilege and exploitation they explain.

And that is when the tears begin to roll.

And then everyone agrees, we all want things to be made right, but none will lift a finger to change a thing.

Yet, it is agreed we all feel so bad.


3 thoughts on “The Facade of All Our Tears

  1. It’s so true that talking the talk differs from walking the walk; we pity these things from afar, but are we too unfaithful to care about them up close? Something kinda ironic happened to me the other day that connects with this. I was sitting and waiting for someone at the public health department and reading a book on Christian education. A black woman with a toddler approached me and asked to use my phone. I didn’t say anything for a couple seconds as questions raced through my mind–is she targeting me bc I’m disabled? Is she going to run off with my phone? WWJD? So I handed her the phone, and as she made her call, I played with her adorable son. She finished and handed me the phone back, thanked me, and left. Afterwards, I contemplated the irony of reading a book about Christianity then having a realistic, close encounter that challenged my faith. Lesson learned–studying in a comfortable setting is way easier than living in this fallen world.

    Liked by 1 person

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