I'm taking an internship class that's titled "Service-Learning." Interesting that I never examined the title... I just read it. I completed an assigned reading today that introduces the class... and serving, and compassion, and helping. I never thought I'd see this in a class... or even be in a class that's all about serving. A rather long excerpt made my jaw drop, my eyes widen, made me hold my breath, made me grin and chuckle. It's worth reading. Please do.
Sometimes I help, and sometimes I don't
I hold the door open for one behind me, or I rush through preoccupied in thought. I vote, but not always. When solicitations come through the mail, some catch my eye or heart and I send at least something. Others I basket as junk mail. A friend is having a hard time. I think I should phone to see how she is, but I just don't feel like doing it tonight.
I'd do anything to help the family. But how much is enough? When to stretch a little further? Whose needs come first?
Those close to me get an immediate hearing. The suffering of people more remote gets sporadic attention. I'm only vaguely aware of it. It's out there somewhere.
Whom should I help anyway? Senior citizens, battered children, human-rights victims, whales? Well, if I don't defuse the nuclear threat, there'll be no tomorrow. But if we don't support education and the arts, what kind of tomorrow will it be?
If I stop to think about it, I help out for all kinds of reasons. Maybe it's because I should; it's a matter of responsibility. But there's usually a maze of other motives: a need for self-esteem, approval, status, power; the desire to feel useful, find intimacy, pay back some debt.
Sometimes I'll help though organizations. But the purpose of helping and the people who really need it often seem to fall through th cracks. Maybe I'd rather do it one-to-one, keep my options open, help out here and there.
I expect my government to relieve suffering. Sometimes it does. But it also pays farmers not to produce wheat while somewhere, every forty-five seconds, a small child starves to death. And a public official, no better or worse a person than I , finds reason to justify this policy- but would probably do everything he could, faced with one starving child.
There are times when service is effortless. Other days, burnout. With one person, I'm totally open and present. With the next, I might as well be on Mars. Sometimes the chance to care for another human being feels like such grace. But later on, I'll hear myself thinking, "Hey, what about me?"
Over Gandhi's tomb are inscribed words that say: Think of the poorest person you have ever seen and ask if your next act will be of any use to him. That'll flash through my mind as I prepare to throw a Frisbee. And when I spend fifteen bucks dining out and going to a movie to ward off boredom, I might recall that a fifteen-dollar operation could restore someone's sight in a third-world country. I'm moved by the power of Gandhi's invitation, "Live simply that others might simply live." But I'm not at all clear about how to heed that, day in and day out, here in the affluent West. Sometimes I feel a little guilty.
I'm fortunate, for the moment, to have good health and loving friends, to be housed and fed, with work to do and some time to play. When I myself need help, there's usually someone to call. I'm able to spend some time away from places where suffering is really visible and just can't be screened out.
Yet there are few days when I'm not feeling human pain, my own or another's. If it's not there in front of me, I see a steady stream of images of misery on the evening news of a suffering planet: homeless one huddled by a doorway or tree; old one looking vacant in a nursing home; slain revolutionary or national guardsman, both teen-agers; drunk driver just realizing he's killed his whole family; starving child's bloated belly and haunted eyes; victims of natural disasters; helpless leaders, helpless helpers.
Some images I ponder; what's that one saying? Others make me uneasy; I tune them out. Some make me angry; I want to get up and do something. Others make me sigh; horror and compassion. And finally I might have to turn away, close off, and escape into some philosophical sanctuary. It's all just too much.
How can I keep my heart open and not go under? I've got my own life to live, after all. Still, I'd like to do more for others. What do I have to offer, and what would help most?
I was able to actually relate to some of this... were you?
It's incredible how generous we can all be but then turn around and be so selfish.
I'm even more moved by Christ's words: "'Love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no commandment greater..." Mk 12:31
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