I haven't wept over the state of the world for a long time now. After a while, news become...well, just news; this morning's headlines fade out of memory by evening, and with tomorrow come new headlines to be soon forgotten again. In between there are a million and one things to take care of, to indulge in; like they say, hey kid, life goes on. Yes, life does go on. So we continue posting up our umpteenth breakfast, lunch or dinner dish on fb, we hash-tag our lives capturing 'beautiful moments' - sunsets, puppy dogs, coffee, vacations...the list is endless - to share around with strangers we have never met, whilst twitter (which I thought was something only birds do) keeps us updated about who is doing what, with whom, where and when. We have lots to comment on, grumble and complain about this that or the other injustice, deprivation of human rights, freedom etc ...and I don't even want to get started on politics or religion. To show what empathetic souls we are, we click a 'like' button when someone reports a tragedy. Sorry, I don't mean to sound judgmental, condemnatory, or 'holier-than-thou' (I certainly am not) but honestly, I don't 'get it'.
Like I said, it's been a long time since I wept over the state of the world, because I too have grown jaded over the years. We can become 'immune' to suffering, until or unless we get hit ourselves of coz. I remember the very first time I wept over something seemingly unconnected with my life. 10 years ago, a 'baby Christian' then, I went on my first missions trip to Cambodia. Tourists ooh and ahh over the 'magnificent' ruins of Angkor Wat. The ruins I saw were not of broken down walls, but of broken lives. At the ripe old age of 40, I saw life that I never imagined could exist on this earth. I remember a ramshackle hut on stilts which collapsed because too many curious villagers had crowded in, wanting to catch a glimpse of us 'aliens' who had come telling strange tales about a God who loves them. But most of all, I recall the children - naked, pot-bellied, filthy kids running around bare-foot, grubby fingers clutching at the biscuits we distributed. And I could only cry. I have never gone back; Cambodia broke my heart. But I have since gone on to India, where I see the same pictures of suffering humanity every time. And yes, I still cry.
But then when I return home to my nice bed in my nice house; I drive along nice tarred roads, worship in a nice fancy church, sing nice songs, get down to a nice job to earn nice (relatively speaking that is) money, the memory blurs. Now and then, when I flip the newspapers and read about an earthquake in Peru or floods in wherever which killed thousands, or yet another case of trigger-happy mad men who go around shooting people in shopping malls or kindergartens, the memory gets jolted a bit, so I say a little prayer, mostly to console myself that that's about all I can (realistically) do anyway. And I dutifully trot off every Saturday to spend 3 hours of my (very full) life to feed the homeless on the street, listen sympathetically to (more) sob-stories, say some more (little) prayers and consider my 'good job' quota fulfilled for yet another week...
And then I read about Punitha. If not for that last line, I would have passed it over as just another sad reality of someone else's life far removed from mine and filed it away in the 'deleted' folder of my brain. But those words "Is there anyone who is thinking of me?" pierced my heart like flaming arrows. And my tears flowed, because I too am a widow without a husband, I too have children (who grew up without a father), I too have worries about money, I too know what it's like to be lonely, rejected, hurt by the ones I love, I too have been young, disillusioned, I too have been caught in situations out of my control, I too am a woman. Her cry "Is there anyone who is thinking of me?" is actually the cry of all who are human, because we all have at one time or another felt exactly like her, although our name isn't Punitha and our circumstances may not mirror hers.
So I took up her cry and sent it up heavenward, because I know my God hears. He heard me 10 years ago when I was scattering my husband's ashes into the ocean. He still hears me today, so I asked Him simply to send divine angels and human servants to let Punitha know yes, there is Someone who is thinking of her, and He will surely act. I don't know how, I don't know when, but I know whom I know.
Practical realists prefer to provide the answer to the world's ills through such noble things as education, empowerment, emancipation. I was asked... so for all your praying, can you or someone out there get Punitha a job? Surely to assume that the answer to the Punitha's of the world is to provide them jobs is too simplistic in itself. Educating and feeding children and women are fine works, and should be undertaken, but that isn't going to be enough to hold them up when they are staring at the hopelessness of death . Likewise getting rid of guns doesn't make people stop murdering people, because it's got nothing to do with weapons but everything to do with the condition of human hearts.
So, nope. I can't provide Punitha (or anyone else for that matter) a job. But my God can provide her something better, something that will see her through the rest of her life and beyond, job or no job. He can heal her broken heart, He can comfort her more than any husband can. Illiterate and uneducated as she is, He can restore her dignity as a woman, her worth as one created in His image, which is independent of her gender or social status. He can set her free in spite of man's laws, custom and culture that has bound her kind for centuries. He can save her soul for eternity. If He can do all that, there is no problem for Him to provide all other needs as well. And that, in a nutshell, is the beauty and hope of the Gospel of Jesus Christ...who came, "... to proclaim good news to the poor...to bind up the brokenhearted...to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners...to comfort all who mourn... and provide for those who grieve... to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair" - Isaiah 61:1-3
These blessings , no human, humane, or humanitarian program can give to even 1 Punitha, much less to the world. It took Jesus Christ to pay the price of dying on the cross to make them freely available to all of us. People question if God is so good, why doesn't He do 'something' about the world's evil, suffering, pain; after all a good almighty god should wave his magic wand and 'abra-cadabra- away all the bad stuff so we can all live happily ever after. How little we understand of God if we think life should be as simple as that. How blind we are if we fail to appreciate that the highest good is not the provision of jobs, money, training, education, rights, or knowledge (certainly these are good) - all that man can and should provide for the betterment of his kind on earth - but the greatest good that lifts the human soul way up high is the blessed assurance that when Jesus is mine, and I am His, nothing - not poverty, suffering, persecution, oppression, evil or even death - can get me down, ever. That is the most priceless treasure to have and to hold in the human heart; and it's found at the foot of Calvary's cross.
So I cry, not just for Punitha, but for a world that, by and large, doesn't yet know or believe the truth - that there is Someone who is thinking of us all the time, who loves us so much He has already provided the only solution for all circumstances and for all time. Life - and God - is that simple, and that complicated.
"But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well" - Matthew 6:33
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