One of the reasons that I don’t often talk about “the poor” is because I feel that it can almost only come out glibly and/or self-righteously. As in “look how much I care about the poor.”
But the truth is, when I see pictures of poverty like that in Haiti, I am quite simply embarassed.
But embarassed is not the only word. I would say I’m also ashamed or convicted.
“But surely Tony, you shouldn’t feel ashamed for things outside of your control. It was no choice of yours to be born when and as you are.”
But I just don’t know how else to feel.
The truth is, my wife and I barely scrape by. With me going to school and her opening a business, even being reasonably frugal, we are on the low side of the “Middle Class” if we’ve made it quite to said class.
But I’ve heard stories of Haitians eating dirt to fill their bellies.
I’ve never been hungry.
I have family who will make it so that I never will be.
Because if our business tanked and I couldn’t get a job and couldn’t afford groceries, I could move 30 minutes away and have it all with my parents until we got back on our feet.
I’ll never have to go hungry.
I am giving to Haiti.
But it feels hollow.
I wish I could share their physical pain inside my very body so as to aleviate my sore conscience and their intolerable burden.
It is more difficult for the rich to enter the kingdom of God than for a camel to go through the eye of a needle.
I’m going to go eat breakfast.