During our last few days in Haiti my roommate said that she felt like she was in some kind of suspended state, like when you’re waiting for a webpage to load and just watching that annoying circle go around and around. There’s never much time to think or process while we are there and actually in it. But we know that the emotions, the changes in our perspective, the shades of grey that start to cover over what was once black and white are all there, just waiting to download. I have been home for about a week now, and the download is still trickling in, little by little, in between the busyness of family life. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to sit in a decompression chamber for 24 hours after my trip, which would have been really helpful. I was just thrown right back into life and work and parenting and all that craziness.
This daily meditation popped into my inbox the other day from Richard Rohr, who is a Franciscan monk and one of my favorite teachers right now. It seemed fitting for me, pondering the issues of social justice within the larger framework of my faith:
Francis of Assisi taught us the importance of living close to the poor, the marginalized, the outcasts in society. The outer poverty, injustice, and absurdity around us mirror our own inner poverty, injustice, and absurdity. The poor man or woman outside is an invitation to the poor man or woman inside. As you nurture compassion and sympathy for the brokenness of things, encounter the visible icon of the painful mystery in “the little ones,” build bridges between the inner and outer, learn to move between action and contemplation, then you’ll find compassion and sympathy for the brokenness within yourself.
Each time I was recovering from cancer, I had to sit with my own broken absurdity as I’ve done with others at the jail or hospital or sick bed. The suffering person’s poverty is visible and extraverted; mine is invisible and interior, but just as real. I think that’s why Jesus said we have to recognize Christ in the least of our brothers and sisters. It was for our redemption, our liberation, our healing—not just to “help” others and put a check on our spiritual resume.
I can’t hate the person on welfare when I realize I’m on God’s welfare. It all becomes one truth; the inner and the outer reflect one another. As compassion and sympathy flow out of us to any marginalized person for whatever reason, wounds are bandaged—both theirs and ours.
Adapted from Richard Rohr, Near Occasions of Grace (Orbis Books: 1993), 108-110.
In Haiti, it’s not hard to find brokenness. There is greed, there is violence, there is darkness, there is homelessness, hunger, sickness, and pain. Not so different from my own country. As privileged as we are, we don’t get to escape the human condition. It is a different flavor, but it is the same brew. As Mama T said, “Calcutta is everywhere, if only we have eyes to see”.
I don’t pretend to understand all of the social, economic, and cultural nuances at play in Haiti. I have so much to learn. But mostly I am learning more about my own self. Every time I see something that looks broken, regardless of whether I stand in the dusty streets of Port-au-Prince or on my own green lawn which is slowly being overtaken by crabgrass, I am learning to look inward first–to hold up the mirror. I’m not good at it yet. I would rather turn the mirror the other way and spout my opinion about what others (be it government, society, institutions, or individuals) need to change, than to stare hard at what is looking at me right in the face.
The processing is going to take a while. It’s almost too much to do all at once, like staring directly into the sun. I take one piece out at a time and turn it over a few times, carry it around in my pocket, then look at it again later. Each time I see something new. Or something really old, but in a new way.
I haven’t been able to answer very well when people ask me, “how was your trip?”. It was a lot of things, but it’s not easy to sum up in a few neat sentences. I’m just going to carry it around in my pocket for a bit longer and let it all percolate, little by little.