It is speculated that within the next ten years I will know
someone who has AIDS, and that could even mean me. Not likely though,
after all, I'm Barbara Garrison, married, white, successful,
respected, loved, healthy and ah yes, `holy'. It is difficult for me to believe
this or anything else that tragic could ever touch my life — my world
is pretty safe and secure.
AIDS is already an epidemic, but with a little luck it won't
touch me — just like poverty has never touched me, or prejudice, or any
of the other truly bad/sad things of the world. So what does any of
this have to do with me? My answer is, in all honesty,
nothing! I can't figure out how or why anything should concern
me. The thing that does concern me is that I am married, white, successful,
respected, loved, healthy, safe, secure, and yet somehow sad and empty.
I was born white. I have a pleasing personality and am
interesting to talk with and enjoyable to be with. I am intelligent because
the opportunity was there to be educated and I do well at learning. No
one or nothing ever prevented me from going to school, to church, to
the front of a bus or top of the heap! I've been there. But everywhere
I go, it follows me —the emptiness, the sadness, the yearning
for something more. Yes, I am grateful I have the luxury of
feeling `empty'.
Some people are very poor, and some are persecuted...even
to death. Some fall prey to drugs or crime, and some must watch
their children slowly starve to death.
Oh, sure, I have problems — life is not always sweet. But I
can usually handle them with only a moderate amount of inconvenience
or discomfort. Is that what we should be striving for—making it
through with only minor inconvenience or discomfort? That brings me to
the next big question in my life: what is this all for? Why
are we here? Because I'm a skeptic and need to have proof I say nobody
really knows! Beliefs, suspicions, dogmas don't count as far as I'm
concerned. The only thing I know for certain is I will die.
Now, some fortunate people die in nice warm beds surrounded
by those who love them. Others die in ghetto elevators knowing
nothing but the horror of that moment. And in between are all those people
who just plain old die — who knows where, when or why...and
who actually cares? I don't. Or maybe I should say I can't; I don't
know how to feel things that are that far removed from me.
I know I will probably not die of AIDS. And I will probably
not have to suffer the anguish of watching my child starve to death.
And I will probably never feel the fear or pain of prejudice... because
you see, I am all the sought-after things: married, white,
successful, respected, loved, healthy, etc. Yes, it appears I am one of the
fortunate ones. There are, however, all these dreadful things `out there' that
I am spared every day of my life. When I go to church on Sunday I
pray for those who weren't spared. And I also pray in gratitude to a
God who has been so good to me. Right?
But, you know, I can't help wondering about those people
who are struggling and suffering.
They are the ones referred to as `blessed'.
The poor in spirit, the meek, those suffering persecution for
justice' sake, the ones who mourn, the peacemakers — theirs is the
`kingdom of heaven'. Shouldn't I be near something that is `blessed'? After
all, that is what I want too, `the kingdom of heaven'. But I am
white, successful, safe, secure, healthy, married, and ah, yes, `holy'.
These things that seem so ideal now appear to be barriers to the kingdom
for none of them have been `blessed'.
So the struggle for me then is not to find God's presence
amid suffering, but to force it from within my own contentment. And
the emptiness, the sadness I feel is actually divine love wasted,
without purpose. It suddenly appears that now I, the fortunate one, am the
one in need. In need of the sick, in need of the poor, in need of the troubled.
I cannot afford to remove myself from another's struggle
simply because it has not touched me.
The church has tried to teach me through Scripture and the
lives of its ministers. But the scripture seemed so far removed from my
own life I could never understand it...and the lives of those who teach
it have been no different from mine...we are all only human. None
of us wants to feel hurt, or to see those we love suffer, and aren't we
all, deep down inside, afraid to die? Maybe though, deeper than the
fear of death is the fact we can't believe that there really is a God — a
God who knows us (I don't even know myself), a God who
understands (nobody understands!), a God who is waiting our return (to where?).
There is no proof for any of this. At least not for me, a
skeptic...or maybe just a very scared person.
If I live according to one of my favorite thoughts from
Scripture about the lilies of the field, then I don't worry as much about the
fact that I haven't provided for my old age because I need to send
money to Madge, a friend in South Africa who is with the `blessed' poor
and hungry. But when I listen to the world around me I get nervous
about having to burden my children with my
own poverty...and I pull back from being able to just let go. I suspect it would all be made right
in some very wise way if we all could just believe and trust. For
instance, I am intelligent and capable of holding down a good paying job;
my husband believes in me and encourages me to follow my
heart;my friend Madge is a down-to-the-bone Franciscan in South Africa.
All that fits in with the Scripture passages: use your talents, be
responsible for all that is around you, and don't worry because God has
designed it all to work out right. Seems fairly simple on paper. And it
is all there — both on paper and inside of me. So what is missing? Something
to convince me. Something that will prove it to me.
I am going to be forty-five years old in January. That means I
have lived through at least forty years of gospel messages. Why can't I
just feel at peace knowing I really am a good and kind person who is
trying very hard to do her best? Because I wasn't in a death camp.
Because none of my children were hungry for more than an hour. Because
I could have not only ridden in the front of the bus, I could have
bought one! Because the only thing I ever `long-suffered' is uneasiness
over all I have.
And here it is again — Advent. Advent, a time to remind
us through song, psalm, reading, and ritual that as much as it is
possible to prove it, it was proven— God came to us, and, in a form we
could recognize, showed us how to live and when to die. I know I have
heard it all time and time again but each time it was different. I was different:
growing up, gaining in wisdom, preparing.
What will I hear this year? I am almost afraid to listen because
this time I truly want to open my heart and see what happens. I don't
want to be lucky anymore. I don't want to be comfortable anymore. I
don't want to be safe and secure and empty anymore. I have to say
though I am afraid of what will fill that emptiness, because I believe with
all my heart, for me, it's time.