When my heart hurts

 

    💔

The state of our country makes my heart hurt. The anger, the division, the mis- and dis-information. The hurting, homeless, hungry. The people trapped in addiction, in mental illness, in hopeless situations. The people who are terrified, of their neighbors, their parents, their spouses, their children, the police. The marginalized, ostracized, ignored. The trafficked, the traffickers, the partakers. The unborn, those who carry the unborn, the stillborn, the barren. 

Today, my heart became overwhelmed as I read and listened to a story about the possibility of mass deportations that could involve our military. And as I listened my chest began to actually ache. A deep, deep ache that went through my heart to my back and gripped me like a vice. I had to turn the story off. 

And as I processed what I was feeling I realized it was not fear, or anxiety. It was grief, deep, throbbing, dark, unrelenting grief. As I thought about the people who must be absolutely terrified. Those who came here looking for a better life, who brought or birthed their children here. Fleeing war, abuse, famine, lack of work. I thought about the adults who have lived here their whole lives, going to school, working, contributing to society, wondering if they will be rounded up and dumped in a country they probably have never been to. I thought about how scared the children must be as they listen to the adults talk in hushed voices, trying to decide what to do. And as I did this feeling wrapped around my heart and squeezed until I thought i might not catch my breath. 

As I prayed, and breathed and calmed my heart I thought about why I felt that way. I am not in any danger. No one in my family is in danger of being deported. I don't even have close friends who might be affected. And yet I still ached at the situation. And I realized why. Because as a child of the King, and follower of Christ, my heart hurts for the things that hurt his. This feeling reminded me that I have not become numb to the troubles of the world. These feelings are a gift, to remind me to pray, to speak out, and to find ways to make the world a little bit better. 

It reminded me that the savior I serve was a refugee too. Before he was born his parents travelled to a place where they had no home. After he was born they had to flee the place of his birth due to people who wanted to kill him. And then, as an adult, he did not have a regular place to call home. And even after his death he was placed in a borrowed tomb. It was not until he ascended back to his Father that he returned to his home. 

While here on earth he loved the unlovable, the outcast, the sinner, the tax collector, the prostitute, the leper. The very dregs of society were the people he loved on the most. And he saved his harshest criticism for the religious people who felt rules and ritual and were more important than people. And wealth and power more important than service. 

The problems of our world are complex and not easily solved, but as a follower of Jesus I want to err on the side of love, and never ever lose those feelings of grief. For those feelings remind me my heart is soft, and hopefully still available for use by the Father.