The Myth of Social Justice

“Social justice” has become something of a fashionable catchphrase, especially among us millennials.

Libertarian principles, egalitarianism, universal human rights – in the light of recent events and tragedies, our generation has rallied to these principles like revolutionaries to a progressive manifesto, caught up in the glory and struggle of the war against injustice.

Social media platforms are plastered with outcries against current affairs, petitions for upheavals of various unjust systems litter the internet, and everywhere everyone has an opinion about how we can usher in a new age of social and economic equality.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m wholeheartedly behind the spirit of such avid campaigning. I’m an advocate for justice with all my heart; both my convictions about God’s mandate to see this world restored and my own conscience converge on the need to pursue justice with our whole being. But I also see in all this activity a dark underbelly, deep inconsistencies in the way our generation seeks out so-called justice.

Maybe this is a self-reflection of my own motives only. Maybe I’m wrong about what I’m seeing. But I’m afraid I’m not.

The problem is, in the fight for “social justice,” we all too often expose ourselves as hypocrites, self-defeaters of the thing we speak out so passionately about. We wear a façade of progressive values and well-meaning words like equality and rights, but our actions betray us as frauds – because we are lovers of justice in word only, and not in deed.

Let me elaborate. Talking about justice for the poor or sharing a post that #blacklivesmatter, may appear to display our well-founded support for these causes, easing our consciences and making a case for what we so passionately believe needs to change about society. Indeed, advocacy and challenging perceptions is a crucial element of seeing justice done. But, if we make these claims and protests in the safety of our own homes behind the shield of our computer screens, and then walk ignorantly by the homeless person in the street or fail to stand up for the black woman who is suffering racial abuse in our own neighbourhood, we are no more than hypocrites.

Such “clicktivism” and popularism can become a cover for our own passivity. Most of the time, if we’re sharing such posts and sentiments with like-minded people, we’re at best preaching to the choir. At worst, we’re using our ideals as a means of making us appear self-righteous and egalitarian, to give off the appearance of suave progressiveness to our peers.

If our words about justice are not backed up in how we live, our talk of social justice is no more than idealistic waffle of a fantastical kind. Justice done in word and not deed is not justice, but passivity.

I’m by no means saying that it is wrong to make a case for social justice online and in our conversation. A great deal of good and progress has been made when perceptions are challenged and information is shared. As they say, information is power, and in an age where information can so easily be deployed, social media can be a powerful platform. But, we can – and need to – do so much more.

Do you want to really help the poor? By all means, share that article about economic inequality in the Congo, but that is just the start. Do more – support a charity who is doing something about it. Stop buying technology from multi-nationals that exploit resources from conflict mining in the country. Think about where your clothes come from – because the workers who made that dress you’re probably going to stop wearing three months down the line were probably abused and unjustly treated for the sake of our instant gratification.

And then, look at the state of your own city. If you care about justice, live with integrity. Don’t ignore the homeless man you walk past. Don’t slander the poorer areas of your town even though everyone else does, but think about how you can show love and compassion to those considered “outcasts” in your locality.

I don’t mean to sound unfairly harsh or to pile on guilt. I’m guilty-as-charged of everything I’ve protested against above – failing to make that admission would make me a fraud – so this is a sermon preached to myself as much as to anyone else. Guilt can never be the motivation for our actions – only love. But we need to challenge the status quo. If we continue living behind the façade of idealistic passivity, we are nothing but hypocrites.

Let’s be a people known for our integrity, our perseverance in the hard, uphill climb for active justice, rather than being drawn along on the tide of popular idealism simply to ignorantly forget about it when the opportunity to do justice arises in a way that will mean a real sacrifice.

There is a cheap justice, and a costly justice.

And costly justice is the only way we’ll see this world truly changed, but it means self-sacrifice. We must ask, what other option is there?

Referendum: Crisis and Opportunity

I open this post with a searingly obvious observation, one which has most likely plagued you as much as it has irritated me:

It is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to access any objective “facts,” either from Remain or Leave, in order to make a seriously informed choice.

Of course, there is no neutral knowledge – every piece of information is slanted according to the particular context and motive of the deliverer.But the amount of “othering,” hurtful polemic and polarisation by both sides of the debate has been unhelpful and has confuscated the desire of those of you who, like me, want to achieve a fair and just outcome in this referendum.

As a Christian navigating the bewildering cross-section of opinions, presuppositions, and outright falsehoods in the stormy sea of arguments for and against, it is so easy to lose sight of our Biblical convictions in light of Sectarian arguments and political engineering.

But, the “word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart” (Hebrews 4:12). In a society that places huge emphasis on reaching the most viable or pragmatic solution, according mainly to nationalistic and economic motives, are we allowing the word of God to judge our thoughts and intentions, and speak prophetic insight into our present social and political context?

What I write here is not a case for either Remain or Leave. I would be ill-equipped, at the least, to do so. Rather, I simply want to present some considerations for how we, as Christians, are to approach our decision making, what attitude we are to take, and how we let the word of God discern the “thoughts of the heart.”

Justice, Kindness, Humility

It strikes me that a few main factors have taken centre stage in the referendum campaigning, namely immigration, economy and political autonomy. At top level, each of these factors represent national interests, not necessarily the interests of all people. On the contrary, a Biblical approach stresses that, as Christians, we are among a body consisting of “all nations” (Psalm 86:9, Revelation 7:9), a global congregation of people who will one day worship God together with undivided intention or motive. The worldwide church is a family divided not by borders or national interests, but united “in Christ” as a transcendent common denominator (Galatians 3:28, 1 Corinthians 12:12-26).

Therefore, our approach to the EU Referendum must consider not only the interests of our own nation, but those of all peoples, in respect to how God calls us to live in this world. Namely, God’s concern and desire for mercy and justice, justice for all the world enacted through his people, must be at the forefront of our minds. Micah 6:8 puts this plainly and graphically enough: “He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”

This verse, like many cognate verses, challenges our motives and hearts as we make our decision in the referendum. Do we desire mercy for all people? Is our earnest desire to see the UK act with justice in the EU? Are we debating with others and putting forward our own views with humility?

Do Justice and love Kindness

Justice is a theme concurrent throughout the entirety of Scripture. At every stage of Israel’s history, culminating in the proclamation of a new age of release, freedom and healing in Christ (Isaiah 61:1, Luke 4:17-19), God commands that his people be actively engaged in pursuing justice for the poor and oppressed, the captive, orphan and widow.

In Isaiah 58, the Lord pronounces a chilling diatribe against those who worship him, rejecting their religious observances because, in raising their hands to the God of the Universe, they still oppressed their workers and failed to live lives actively engaged in seeking justice and mercy in the world.

I believe this speaks prophetically into our situation.

In our voting decision, can we worship God with authenticity and integrity unless we are concerned to see the “bonds of wickedness” undone, to see the “oppressed go free” and to “break every yoke”? Whether we vote Remain or Leave, are we actively engaged in seeking justice for both those living in Britain and those living in Europe, and are we prepared to follow our decision through with whatever the outcome is? No matter whether we agree with the outcome, will we continue to fight for justice with our entire being, knowing this is what we are called to?

Walk humbly with your God

So often with these matters, it is easy to fall into the idea that politics is a purely human activity with purely human solutions. We trust more in the actions and regimes of our political leaders, than give thought to God’s sovereignty over the world. Is this real faith in a God whom, though “the nations rage” and “the kingdoms totter”, when “he utters his voice, the earth melts” (Psalm 46:6)?

We are not to trust in merely human powers to bring about the solutions we are seeking, because to do so makes an idol out of man. Whatever the outcome is, it is not perfect, and we must continue to commit our cause to God.

This means modelling humility. Both Leave and Remain make the case that they have the solution, that theirs is the righteous cause. Both sides have good and understandable motives and outcomes in mind. In our discussions with others, we must act humbly, accepting that, as human beings, we are weak and have very little actual control over how events turn out.

We must be graceful, therefore, when debating – even if we think we have good grounds for our decision, we must accept that by no means do we have anything near the full picture, and that the other person or side also have good grounds for their own claims. And most of all,

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
    and do not lean on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge him,
    and he will make straight your paths.
Be not wise in your own eyes;
    fear the Lord, and turn away from evil.
It will be healing to your flesh
    and refreshment to your bones.” (Proverbs 3:5-8)

In humility, let us pray “for kings and all who are in high positions, that we may lead a peaceful and quiet life, godly and dignified in every way” (1 Tim2:2), both for those leaders who support our cause and those who seem opposed to it.

Jesus tells us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us (Matthew 5:44), which is radically counter-cultural. When the present campaigning for the referendum is founded on dehumanising, vilifying polemic, we must seek to act with genuine love for those who oppose us, with integrity and grace despite our differences.

While I have provided no aid in making your decision, I hope these few (by no means comprehensive) observations help you make a more prayerful, Biblically convicted and wisdom-filled vote, keeping as central importance the justice and kindness of God.

_________

All scripture quotations are taken from the English Standard Version of the Bible (ESV). Image: Telegraph

 

Guilty Missionaries

A photograph: an emaciated, starving child clinging to his clearly desperate mother. Most likely an African country, but could as well have been a picture from the Indian subcontinent, Asia, or South America. However, it wasn’t the picture’s content that struck me most, as it sat there in the midst of my Facebook news feed, but its caption: “You think your life is hard?” An address to us in the West, the home of the First World Problem; a stark juxtaposition of the lives of the poor with our lives of creature-comforts and material abundance.

This little piece of text rattled all the wrong chords in me.

You see, by painting this little microcosm of global poverty, all this type of portrait achieves is to perpetuate a culture of guilt in regards to our apparent position of privilege in contrast to their need for help. In doing so, the people portrayed, the “poor,” become nothing more than detached, dehumanised objects of comparison. The way these images are circulated creates a dangerous power dynamic – we, in a way, are elevated from their suffering, voyeuristically peering down into the dark reality of their situation from a position of privileged security.  It becomes a case of us and them – we, sitting in the full-bellied luxury of comfort in front of our computer screens, contrasted with the impoverished ‘nameless and faceless’ living in extreme poverty.

This is symptomatic of our distorted Western perception of global poverty, an image severely tainted by the way that the issue is painted in the media and advertising campaigns. Images of malnourished babies in Cambodia, scarred child soldiers in the Congo, and bone-thin men in rags have come to characterise our ideas of what life for the poor looks like. And, indeed, there is no escaping that this is the dark reality of poverty. However, it appears to me that these typified images and descriptors of “poor people” have come to be a stereotyped caricature. The “poor” are treated, in a way, like a detached, remote category of people defined only by their circumstantial destitution, and not as infinitely valuable individuals just like ourselves. This characterised image of a stark material and circumstantial division is the paintbrush that has daubed a limiting, degrading portrait of people trapped in poverty.

These sorts of images, deliberately contrived to evoke sympathy and guilt, and perhaps inspire our wallets, has painted the picture of people who are necessitous, deprived, under-privileged, and absolutely helpless. This inspires a response to poverty out of a kind of benign elitism – the rich giving to the poor, the us giving to them, from a sense of misplaced duty or “doing our bit” or guilt at what we see.

As such, our response to poverty can become more about feeding our own sense of a saviour complex than it is about truly engaging with their need as real people, who didn’t choose to be born in the situation they are in, who are human beings equal in worth to us. They are in need of help, yes, but they cannot be defined by helplessness. They are need of material aid, yes, but their poverty cannot be the measuring line of their worth. This image of the caricature “Poor Person” is a dangerous contrivance, a face for well-meaning charity hiding a dark underbelly of patronisation of those who are poor, and a damaging perception of people as being defined by their social and economic need rather than their worth as individual people.

There is no us. There is no them. There is one family of broken people, beautiful people, infinitely valuable people, sharing one world. No one is more than the other.

Our generosity cannot be inspired by a misguided sense that we are sympathetic gods putting the world to rights. Neither can it be about being guilty Western missionaries doing our conscience-inspired bit to put the worlds to right. We are in a privileged position to be radical harbingers of justice, indeed; but that justice must be inspired from a position of loving equality, not the elevated “us” descending to the deprived “them”. Just as we had no power over being born into privilege, so those living below the poverty line had no choice over their circumstantial material depravity. We have no right to what we have. This radical reassessment of wealth and power should change the way we interact with global injustice. We cannot be ivory-tower watchmen, idly dispensing our spare cash to appease our own consciences by sympathetically responding to some oft-heard about, never-met idea of the poor person.

It is not feelings of guilt or patronising sympathy that people living below the poverty line need. It is solidarity, inspiring radical acts of sacrifice from a position of humble love rather than elevated pride that should characterise our response to poverty. We are not rich gods descending to distant, lesser peoples out of pity; no, we are brothers and sisters positioned with a material abundance, when our other brothers and sisters have a need. We are no less equals because some have more than others; we are family.

Rey Ban, Trademark

If you were to happen upon me on a bright and sunny Summer’s day, you would, from a distance, notice my sunglasses. These, my only pair of shades, carry a striking resemblance to Ray Ban’s original Aviators. And, from afar, they might as well be the genuine article – formed of the same curvilinear form, framed by the same slim metallic enclosure, even sporting its own impersonation logo in the tell-tale position of the real model. A true marvel of imitation manufacturing, this pair of fakes cost me (after a round of haggling) around ten times less than genuine Aviators, from a friendly Camden market trader.

Aside from a disappointingly shabby quality of construction, only one other feature would mark my pair as a fake to an unassuming eye. The logo. My glasses, with their counterfeit branding, substitute an e for an a in Ray Ban, making mine the produce of Rey Ban. Because of this aped parody of design, my sunglasses are effectively worthless before a judging fashionista; nothing more than a mimicry of the originals, cheap goods, a forgery.

They, trying to imitate the pricey quality of genuine Ray Ban Aviators, fall desperately short of succeeding. Agreed, from afar they may trick you into believing my wallet is wide enough to extend to designer shades, but a quick closer inspection would immediately discount that notion.

What gives the original, designer Aviators their value is not the mere fact that they identifiably look like Aviators, but because of the designer who made and produced them – Ray Ban. Because mine are a laughable parody, they have no value, even if they carry an unerring resemblance in design.

The value of designer sunglasses comes not by merit of the quality of production or materials, so much as it does because of the designer who conceived them and brought them to being. So it is with human beings.

Human value does not come because we can attain some self-imposed standard of moral greatness or academic excellence or imitation of beauty. No matter how the judges of this world judge the worth of human life, there is an intrinsic, unsurpassed, infinite value to human life, simply because of the Designer who designed it, the Creator who created it.

Your value is not determined by a set of academic results, or an intelligence ranking, or by cultural labels, or by career successes and failures. Nor is it determined by adverse circumstances, by societal standards of beauty and ugliness, by thoughtlessly uttered words.  You are no less valuable because of how you have been treated, because of what you have or haven’t done, did or didn’t do. Your value is not dictated by might haves or could’ve beens or “If you’d only turned out differently, you might have been better.”

You are no more or less valuable because of labels, black or white, straight or gay or bi, disabled or able-bodied, male or female. Culture’s labels do much harm to the intrinsic beauty of humanity.

You are more than skin and bones; you are an intersection of flesh and spirit. You are not merely the genetic imitation of your parents, an advanced ape, a socially conditioned clone, a gene machine; no, you are dust breathed with eternity. You are designed by the Designer, and that is from whence your beauty and your unquantifiable value comes.

This is your identity, and this identity cannot be shaken. Not by human laws, nor man’s words, not by abusers and haters. You cannot do anything by striving or working or modifying to increase your value; that would be to fake that which you are not. You, created to the perfect blueprint of the Creator, are loved and worthy of love, and there is no exception to this rule.

This is a call to equality, based on the unmerited value of life itself. Equality is no less than a universal right, but it is so much more – it is a call to celebrate the way we are made, a festival of light dedicated to the varied spectrum we call humanity.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
    your works are wonderful,
    I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
    when I was made in the secret place,
    when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. 

Psalm 139:14,15

Discourses From Camden

It is a hot spring afternoon, and I am but a drop in the sea of commuters on which the watching sun casts her rays. This is the Camden Town Underground Station, buzzing with the eclectic bustle of market goers, football supporters, urban travellers; London’s great and small. Each is contained in the self-indulged bubble of his or her own travel trajectory; this is the soundtrack of the City, everyone occupied in the bubble of their own business.

Camden’s ground-level entrance, on a Saturday afternoon, is a slow moving bottleneck; movement is sluggish as a hundred commuters worm their way through turnstiles not designed to anticipate this volume of people. So there I stand, watching, waiting, enjoying the last of the sunlight before I take the plunge beneath ground.

It is in this spirit, of the observer, that I notice two things worthy of note. First, on the left of the entrance, quietly stands a well-dressed lady with some pamphlets and free literature. Behind her, a stall stacked with give-away books, each bearing the title: “What Does the Bible Really Say?” She, a well meaning Jehovah’s Witness, I am sure, stands like the unseen pebble in a fast moving river.

Second, I notice on the right of the entrance, a man sat on his rucksack; this backpack probably contains all the possessions he owns. He has no home, no bed but the concrete. He is silent, nameless, barely perceived by the tide of passing eyes. And, just like this acquiescent pamphlet-provider to my left, he is ignored.

They are separated by barely metres, the Jehovah’s Witness and the man with no home, yet they might as well have been worlds apart. The entrance was narrow, but it might as well have been a chasm. Her books claimed to tell me what the Bible “really says,” while his situation was so far detached from hers, it seemed absurd.

Now, I am sure this lady was well-meaning and operating to the optimum in what her faith requires of her. And yet, as I pressed through that station entrance, I wondered, considering my own faith in Christ: how can any of us, of any faith, claim to have an inkling of what the Bible says, and yet still pass the homeless man without batting an eyelid?

And yet, having made this observation, it was I too who kept on walking, caught up in the self-consumed flightpath as everyone else. Her, the street preacher, and I, the commuter, obviously had very little knowledge of what this Word does; her, the Jehovah’s Witness, and I, the Christian.

When did we start finding it necessary to impose on people vast annals of literature, endless reams of doctrine, libraries of well-figured arguments, and stopped seeing the Word for what it does, the way it works its way out in our lives?

When did we start standing on street corners with the message on our lips, and yet no bread in our hands for the homeless?

For this, I realised, is what has come to compose my Christianity, our Christianity: words with no deeds, argument with no substance, doctrine without justice. We debate to no end about the subject of that lady’s books, “What the Bible Really Says,” and yet we have neglected what it does. We walk through the open station doors with our lofty opinions and well-formed theologies, and yet lift no hand for the needy in the scorching heat of day.

When Christ walked the earth, he did not stand in the pulpits or the meeting places debating the moral implications of gay marriage or women bishops or our other institutional controversies. Instead, he set the pattern of what the Word meant; his life was an active demonstration of what he said. He, the Word became flesh, lived out a law of love, of justice, of mercy, of compassion. And, with that spirit, he openly denounced hypocrisy. For, in observing the religious institution of the day, he saw the bankruptcy of their faith. He saw in them, as there exists in me, in this generation, a dichotomy between what we say, and what we do.

It is my contention, my struggle, that we need to read the Word with pragmatic, not theoretical, minds. Rather than consuming ourselves in the fires of our own doctrine, can we not live united by Christ, a life of freedom, whose yoke is easy and burden is light? For Christianity was never meant to be a subscription to an academic school, but a renewing of the mind, a transformation, eternal life.

Christ’s love is simple to understand. We’ve made it complicated. Quite simply; Act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. (Micah 6:8)

A Brief Story of Things

Once upon a time, in a land far away but not so much unlike our own, there was a prosperous city ruled by the good King Corporation. In his day, the land enjoyed peace and stability. Even the poorest people who, heaven forbid, could only afford to wear last season’s fashion brands, could at least afford to keep full tummies and homes with at least one extra room (that’s what the newspapers said, and they must be right!). Everyone was happy; they had Things in abundance, and as we know, with many Things comes much contentment.

King Corporation was a good, god-fearing man; after all, who could refuse to worship the sovereign Thing-god from whom all good Things come? The Church of the Most High Street enjoyed a profitable, healthy relationship with the King;  who could fail to support a regent appointed by the Thing-god himself, a ruler upheld by the Divine Hand of the Free Market?

The people too were devout worshippers of the Thing-god. Every day, extravagant services were held in the city’s many temples to appease the Thing-god. The people would gather to hear the Priests of the Most High Street divulge the Divine Commandments: the profane fashions, the sacred fashions, how to live a good, healthy consumer life. And then, when all was done, when the sermon was preached and prayers said, then would be the time to offer the sacrifices:

People would bring their offerings, big and small, to receive the blessing of the Thing-god. But this was not a system of selfless giving, oh no! For the Thing-god delighted to give to his children reciprocally. To those who had, unto them more was given, and from those who had not, even that will be taken away. The wealthiest threw their fare in the buckets, and to them would the Priests give the choicest Things.

And so it was that King and Country prospered, with the fear of the Thing-god in their minds and the love of Things in their hearts.

But one day, someone raised a hand in one of the churches, and asked the good Priest something no-one had neither thought nor cared to ask before:

“Who makes all these wonderful and beautiful Things? Every Thing must itself have some creator, some First Cause.”

“Why,” the Priest knew his theology, “The things are made by the denizens of the Thing-god, his servants, the Thing-Elves.”

But this one was clever. “Why have we never seen the Thing-Elves, Father?”

“Ah,” the Priest replied, a little exasperated, “It is because the Thing-Elves are invisible.”

And so the question was answered. And the man went home.

But the matter of the Thing-Elves continued to trouble him. So, picking up his knapsack one day, he decided to go on a long journey to see if he could see the Thing-Elves. Over the mountain he went, but the Elves didn’t live over the mountain. Down the river he went,  but still the Elves did not live down the river. Into the forest he went, but could he find the Elves? No, not even in the forest!

Weary, sweaty and almost ready to accept that the Elves really were invisible, the man was about to turn back. But then, all of a sudden, he saw a building in the distance, and, what would you know, there was a train track leading to it; empty trains going in, and full trains leaving, packed with Things! So, with hope rekindled, the man made his way there. Surely that must be the Elves!

Walking through the small entrance into a dingy, dark interior, he immediately perceived the smell of sweat, and the whiff of something perhaps a little more unpleasant. “Why,” he thought, “these Elves aren’t as clean and hygienic as us humans are!”

Then, as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he started to make out figures. “Ah,” he thought, “that must be the Elves! I’ll finally see who makes the Things!” But, as he got closer, it was not Elves he saw, but children, human children! Small children, children of different colours, children with one eye, children with one arm, children with not as many toes as the people he knew; but no Elves. How curious!

“Do you know where the Thing-Elves are?” He asked of one child, a little girl with burn marks on her arm.

“No, I’ve never heard of the Thing-Elves,” she replied.

“Then who makes all these Things?” enquired the man.

“Why, that would be us! The people who keep us here have always told us that the Things are what makes the world go round, that there are Angels of the Thing-god living far away who need these Things to survive, that we are doing the work of the Thing-god. I’ve been here all my life – I know my work is very important, and necessary for the Divine Free Market, and that is why I don’t get paid much – but I do wish I could one day go and meet these great Angels who I have heard so much about!”

The sun went down that night, and all the people of King Corporation slept tight in their beds while the Thing-Elves carry on their work.

 

Oppression Grammar

The “poor.” The “hungry.” The “oppressed.” Bywords in society bandied about in our culture to denote faceless and nameless figures who live in statistics; not, seemingly, as human beings, but graphs and numbers, in the emotive lines of politician’s speeches, in our small talk. Words such as these – words that paint pictures of whole groups of people – “lost,” “homeless,” “beggar,” “prostitutes,” “slaves,” the “old.” Each has become a pivot point for emotive conversation, yet seldom ever regards the individual faces, the men and women, who these terms represent.

Take the word “prostitutes” for example. Any number of stereotyped images and emotive sentiments are kicked up by the thought. A word loaded to provoke polar emotions. Yet hardly ever do we stop to consider the stories, the individual stories, of the girls and women who become prostitutes. Militant feelings are produced when we make the assumption that these girls are always free to choose what they want to do with their bodies. For so many, this is not the case. Young girls fallen prey to human traffickers and forced to sell away their flesh are the mainstay of brothels the world over. Some are sold by their parents to pay off family debts. Slaves in every conventional definition of the word. For many, there is no concept of “freedom.” Most will never be freed.

And each of these women has a face. A story to tell. A song to sing. This is something our statistical figures and sweeping statements fail to shed truth on. The way we even use our language often drives into thoughts of benign apathy.

You see, it is not as clear as we think when we talk about “the prostitutes,” for the sake of example. For every single case of prostitution, their is a girl’s individual story to be told. When we talk about the group as a whole, either grotesquely or in seriousness, often negative feelings and militant responses are provoked, and careless and insulting stereotypes are fired into the air, never to return. Such stereotypes do injustice to the thousands of victims, each with a face and family, who are enslaved by greedy men for the “commodity” that their bodies can provide.

The “prostitute” stereotypes we might imagine do injustice to the twelve year old Cambodian girl forced to “service” up to thirty men a day, coveted for her youth. It does injustice to the Romanian woman abducted from her country, under the false hope of employment, to be forced into the sex trade.

Our language is loaded, and we hold the gun. A gun which fires bullets of dangerous stereotypes, emotive warheads, and oppressive verses. When we enter into conversation, we need to hold in our hearts, not just in our mouths, those who cannot nor are not seen by our own eyes, yet exist as human beings nevertheless. In a culture that casts judgement like a match into a dry forest, we need to step above the wildfire.

No human being deserves to live only as a statistic, or some ill-defined label.

We need to rise above the rhetoric, and, with one voice, say “no human being, like me, deserves to live like this.” We need to stop whitewashing over whole segments of humanity with our general words and our misrepresenting categories. And then, we need to go and be part of the change.

For we are no different to the girls forced to become sex slaves. At our core, we are no different to the man living on the street, living without a home. No different to every child living in hunger across the world. Circumstances do not define a person, don’t change the fact that each of us is human. 

The Perfect Utterance

The arrival of this new season has announced itself with the echoes of gunfire reverberating around the world, mingled now with the loud voices of the affluent and the silence of solidarity; the minor fall of tragedy and the major lift of a new resolve. This is the birdsong of freedom, and the marching beat of united man to preserve it. Times where each person has a response, everyone a stake in collective freedom.

But, it seems, the entire nature of that freedom is being shaken out and turned upside down.

We stand fighting for freedom of speech, and yet we’re slaves to the fear of what might become with every next move. We’re defending this liberty as something indivisible, as something that gives us the right to be who we want, do what we want, speak how we like, to whoever we like. We’re marching off the back of tragedy with new breath in our lungs, the crowds standing together to protect the right to use our voices to sing to whatever rhythm we want. Marching to the rhythms of war drums and singing our songs of revolution.

But surely, in every song, the musicians have a responsibility. Each man and woman a piece of the orchestra; they have freedom to sing and to play in whatever key they want, but yet, for the sake of producing the harmonious masterpiece, they choose to play together, with one key, with one accord.

Freedom of speech is something worth protecting. But if we, as the songwriters and musicians in this world, use that freedom to play in our own key, we will only ever produce discord and clamor. By definition, we will be free, in that we can use the pulpit to offend or to encourage; to break down or build up; to defame or to love. But with the collective freedom, comes the collective responsibility. Our voice can be used for ill or for good, to produce a perfect melody or a discordant mess.

These tragic days have taught us the far reaching power of our freedom, for better or worse. Yet, in defending that freedom, it is all too easy to become imprisoned by the chains of fear and arrogance; fear for what our words may create, and arrogance as to our liberty to use them however we like.

On our tongues is a song of freedom, the choice to make a perfect utterance.

It’s time we used our song, our little utterance, to create something beautiful out of the ashes of these times. To proclaim freedom for the captives, and release for the prisoner, to speak out for the afflicted. To shed tears with the families of Parisian victims, to cry with thousands left despairing in Nigeria, to mourn with the children of Syria.

And then, with one accord, it is our time to take up our song born from the collective freedom. Not a freedom that breaks down and tramples on others. A freedom born in love, in keeping with justice, in hope. Hope for a world bright with the exultant out pour of sons and daughters singing in one united key.

Our song can change the world. With that responsibility, we can be the singers who end this world’s poverty, bring about peace in the ruins of violence, and build from the dust the freedom for all to coexist together in peace, without regard for race, religion or any other factor.

Sleepless Apathy

Waking in the middle of the night at about 3am, in the middle of what sounded akin to a hurricane outside, was not pleasant. Even worse, however, was the struggle to get back to sleep as my mind turned to and remembered the events of the evening before. Christmas shopping in town, I’d passed by a homeless man bedded down for the night in a window crevice behind Tesco Metro. I’d then walked quickly on, putting the event to the back of my mind; ignorance always is bliss, they say, and spares a guilty conscience. After a coffee up the street I’d totally forgotten about the rough sleeper.

Now, waking at 3am, all I could think about was him. Him, sleeping out in the blowing wind, the biting cold, the driving rain. How can he be living in this, while I tuck in bed? Or rather, should I ask, why do I allow this to happen? Have I lived in that ignorance too long? It is always easier to ignore justice, move on and get the next coffee.

Maybe it’s time we said, “Not on my watch will this happen.” It’s time to reject apathy and take up arms against day by day injustices. ‘True religion’ this  Christmas, is not a few carol services. No; true religion is lived out radically in a broken, painful world. True religion steps out and houses the homeless, cares for the orphan and widow, feeds the hungry.

“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you?  When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

 “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

Matt. 25:37-40

 

A Kingdom Called Melody

If your life consisted of one song to sing, what would it be? If it were but one word in a great play, how would you say it? If it were a single note in a great melody, how would you play it?

If your life consisted of naught else but this, how would you sing?

Imagine your whole life was spent confined to just one room; you, alone, but for a lone piano to furnish the space, as well as a few sparse instructional manuals. You have no purpose, then, but to play, to learn, to master. One single commitment as you can see nothing beyond the confines of this small existence.

Then, after the passing of the years, you are released. You know nothing but black and white keys, octave by octave of your only friend, know no voice but the hammer against strings to produce something of a symphony. Upon release, you are given one commissioning.

To play. To play before the peoples, your song, your life’s song.

And you play. Would you play only a half-hearted mustering, some lacklustre attempt at your life’s only pursuit? Or would you play some melodious sonnet, something beautiful, something to be remembered throughout eternal ages?

Friends, brothers and sisters, you have been given one song. One word in a play in its writing. One note in a celestial orchestra.  One word can shake mountains; one song can move nations; one note can break the darkness.

In your mouth, there is some jewel of song that no other man can bring to this symphonic offering. Are you going to let your song be muffled? Sing out of key for earthly idols that are fading? Forget your one word in this  great play?

Turn your ears outward. Hear the world in disarrayed cacophony. Hear that crying. These sons and daughters who sing a song of wailing so mournful because they are confined to the worst orchestra devised in history. This is the orchestra called Desperation, conducted by Poverty and Injustice and Lies. Will you stand to let your song be quenched by her? Or will we rise in a dawn of song that breaks the Night upon her back?

Brother, sister, let us gather as one. We each have a song in our mouth, and the ability to sing it well or waste it. One chance, one short stint, one life. One song, one word, one note. When wailing disparity clouds the atmosphere, our song is defeated. But I hear joy coming, I hear the atmosphere changing.

I hear the sons and daughters of man rising with one song in their mouth, one song rising from the ashes and signalling the dawn. A song he and she will spend there lives singing, for there one small part in the act. I can start to hear the notes, even amidst the present distress. Notes called Mercy, Justice, Love.

Friend, will you join us in our song, a song to drown out Desperation? Will you sing out, and let the skies erupt with a new kingdom of melody? Will you spend yourself making our intent loud, that Injustice shall not reign?

We have one song, one word, one note. And but one life to sing it. So, will you stand on the edge of eternity, open your ears, and hear an atmosphere more tinted by love and joy than when you started?

Will you sing your song, and sing it loud?