"Is it not enough for you to feed on the good pasture? Must you also trample the rest of your pasture with your feet? Is it not enough for you to drink clear water? Must you also muddy the rest with your feet? Must my flock feed on what you have trampled and drink what you have muddied with your feet?" Ezekiel 34.18
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.'" Matthew 25.40
We live in the flight path for three hospitals. Every day, and often at night, multiple helicopters fly over our house, transporting dangerously ill patients to places where they may be helped. Each time I hear a helicopter overhead I pause and say a short prayer for the patient and all who are on board.
Recently, in overcast weather, I was particularly aware of these flights. The pilots were bringing their helicopters through lower airspace to allow for better sight lines. High flying copters are noisy. Low flying copters are really, really noisy. It was apparently a busy transport day because it seemed there were copters above us all day and into the evening hours. I had been reading about attacks and helicopters flying overhead in the Middle East, particularly Syria, Iraq, and Pakistan. I became overwhelmed by the noise and the prayers and the thoughts I was experiencing. I finally got in my car and went for a drive to escape it for a bit.
The irony was not lost on me. You see, I could escape the noise. I could drive out of range of the helicopters. The sounds of them so close that it seemed they might even land on my house were sounds and thoughts that I could escape. I’m fortunate to have a car; fortunate to be able to drive that car; and fortunate to have somewhere away from the noise where I could escape to relative silence. This is not true for our sisters and brothers in the war-torn and war-weary places that were the focus of my reading. Day and night they are subjected to the very sounds I was able to escape. Day and night they hear not only what I hear, but the thud and explosion of bombs, helicopters that crash, the whoosh of erupting fires, the screams of the wounded and dying. They hear the terrifying quiet hum of a drone, headed perhaps to their house or their neighbor’s home as the target.
When I was a child, we didn’t see many airplanes or helicopters in our skies. Because I grew up in North Akron, we did see the Goodyear Blimp from time to time, as it floated lazily overhead with a whirring sound and a low pitched “drone” of the engine. When sighted, one of us would call to all the others to come and see! We would jump up and down and wave to the planes, to the helicopters, to the blimp and imagine the occupants waving back at us. Occasionally the blimp would dip ever so slightly to let us know that we had been noticed. Sometimes helicopters would hover, just a few seconds, to let us know that we had been seen. We’d cheer and then delight in telling moms and dads the stories at dinnertime of our air to ground adventures. Where were those planes, copters, and blimps coming from and where were they headed?
Yes, the irony of my experiences and those of our sisters and brothers in other places. What are their prayers when they first hear those sounds? Do they call to others to come and see? Do they run and try to escape that really noisy sound that surrounds them? Where do they hide? Do they try to get noticed by the pilot and crew so that there will be an acknowledgment that they have been seen? Or do they run inside, hoping that they haven’t been seen and mistaken as a target?
I am at once annoyed and moved to compassion when I hear those flight sounds. I also wonder what our sisters and brothers feel when they hear those sounds as well. What is it like to experience only fear or anger at the same sounds? What is it like to have the sound relentlessly surround you and have no avenue for escape?
You and I sit comfortably in our homes, in front of computer screens and televisions, and watch hell explode in a far away land. We join others in shouting for more bombs, more weapons, and more destruction. We listen and cheer as politicians clamor for the annihilation of our “enemies” and their families. We nod our heads enthusiastically as proposals are made to turn foreign sands into glass and take out families to stop the evil. “Better there than here,” we exclaim. “They have it coming,” we assure ourselves.
My questions are simple. Do they have it coming? Is it better there than here? What has been done to us so horrific that we must sustain fighting and death all over the world in retaliation? Will that bring one life back to us? How many lives must be taken before we are even? Of course, the biggest question of all, the one we dearly want to avoid wrestling, is simply what responsibility do we have for all the pain and suffering; for all the mutilation and death; for all the destruction? How much fuel have we poured into the anger fires by our very arrogance and presence? What might happen if we simply stopped? What might change if we simply began to care for others, to share with others, to grieve with others instead of bringing grief to others?
As I write this today, the sky is clear and blue above our house. The noise of the helicopters has been low and only occasionally today. Do our sisters and brothers in other places have blue skies today? Is the noise low and only occasionally heard? Are they outside picnicking with friends or headed to lunch at their favorite restaurant? Shopping for food so that their family can have dinner together and share stories of their day’s adventures? Or are they combing through the rubble of yet another house, looking for survivors, and hoping to salvage some of the contents so that they may go on with life.
Another helicopter flies overhead. I pause and say a prayer. I pray for the patient and all who are on board that flight. I also stop and pray for our sisters and brothers. I pray that they will have a moment of peace, of respite from war and hatred and destruction. I pray that, at last, we will realize that when we cleverly ask God if we are our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers, we will actually wait and hear God’s resounding, “YES”. Will we be sheep before the Son of Man and hear, “whatever you did this to the least of these brothers and sisters, you have done to me”? Or will we, like the goats, hear, “whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me”? Will we remember that it is the peacemakers who are blessed and not the warriors and warmongers? How do you pray?
