Come and Help

Sometimes I sit at my desk and fight back tears.

No, my job is pretty cool. But, for example, this week I reviewed photos of former child soldiers attending a trauma healing program in central Africa. It’s heartbreaking to think about what these smiling elementary-aged kids have seen and been forced to do. All because some adults desired power.

But there’s hope. I see the evidence of restoration. Because someone cared enough to go to them. To be with them and seek their healing.

The cry of the Macedonian in Paul’s vision is plaintive, begging. “Come over to Macedonia and help us!”

How can Paul help? He doesn’t wait. He goes to them. He spends time in Lydia’s house. And out of that, the Philippian church is born. But we live in a culture with our own divisions, our individual categories. It’s easy to stay here.

I might say I want to help other people, but chances are, I don’t want to sit next to them in the pew on Sunday morning. They’re not like me. They don’t think like me. And it’s easier to stay in my selfish, Christian-flavored life; in my own narrow political sphere and philosophy, than be with people who might make me think differently.

Who is the Macedonian in my life? Who do I need to go and help?

To whom will God send you today?