“He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.” F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
In our friend Deacon Lex Ferrauiola’s blog Presence (read it!) he talks about how our brokenness can be the door to which God’s love enters. He writes, “even in our darkest moment of brokenness, our loving God heals us and makes us whole” (Presence, October 27, 2015). That’s true — I have always thought that a broken heart is the door in which God enters and for a long time I’ve looked at that as only personal, but this Holy Week during this election season, I think this can be something for our entire country.
Whether Native Americans living in Blackwater, Arizona or rural white children living in Quad Cities, Illinois or African Americans in the North Side of Milwaukee, there are people of all races and cultures living in a third world country called the United States of America. In our own state in areas like Newark and Camden and in our own prosperous county (the poverty rate for Hackensack and Englewood is close to 10%), the invisible poor are victims of the violence of poverty.
We must be clear: Economic violence is violence; perhaps one of its worse varieties since it affects so many children — 1 in 5 children (poveryusa.org) to be exact. It affected me, my childhood home was foreclosed, our family business shuttered, the deep humiliation of which still haunts me.
This is our country, and therefore our shame. Now whether you think our government should have a role in fixing this stain on our country or whether the government caused it is not the issue. The discussion of political involvement in social justice is a serious one to have but one that doesn’t interest me. Regardless your personal views, the call is clear: This Holy Week as we celebrate our faith we must be aware of what we are professing, to die with Christ and rise with Him is to die with the dying and rise with them.
“You’re preaching to the choir, Elliot,” you might be yelling at your screen. As I’ve said to my mentors, but as my mom would say, “that’s how you get the choir to sing.” If you’re a standard OLMC parishioner, my experience tells me that you already give more than most, you are a generous, thoughtful, interesting and interested person, but let us go where we did not want to go, let us ask God to break our hearts and feel the pain of the suffering all around us. Break our heart again Lord! Let us never become complacent in the sight of suffering.
Christ is being crucified everyday in these United State. Will we have the courage to brave what others think, take Him off the cross, bury Him with dignity and faithfully hope in His resurrection — when on that dewy spring day, as we hoped, he rises? This week my prayer is, “My world will not change, my country will not change, unless I change. Unless I change.” I hope I have that courage, I sure as hell hope I do. Wish me way more than luck.
I’ll be seeing you,
Elliot
