"Don't thank me"

Today is Remembrance Day, November the 11th.  If you are like me, you will undoubtedly spend some time thinking about death, war, and the millions of young men whose lives have been snuffed out by armed conflicts in the 20th Century.

Many will say "Thank a soldier, they're the reason that you have the freedom you enjoy today!" or "Let's remember those who died for your freedom."  and maybe put a picture of a poppy as their Facebook profile picture.  I have no doubt that these people are sincere, and truly grateful for their lives, just as I am grateful to live in the relative peace that I enjoy now.

Many years ago, I once wore a military uniform.  For 8 years, I was part of Canada's Reserve Forces, although I worked full time for a few years.  I frequently had people approach me and tell me that they "appreciate what I do", and I wanted to say,
"Don't thank me, I haven't done anything!"
Just because I wore a multicolored uniform with badges and a hat does not make me a hero.  No man becomes a hero because of his job.  Do you want to know what my role in the military was?  I filled out paperwork, and sat in front of a computer all day.  It was boring, and I realized early that I'm not fit for a desk job.

On the other hand, my grandfather Manny volunteered with the Royal Canadian Air Force in the 40's, becoming part of an air crew.  His aircraft would have been responsible for flying across the English channel, and finding military targets to destroy.  Many of these would have been in occupied France, and many more would have been in Germany.  Ultimately, the efforts of many millions were successful, and the Nazi regime was destroyed, although Manny was eventually shot down and captured before the final end.

World War 1 and 2 ended with 100+ million people dead, and many millions more wounded and homeless.  The monetary cost of war was astronomical, and there isn't a government still around that isn't STILL paying the debt that was incurred.  In the US, the government used the war efforts to enact an Income Tax, expand the use of paper money, and force millions of young men to join the military, and ultimately die in muddy and frozen trenches.  These are not good things, this is not what "freedom" looks like.  Yet, we call these the "good wars", and talk about how "we would be speaking German now" if not for these horrible, costly wars.

World War 1 started with a very small land dispute, and turned into a raging world conflict, and World War 2 was prompted when a failed painter took advantage of a demoralized German population to seize power and enact his twisted vision of a perfect world.  Many don't realize that Germany had been economically crushed by the Versailles Treaty, and had been paying millions of dollars in gold to France, allegedly to "repay" the damage caused by WW1.  The German population was starving, and their money was worthless.  They wanted a solution, and Hitler provided it.

Of course, once the war had begun, it needed to be stopped.  Terrible things were done by both the Allies, and the Nazis.  Entire cities filled with innocent people were killed by bombing, including two Japanese cities where 250,000 civilians were murdered by atomic weapons, when Japan was already on the brink of surrender.  We found out later that the Americans simply wanted to see what the bombs would do to a city...and today, there are enough nukes around to destroy all life on earth 10 times over.

Was this good?  No.  Nothing good ever comes of war, just death and misery.  No one really wins, but you better believe that there are losers!  Nevertheless, I recognize something about those who volunteered to fight.  They really thought they were doing something good.  They wanted to help, although I suspect many of them were simply thrilled by the excitement of "War".

I'm not going to talk about the Afghanistan war, or Korea, or Vietnam, or peacekeeping missions.  I'm only going to say this.  War is hell, and those who see it will find that a piece of that hell still lives inside them.  The wars of the 20th century were fought for Europe and Asia, but everyone ultimately suffered.  We are not more free because of war, we are simply alive, and grateful to be so.

To those who died, I will say, "I'm sorry you are dead".  To those who lived, I will say, "I am glad you survived".  We will never know what the world might have been without war, but I know this; we will soon forget about the horror, the death, disease and misery, and the world will eventually be at war again.  We should avoid this at all costs, but we won't.  I just hope that my children, and yours don't become victims like so many have before us.  If you remember anything, remember that!

The Untouchables

Article - The Untouchables

By Adam L Schneider

            In a far corner of the world, you stand on a crowded street, barely a street in fact, and more a smear of dirt buried beneath the jostling throngs of human bodies heading in every direction.  So many people!  More than a billion people live in India, and they all seem to be on this street with you.  As you scan the faces, you see that there are many different shades of skin color.  India is home to 25 separate provinces, each with it’s own language.  Your eyes are drawn to a very dark skinned man, hauling a crude wheelbarrow filled with refuse.  The crowd seems to part around him, as if he were somehow surrounded by an invisible forcefield.  Another dark skinned man is seen in a doorway, holding a piece of leather.  Your eyes meet quickly, and he looks away.  His wife is a shy silhouette behind him, not daring to even appear in public.  As you continue, you see many more people performing menial tasks, dirty chores, and even cleaning up human waste.  They all seem to have very dark skin, and no one will go near them.  It’s as if they were…untouchable. 

Many of these “untouchables”, or Dalit (as they are known in India) end up as labourers, leatherworkers, butchers, garbage collectors, and historically, they were segregated from the regular population to the point that no one would dare even brush against them by accident.

            Today, the government in India has enacted many laws to protect these people, and the caste system is fading into the past.  Dalits today hold 17% of India’s jobs, and they’ve been elected to political office on every level, repeatedly.  Great job India!  Now, pack up your bags, and we’ll fly back to North America.  It just so happens to be Sunday, and, what a coincidence, there is a big, beautiful church right next door to the airport!  You’re just in time for the morning service, and you’re even dressed for the occasion, with your buttoned up collar shirt, and pressed slacks.  Some one even polished your wingtip shoes while you were on the airplane!  Boy, that Westjet sure thinks of everything.

            As the service ends, you still feel disoriented from the plane ride, almost as though you were still back on that narrow crowded street in rural India, trying to press your way through the crushing mass of people.  You briefly remember the Dalits you saw, and you say a thankful prayer that there is no “caste” system in your hometown.  As the congregation stands to leave, most are joking and laughing, talking about plans, or telling their friends about the past week.  Not everyone gets up, though.  A few people are still sitting, not talking, or laughing, or doing anything at all.  Most of these people will wait for everyone else to leave, then slip out the door, nearly invisible.  The only reason you noticed them, is that the look on their face seems strangely familiar…like you’ve seen people like that somewhere else. 

            Every church has them.  The “untouchables”.  They might be socially awkward, shy, angry, or they might be strange looking, or even downright ugly.  Parents whisper to their children, “Don’t go near Mr Laughstooloud, he might be dangerous!”, and even the ushers seem to be uncomfortable greeting them.  Once in a while, a brave soul will make a point to say, “Hey, how’re ya doin!” in a syrupy voice, shake their hand, utter some banal phrase like, “Boy it’s cold out there today, huh?”, and then make a run for it.  That’s fine for starters, but then what?  This person didn’t come to shake random people’s hands and wax on about the weather, they came because they NEEDED SOMETHING, and the Body of Jesus Christ, the Believers, the Church, seemed to be a place to get it! 

            A few minutes ago, I got a text from a friend of mine who is the very definition of “untouchable”.  It’s his birthday today, and I’m the only one who remembered.  His texts are childish, and riddled with spelling errors, but he has a brain injury, so that’s no surprise.  I’m often awakened by a text, or rarely, a phone call at 2 or 3 in the morning, where he tells me how sick he is of life, and how he wants to “let go”.  If you saw this guy at church, you would never know he was depressed, he hides it beneath awkward humour, lame jokes, and constant laughter.  Most people roll their eyes, and just walk away, if they don’t simply avoid or ignore him. 

            I decided long ago, that this man was my friend no matter what.  No matter how many times he woke me up with late night text messages, or if I could see food on his teeth, or dead skin in his beard when he talks, I’ve decided that he’s my friend, and deserves my attention.  When I’m at church, I make a point to have a conversation with him, short, but personal.  I text him back when he sends a message (not always right away).  I remember details about his life, the girl he likes, the things he does for fun, and when he says, “I love you bro!”, I say it right back, because that’s what friends do, they share the love that Jesus showed to us!

            I once thought of my friend as “my little project”, but I’ve grown beyond that.  Now, he’s just my friend.  I know that Jesus sent him my way, and that’s fine with me!  I asked for it, after all.  I prayed to God, “Oh Lord, let me serve you!”, and I put my hands down, turned around, and there was my ministry, right in front of me.  Did you think that God was going to send you to Africa?  Thailand?  Mexico?  Or, are you willing to find that one person, the “untouchable”, and become a missionary without leaving your chair?

            Here’s what you need to do:  Stop pretending that you’re too awesome to talk to these people, sit your hiney down in the chair next to them, and introduce yourself.  When they talk, listen and ask questions.  If someone you know stops by and interrupts, tell them you’re busy!  Your new friend needs your attention, and you’re going to give it, or you've failed the first mission God gave ever gave you, you know the one that goes “Love your Neighbour”?  You don’t need to give them your phone number and a house key, but next week, when you see them again, greet them by name, and do the same thing you did before.  You can only do what you can, but do something!

            Maybe it will never happen, but if everyone in church made a point to make friends with a stranger, to get to know newcomers, or to make friends with that guy whose beard looks like it might actually contain a bee’s nest, there would be no untouchables in church, and there would be far less pride and arrogance in His Body.