Who in your life needs your help today?

By The Rev. Amy Venable

July 02, 2009 01:14 am

— By the time you read this, an Oklahoma Citizens' Proclamation for Morality will have been signed by one of our state representatives and her supporters in the State Capitol Rotunda, proclaiming that "our economic woes are consequences of our greater national moral crisis." The moral "failings" in question include abortion, pornography, same-sex marriage, sex trafficking, divorce, illegitimate births, child abuse and "many other forms of debauchery."
I agree that the collapse of our nation's economy is a result of decisions made based on ignoble motivations. But to blame the foreclosure of thousands of homes and the downfall of the auto industry on things like divorce and babies born to unmarried parents is absurd. It feels almost as absurd as blaming the Dust Bowl on burlesque dancing.
I am an ordained United Methodist minister, which means I completed four years of undergraduate school and four years of graduate school, plus three years of probationary service to the church, a period that realized completion only when I turned in a thesis that was approved by a jury of my colleagues. I passionately wanted to become a clergyperson, and have made the sacrifices required to see that dream realized. I have tried every day of my life to make choices that reflect my deep faith in God and my professional calling as a shepherd to others.
But according to this Proclamation for Morality, I am one of the debauched. In my late 20s, I fell in love with a gorgeous, kind, talented young man and before a crowd of 350 people in a church sanctuary, pledged to be his partner for life. Painfully, my eyes were finally opened to the profound collapse of my marital covenant, and I chose to move on, seeing that the situation was untenable. It was a humiliating, devastating, heartbreaking experience for me and my immediate family. In the years since, I have watched my friends get married, have cute babies and enjoy the journey in pairs while I have spent the time learning to take care of myself. I have had no partner in my life with whom I could share the burden of decisions ranging from "Should I take this new job in a far-away town?" to "How do I get the air conditioner fixed?" to "What happens if I am sidelined by illness since I have no second income to depend on?" At times, it has felt like riding a 10-speed with flat tires uphill through hell. I thought debauchery was supposed to be more fun than that.
To me, the hard times we feel right now are chiefly a result of selfishness, perhaps one of the greatest sins to which we are prone as humans. The gospel of Matthew, part of the Christian Scriptures, tells in chapter 25 that Jesus admonished his disciples to take care of God when we saw God hungry, homeless, naked or in prison. Followers ask God in the story, "When did we see you hungry, homeless, naked or in prison?" Jesus' answer is, "Whenever you saw the least of humanity in need and did not help them, that's when you did not help God" (paraphrase mine).
When we have had the opportunity to help someone who is in need and have failed to do so, we have contributed to the downfall of our country's welfare. When folks took advantage of others who could never repay the loans they were offered, they sinned. When folks squandered the life savings of those who had worked all their lives to do the right thing, they sinned. When folks fabricated numbers on corporate balance sheets for their own gain, they sinned. And the hard part for people like me and you to swallow is that we are called to forgive those folks and move on, hoping not to make the same bad choices ourselves.
Who in your life needs your help today? Could an elderly neighbor benefit from an armload of groceries you might drop off? Could a co-worker benefit from a ride to the pharmacy? Could a non-profit organization in Norman benefit from the $10 you mail in? When you do it for the least of these, even in the least of ways, you have done the right thing. Let's build this nation back up with small (or large if you can) acts of compassion, not with condemnation.