Jai Ho!

Coming off a weekend where I was privileged to see a great performance of the play "Shenandoah" at the DeSoto Family Theater and then, last night, to spend quality time with my wife watching a movie, I must tell you that my heart is heavy today.  I can certainly relate to Jo Dee Messina's song "Even God Must Get the Blues."

"Pick up any morning paper,

turn-on the six o'clock news,

The devil's been so busy lately,

Even God must get the blues."

Now, you might ask, what prompted this fit of melancholy?  Well, I'm glad you asked. Pull up a rocking chair and let's have a chat.  First, as I mentioned, we watched a wonderful performance of the play Shenandoah. Without giving much away let's just say it's about a father trying his best to keep his family together during the Civil War, all without taking sides in that bitter conflict. However, despite his best efforts his youngest son is taken prisoner by the Yankees. At that point he says that since the war has now come to his family it is time to get involved and he, along with four of his six sons set out to find "the boy" as they call him. Speeding along in the story, they cannot find him and sadly decide to return home, losing one son during the trip and returning home only to find that another son and his wife were murdered by bandits during their absence. As they make their way mournfully to church you see "the boy" limping up in the background, making his way painfully back to his father.  Let me just tell you, if seeing that doesn't put a lump in your throat then we need to have a talk.

We went home and after supper I put in the next movie received from Netflix. I don't really know what's in my queue, I just add things that seem interesting and wait for them to arrive, and then send them back only to wait for the next one. Anyway, we opened the envelope to see "Slumdog Millionaire" as the current selection. Bless my wife's heart, she tried to watch it, but the subtitles loose something on the TV screen and after awhile she gave up and went to bed.

I, on the other hand, sat mesmerized by the tale of Jamal, his older brother Salim, and Latika, the young girl he first meets as just another street orphan. Again, not to give away the whole story if you haven't already seen it, let's just quickly say it's the story of the boys life as slumdogs and how Jamal keeps trying to find Latika. He ends up on the Indian version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire and then, through a series of flashbacks, we see his life up to that point and how he was able to know the answers to the questions despite the lack of formal education.

Anyway, you could be taken in by the romanticism and at the end feel happy that Jamal and Latika were together at last. Or, perhaps you would have the reaction I did: a degree of happiness, yes, but with a large dose of fear. Fear? That's right -- fear!  My mind was racing with images of "the boy" making his way home after the war in Virginia; of little Jamal so desperate for an autograph that he would jump into an outhouse pit; and the pitiful image of young Latika standing in the rain, wanting so badly to get out of the downpour and into the container the boys were in, but not without being asked.

"The third angel poured his bowl into the rivers and springs of water, and they became blood. And I heard the angel of the waters say, "You are just, O Holy One, who are and were, for you have judged these things; because they shed the blood of saints and prophets, you have given them blood to drink. It is what they deserve." (Revelation 16:4-6, NRSV)

How many slumdogs went to sleep last night on a pile of trash? Think about that sentence for a minute....then let's rewrite it: How many children went to sleep last night on a pile of trash? That makes a difference doesn't it? When we see them as just 'slumdogs' they don't merit as much of our attention, do they? As I tried to go to sleep I lay there thinking to myself, how many "boys" are wandering aimlessly around Africa, child soldiers or AIDS orphans, with no home or parents to return to?  How many Jamals and Latikas.....or, as I struggled with my emotions, how many Mabries or Hallies were lying out there, in the cold, on a trash heap. How many of them drifted off to sleep with a growling stomach and a tear on their cheek, wondering why they have been forgotten? How many lay there dreaming about a mother, a father, or perhaps an "Opa" to give them hugs and kisses? As I lay there, snug in my bed, a really frightening throught came to me: How many of those children have given up, lost hope, and have settled for their current reality as the only possible option for themselves?

"...but Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs." (Matthew 19:14, NRSV)

Well, I told you my heart was heavy.

Maybe that's the first step. Now we just need heavy hearts to become helping hands.

Peace,
Neville