I’m lucky. You who read this post are probably lucky. You were born into a relatively stable environment. To decent parents. You have an education. Job. Family. Friends. A religious tradition. You can travel. And if you get sick, there are doctors to take care of you. The twinkling spark that suddenly became YOU arrived just in the right place. At the right time. It was a lottery. Of birth.
What if that spark had come to life a hundred years ago. A thousand. For many in those times, they just endured. Day by day. Struggling with the things we take for granted today. Yet even now there are those who are born into a life of abysmal poverty, suffocating hunger and crippling disease. Raised in countries ravaged by violence, hatred and injustice. Where every single day may be an arduous, painful and frightening saga. Do you ever think — that could’ve been me.
While I go to church on Sunday, I scratch my head over those faith traditions which deny salvation to those not exactly like them. Can a little boy help if he is born in Totonicapan, Guatemala? Or to a Hindu family in Rajahmundry, India? Can we help that we are born Jewish? Lutheran? Buddhist? And if the little girl in Zimbabwe never hears the message of [pick your faith tradition] what does that mean for her eternity? Her hope of salvation? Is it a closed door? I wonder how Gabriel might answer that question (see post of 8/25/16).