One is the Most Compassionate Number

There was a huge earthquake in Nepal. More than 2,100 people are dead. Two days ago they were alive. Today they are dead. Want to know what I did when I heard the news? Well, first I finished my coffee. Later I went running and got some lunch. I had a strong craving for ice cream that afternoon, so I went to the grocery store and bought some. I ate the ice cream while watching Doctor Who. I edited about seven pages of a paper. I changed back into my pajamas in the early afternoon. I finished up Monday's homework.

Want to know what I didn't do? I did not cry over the loss of more than 2,000 friends, parents, children, and siblings. I didn't think about all the people who are now homeless. I didn't make a donation to any relief efforts. I didn't spend time poring over news stories and researching ways that I could help.

Did your Saturday look similar to mine? It probably did. But why is that? Why can't we bring ourselves to care about 2,100 people? I like to think that I'm a fairly compassionate person. You're probably compassionate, too. You have at least one cause that you care for deeply, right? When a friend needs you, you're there immediately. Yet we don't react on behalf of 2,100 people.

The reason is because of that number: 2,100. It's called statistical numbing, and it's been engrained in the human brain for a very long time. We mentally brush aside large numbers. If you hear a story about a little girl whose life is in danger, you'll donate $11 to help her. If you hear about eight children whose lives are in danger, you'll donate $5. Mathematically, that makes absolutely no sense. Even I know that, and I'm bad at math. Logically, we should want to multiply that $11 by 8 when we hear about those kids. But maybe numbers just seem less human to us than stories.

So here's what we should do. Ignore the number. Pretend the number doesn't exist. Focus on the story. A seven year old child stands in the middle of a pile of rubble. It's dangerous for her to be there. She's surrounded by nails, splintered wood, broken glass. She's going to get hurt. You know she is. But there's no mother to take her away from this. Her mother is somewhere under that pile. And that child is sobbing. Where's Mommy? Who's going to take care of this baby now? Who's going to hold this little girl? Get that image in your head. Hold on to it. It's painful, but hold on to it. And only when it's fully taken root inside of you, multiply that child's mommy by 2,100.

Now do you want to do something? Me too. Most of us won't be able to do much to help, but we can support the relief efforts monetarily. Care.org is supporting Nepal right now. So are many others, but make sure you check out CharityNavigator.org to make sure you're donating to a legitimate nonprofit. And if you can only spare $5, then there's $5 more for rebuilding. Have nothing? Tweet a link to a nonprofit.

I believe that prayers are powerful, and if you do too, pray for those friends and siblings and parents.

Our brains want to get in the way of our compassion. We won't let our brains win.

Remember That One Time?

Hey, remember that one time when a bunch of Christians flooded the nation's Chik-fil-A restaurants because we were going to stick it to the world with chicken sandwiches? Yeah. Good times. High fives all around, everybody.

What about that other time when we decided that we needed our own dating site? Eh, I guess that one's not so weird. We have dating sites for every demographic, including geeks, farmers, and pretty people (or narcissists). I didn't make that up. Okay, so while I do have a problem with a "find God's match for you" tagline, I guess there's nothing wrong with a Christian dating site. What about Christian Pinterest though? Christian Youtube? It's not just an internet thing, either. We've got our very own breath mints. I mean, maybe there's not technically anything wrong with those things, but...but...did we actually need any of it? If I eat Christian candy, will my breath smell holier than if I'd eaten one of those secular candies?

My personal favorite is that one time we decided to stop writing letters and sending funds to real, actual children when a ministry decided to hire gay people. Good choices.




Hey, remember that one time when we all stopped shopping from the company that says "Merry Christmas" but doesn't pay women as much as men?

Remember that one time when we wrote to the clothing store that sells "modest" things but exploits needy children and single mothers overseas?

Remember that one time when we took to social media to voice our anger over poverty, hunger, and rape?

Remember that one time we forwarded emails full of ways we could help orphans?

Remember that one time when we held a massive protest against abusers and abusive systems?




...I don't remember those last ones, either.

Lifeboats

“Fifteen hundred people went into the sea when the Titanic sank from under us.  There were twenty boats floating nearby, and only one came back.  One.  Six were saved from the water, myself included.  Six.  Out of fifteen hundred.  Afterward the seven-hundred people in the boats had nothing to do but wait – wait to die, wait to live, wait for an absolution that would never come.”

A good sad movie should leave you with something.  A sense of hope.  A catharsis.  “Titanic”, the movie based off of the actual ship, doesn’t provide that for me, though I know it does for others.  I don’t cry when I watch the movie.  I just sit there with a hollow sense of depression and a Celine Dion song stuck in my head.  So much hopelessness and futility permeates those final scenes as water fills the boat, as people wait to drown, as people scream for help in the freezing ocean while those who steer the lifeboats paddle away and refuse to turn around.  The lifeboat pilots had an excuse.  Surely, as one character reasoned, if they had turned around the boats would have been swarmed by desperate people.  The boats would have gone under.

Oh, but wouldn’t it have been worth it to try?  To attempt to save even just one more life?  To release even one more person from the cruelty of the freezing water?  Would you be able to live with yourself knowing that you paddled to safety and ignored the dying?  Would it not be better to die than to live like that? 

More than six people could have been saved if only those lifeboats had turned around.  But the lifeboats just kept moving slowly in the other direction because the people inside counted their own lives, their own safety, as more important than everyone else’s. 

The one boat that turned around got there too late. 

Fifteen thousand people.  Six were rescued.  Six. 

Do you know where I’m about to go from here?

The Titanic is gone.  But there are so many people who are still waiting for a lifeboat.  You and I have managed to paddle to safety, to a world of comfort, plenty of food, of warmth, and of opportunity.  But we’re steadily rowing our lifeboats away from the people who are trapped and screaming for us to help them because we count our own safety and comfort as more important than theirs. 

The world had one hundred and forty three million orphans.  At least.  We have the lifeboats.  They have nothing to do but wait, just like those left in the ocean.  They’re waiting to live or to die.  We can do something.  If only eight percent of the Christians in the world chose to help just one child, the crisis would be over.  The children wouldn’t sink.  They wouldn’t be left to die.  But we’re all still rowing away and hoping that somebody else turns around.  Somebody else can risk being pulled into the water.  And as a result, only a few are rescued. 

The full weight of the Titanic tragedy hits during the scene when two men row a single lifeboat back out into the ocean.  “Is there anybody alive out there?”  One calls repeatedly, his voice echoing across the icy water.  “Is there anybody alive out there?” 

“These are all dead,” replies the other.  “We came too late.”

We came too late. 

Please.  Don’t be too late.  They’re calling for help.

Turn your boat around. 

Gadgets

Perhaps I'm old-fashioned.  Maybe I'm clinging to antiquated ideas.  I might be denying my future children access to a life of technological experience, and I don't care.  No matter what nonsense you attempt to persuade me with, I will not change my mind.  I believe in books.

Yes, books.  Remember those?  I love all of the arguments behind why we should all buy expensive e-readers.  They're portable.  You can read them in the sun.  They have a long battery life.  You know what else is portable?  A book.  Know what else you can read in the sun?  A book.  Know what will never, ever need recharged?  A book.  Now, I'm not so stubborn that I won't admit that an e-reader might be useful in some situations.  They're probably helpful in the long run when it comes to textbooks, for example.  However, this whole ad campaign trying to convince us all to replace our actual libraries with virtual ones is just ridiculous.  Want to know where it gets even more ridiculous?  They're marketing these monstrosities to children.  Companies are making brightly-colored e-readers for little ones.  I'm sure that does wonders for the attention span.  Teach them to read as long as the books can talk to them, just like the television.  It doesn't stop there, either.  Just in case we're not spoiling children enough, we can also buy them their very own digital cameras and laptops.  If you buy the e-reader, the laptop, and the digital camera for your child, you've spent about $130 before tax.  

Does it not seem odd that some eight-year olds are running around with electronic devices instead of playing outside while the money spent on those gadgets might have helped a child in need?  While we're spending money on electronics for toddlers, other young ones don't even have very basic needs.  How much food do you think $130 could have bought for a starving person?  How much would $130 mean to a child who needs money to go to a real home?  How much would $130 help a child with Down Syndrome or HIV?

How much longer can we ignore this injustice?  What are we going to do about it?

Depraved Indifference

I saw this video at some point during the fall semester of the last school year.  I've wanted to post it on this blog for a long time, but I couldn't remember the name, and it's taken me until just now to find it.  The part that really made a difference for me starts about two minutes into the video.