Second Hand Clothes
Mike Broadhurst
"If God is all-knowing, omnipotent and loving, then why does he allow suffering?"
It's a fair question.
Over the past few days I, along with a couple of my Malagasy friends, have taken to the streets of Toamasina with backpacks filled with children's second hand clothing. There is no lack of children roaming the streets of Toamasina who are in need. It is overwhelming.
On occasion I have awakened early enough to walk our corridors and alleys just as the sun is breaching the horizon. It's then that you see where these children sleep. Some find refuge under pieces of corrugated tin, others with a rolled up blanket in the hollow of a door, and the lucky ones with a parent close by (usually a woman) under a portico that provides covering on rainy nights.
There are lame children, blind children, hungry children, homeless children, naked children and parentless children. They have no money for school tuition and little parental oversight to instill a desire for education even if funds were available. They run the streets night and day. Almost all of them take to begging.
So this Christmas our ministry purchased a 45-kilo bundle of second hand clothes. You never now what you'll get with such a purchase, but for about $165 US there are 400 or so articles. Our bundle was specifically filled with clothes for children under 12.
As we ventured out this morning a woman approached us with a little girl in tow in sore need of something to wear. She told us that the 3-year-old had just lost her mother. We asked the woman if she was the grandmother. She said, "No, just a friend." The father, she said, just does not care and provides no support, so she has taken on the responsibility of looking after the little one.
The little girl is one of the lucky ones, because many of these children are abandoned and left to fend for themselves. As much as I can gather, there is a network of kids in my community who rely on one another for survival. I am amazed at what they are able to accomplish on pure instinct alone.
This particular little girl was beautiful. She had big brown eyes and curly brown hair. She couldn't have been any more than 30 inches tall and maybe 20 pounds in weight. She was clearly underfed - little spindly legs hanging beneath a tattered and dirty dress. Yet, she was still as beautiful as any parent could want.
You look at one such as these and wonder how far a little bit of love and encouragement might change their destiny. We gave her the best dress we had in our bag. It was second hand, but as good as new in her sparkling eyes. At that moment it was all we could give.
Later in the morning we stood in the town square trying to provide for the needs of the urchins that crowded around. As I looked through our bags I prayed that the stash of second hand clothes might be miraculously multiplied. I could feel the hands of children pulling on my shirt tail, tapping my stomach and pressing against my legs as those in the back squashed the group closer.
Their pleas for supply were like cicadas on a summer night; none so loud that alone it would be much more than a murmur, but when orchestrated together it was more than enough to make it hard to think. Unfortunately, we didn't have something for everyone.
Some were grateful, offering a demure, "Merci." Some took what they had and retreated from the crush. Still others stood around wanting more, oblivious to the unfulfilled needs of those standing next to them. All for second hand clothes.
I can't explain it, but the experience was pure pleasure. I could smell their filth, feel their sweat, even see the gnats swarm around their heads in the glistening sun beams. Their grimy hands grasped for clothing as their eyes clamored for something more. For that moment, as brief as it may have been, I felt like it wasn't me giving at all, but receiving something of paradoxical joy.
I understand that Toamasina, Madagascar is just one little corner of a big wide-world. However, there are enough of these little corners that it is beyond my comprehension as to why the most blessed of the earth do not see, or should I say refuse to look.
So, for me, I find the question of God's existence in light of suffering a smoke screen. We can all agree that there is more than enough suffering to go around, so what does it matter who is to blame?
Asking about the origins of suffering ultimately begs the question, "What am I going to do about it?" This changes the question from the philosophical or metaphysical and turns it into reality. It turns the question into a challenge. "Do we really care?"
If we do care, then the reality of it all requires that we take action. If we are not willing to get involved then I have to conclude that pondering and debating why suffering exists is inconsequential and vain. If we don't care then what's the point of asking the question?
C.S. Lewis wrote, "Let's pray that the human race never escapes from Earth to spread its iniquity elsewhere."
Conversely, the Bible narrative is that from Heaven the Father saw the suffering of this world and sent his Son into the midst of it, to minister to it, to heal it and to even take it upon Himself. He did it with the expectation that His mercy would be attractive enough that all would want to follow Him and leave our iniquity behind.
To do that, the Messiah demands of us to pick up a cross. That means we cannot stand idly by and yet proclaim to know who is He.