Stardust with Minds and Hearts?
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I
was captivated by the 2008 movie, Slumdog Millionaire. But apart from the
intriguing plot about a slum-dwelling boy who is about to win the grand prize
on the Indian version of “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” the beautifully
filmed movie was a challenge to my faith.
The
problem came from viewing scenes of the enormous slums where millions of people
live in unimaginable poverty. It wasn’t the problem that many see, the one prompting
the question, “How can a loving God allow this?” Poverty is our problem, seems
to me. God depends on us to solve it, to properly care for our brothers and
sisters, and we’re not doing a bang-up job.
No,
the thought struck me that Christian theology teaches that God knows and loves
each of those people, each one waiting in the long lines to use the communal
latrines, each one looking for a way to eke out a living. This idea of God is
pretty basic to Christianity at least.
Matthew’s gospel describes a pep talk Jesus gives to
his disciples in which he tells them that God knows us intimately, that “even
the hairs of your head are all numbered.” And the first letter of John
says: “See
what kind of love the Father has given to us that we should be called children
of God; and so we are.”
Since the questions surrounding Slumdog, I’ve asked myself similar questions at baseball games and events where large numbers gather. How can God know, and love, all these thousands of people, many of whom, presumably, never give God a thought? It’s much easier to imagine God’s love for people who know and love God, for people we know and love, and for people we see as “significant.” But the “unwashed millions?”
Since the questions surrounding Slumdog, I’ve asked myself similar questions at baseball games and events where large numbers gather. How can God know, and love, all these thousands of people, many of whom, presumably, never give God a thought? It’s much easier to imagine God’s love for people who know and love God, for people we know and love, and for people we see as “significant.” But the “unwashed millions?”
I
like the popular idea heard often today that we are “stardust,” that everything
that exists came from the heart of a massive star, eventually evolving into humans.
It reminds us of our origins and that we are all made of the same stuff, us and
the millions in the world’s slums and all the world’s prisons, Vladimir Putin
and Kim Jong Un, John Boehner and Barak Obama, my new, next-door neighbors and even the teens
who go by my house blasting their ear-splitting music.
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The
idea of humans as stardust is more poetic than scientific, however, and an
example of what I call “religious substitution.” Religion has become
spectacularly unattractive to many contemporary people, so ideas like
humans-as-stardust is appealing as a substitute. (A program on a cable TV
channel recently reported on “Sunday gatherings” of people who are atheist or
agnostic. They like the idea of getting together on Sundays to sing and be
together, but not as an expression of religion.)
But
does the “stardust” idea really do it for us? It’s nice that we’re all made of
the same stuff, but what real difference does it make? If that’s all there is,
we’re still left in a cold, impersonal world where we live seven or eight
decades, then pass to eternal oblivion. Contrast that with the idea presented
in the gospels that we are children of a loving parent, who is ultimately
responsible for the universe and all that it contains and that to God, no one
is “dead.” To me, that difference makes the search for God worth it.
The
other, obvious part of this Christian view is that if God is our parent, we are
brothers and sisters. Instead of a vague philosophical idea about our common
cosmic origin, Christianity gives us a real reason to view others in that way. Jesus
came to show us how to be human, including recognizing God as father/mother,
giving real meaning to the idea of the “human family.”
In a speech last year, Pope Francis said
the economic crisis was really a human crisis, and told a rabbinic story about
the building of the biblical Tower of Babel.
“It is said that when they were building
the Tower of Babel, each brick, which took a large amount of time and resources
to make, became extremely important, a national treasure. When a brick fell and
broke, it was a national tragedy and the workman was punished. Yet, if a
workman fell, that was not an issue. Today, it is the same – when the stock
market falls, it is a national tragedy, but when a homeless person dies in the
cold, it does not make the news. We have lost sight of the fact that the
greatest treasure on this earth is each individual human person.”
In an encounter, or renewed encounter, with
God’s love, Pope Francis said, we are “liberated from our narrowness and
self-absorption. We become fully human when we become more than human, when we
let God bring us beyond ourselves in order to attain the fullest truth of our
being.”
Understanding that we’re stardust is nice,
but it doesn’t motivate me to contribute to the well-being of others, including
those in the world’s slums. Understanding that we all have God as our father/mother
and are, therefore, brothers and sisters does. And it’s basic to a search for
God.
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