Accidents of Birth

Google Image

Most of us, at one time or another, think about the “what ifs.”

What if my father hadn't married my mother but somebody else? Would there be a me? What if my parents had moved to Atlanta instead of Kansas City before I was born? How much would my life be different? And what if I had been born in San Pedro Sula, Honduras, instead of St. Joseph, Mo.? Would I be alive today?

San Pedro Sula, which few Americans know exists, is said to be the most dangerous city in the world. With a metro area of 1.2 million, it has a murder rate of 159 per 100,000 people. By comparison, Detroit has a rate of 55/100,000 and New Orleans, 53/100,000. Many of the people, including children and young families, we saw on TV in July when thousands of immigrants were stranded on the border, were said to be from San Pedro Sula.

Instead of living there, I live in a relatively safe place where crimes are generally solved and people can’t normally commit them with impunity. Compared to many residents of San Pedro Sula, my life is a walk in the park.

So what, exactly, did I do to deserve it? Absolutely nothing. It was an “accident of birth.”

That should engender in me a profound sense of gratitude to God (or for some, the “stars,” or to whomever people substitute for God). But my gratitude is half-hearted. And it should prevent me from criticizing, or looking down on residents of San Pedro Sula, the people who migrate from such places and people like them. But I’m tempted to disparage them nonetheless.

I have a sign on the bulletin board in the room of my house where I write these blogs that says, “Nearly 3 billion people live on less than $2 a day.” But the sign has been there a long time, and I don’t look at it often, so I forget how fortunate I am. And I forget to be grateful.

As for the “what if?” questions, does God have any better answers to them than we do? Probably not, because they’re not real questions. They’re like asking whether Julius Caesar would like cheeseburgers.

What is amazing about accidents of birth is how little we acknowledge that they’re accidental. Somehow, we have a sense of entitlement, the notion that we deserve to have been born into relative wealth or that God favors us, which makes it hard to be empathetic to the suffering of others. And I’m more convinced than ever that empathy for others – being concerned about others’ welfare – is essential in the search for God.

That’s because in Jewish, Christian and other traditions and theology, God identifies with his people. So if we ignore or harm people, we may search for some other “god” but not the God of those traditions and theology.

The Message translation of the Hebrew Bible, about which I wrote last week, has an interesting translation of Psalm 14. “Don’t they know they can’t get away with this – treating people like a fast-food meal over which they’re too busy to pray?” the psalmist asks. “Night is coming for them, and nightmares, for God takes the side of victims. Do you think you can mess with the dreams of the poor? You can’t, for God makes their dreams come true.”

Google Image

In the Christian Bible, Jesus identifies even more forcefully with his people. “I was hungry and you fed me, I was thirsty and you gave me a drink, I was homeless and you gave me a room, I was shivering and you gave me clothes, I was sick and you stopped to visit, I was in prison and you came to me,” it says in the same translation.  

This theme of “empathy,” a sensitivity to our shared humanity, is taken up in Pope Francis’ exhortation, “The Joy of the Gospel.” He applies the theme to the real world of politics and economics, which are determinant for our welfare.

“…We also have to say ‘thou shalt not’ to an economy of exclusion and inequality,” he writes. “Such an economy kills. How can it be that it is not a news item when an elderly homeless person dies of exposure, but it is news when the stock market loses two points?” People in the “culture of prosperity,” he says, are often “incapable of feeling compassion at the outcry of the poor.”

Many believe that everybody has a chance to live like we do, and if they don’t, it’s somehow their own fault. It helps explain what the Pope calls the “globalization of indifference.”

Some people are scandalized and outraged by the Pope’s words, seeing them as meddling in politics, but he’s only applying Jesus’ words about “giving me to eat and drink,” reminding us that it’s not a matter of charity, but a more fundamental matter of justice. You can’t have charity without justice.

These ideas aren’t limited to Catholic social teaching, by the way. The “social gospel” was a prominent part of U.S. Protestant teaching in the early 20^th century and empathy for others, especially the poor, is seen as essential for most Protestant denominations. Jewish and other congregations are also sensitive to the needs of others.

Many people are cynical of the idea of applying religious principles of love and care for others in all areas of life. But talk about your “what ifs!” Just think how different the world would be if that happened.