Look up

I used to look away a lot.

I remember as a child, coming up on some roadkill or some kind of dead critter at the ranch and my parents saying, “Don’t look, don’t look.” Sometimes I would sneak a peek out of morbid curiosity. And I was always sorry.

I carried this coping mechanism well into adulthood. In fact, I’m only now beginning to pull my head out of the sand. It’s easier to not look, you know. If you don’t see it, you can pretend it’s not there. You can play the ignorant privilege card.

So you look away from the hard things and/or look down at your own little world.

And what I’ve realized that what you SEE in life has everything to do with where you LOOK.

Seeing is just what happens when you open your eyes (or put on your glasses or put in your contacts). Looking is where you aim your line of sight, what you CHOOSE to see. And what you see determines what you think, how you feel, what you do and how you live.

I’m a huge Les Mis fan (and I was long before Anne Hathaway and Hugh Jackman, by the way). The opening song, Look Down, totally captures the shame and hopelessness of the prisoners.

Look down, look down. Don’t look ‘em in the eye.
Look down, look down. You’re here until you die.

The sun is strong, it’s hot as hell below.
Look down, look down. Still 20 years to go.

I’ve done no wrong. Sweet Jesus, hear my prayer.
Look down, look down. Sweet Jesus doesn’t care.

Look down, look down. Don’t look ‘em in the eye.
How long, O Lord, before You let me die?

Look down, look down. You’ll always be a slave.
Look down, look down. You’re standing in your grave.

All the prisoners see is endless toil, pain and despair.

For a long time, I thought if I ever saw anything too tragic or heartbreaking, I would never emotionally or mentally recover. (I still worry about that sometimes, but God’s gonna have to take care of that, if He’s gonna keep making me look.)

I remember stumbling upon a shocking and horrific documentary when I was a teenager. There I sat on my comfy couch, in my comfy house, surrounded by everything I could ever want, protected by my family and my country, looking down and flipping channels.

Instead of finding Zach Morris and the rest of the Saved by the Bell gang, the image of a little girl screaming filled the screen. And there was no looking away. Not this time. I had to see what was happening.

And I am forever haunted and sickened by what I learned that day about female genital mutilation. How could this be happening? How could this be real? How could this be normal in some cultures?

Then just this past May, two doctors were arrested for doing this in the United States (which I found out had only been illegal since 1996. You mean it was LEGAL HERE? Or did we just not know about it to MAKE it illegal?)

But nobody wants to LOOK at that issue. Nobody wants to talk about it, raise awareness, fight that battle. It’s too uncomfortable.

Know who it’s more uncomfortable for? The little girls who are subjected to this torture as a cultural norm that has somehow made its way into the United States. This unacceptable. Here. There. Anywhere.

There’s a great line in the Star Wars spinoff Rogue One that resonated deeply with me and how I used to be. The evil Empire occupied Jyn Erso’s homeland. When asked how she can live in a world where Imperial flags oppressively dominate the landscape, she replies,

It’s not a problem if you don’t look up.

Keep your head down. Do your thing. Live your life. Don’t rock the boat. Nothing you can do about it anyway. Enjoy the privilege of ignorance.

Even before I ever experienced any life-altering pain, I would look down at my happy little life and avert my eyes from anything tragic, sad or scary. There was nothing I could do about it anyway. May as well just enjoy not knowing.

Still years after my ignorant bliss was blown apart, I still looked down, looked away. There was much to see in my own little life. Lots of changes. And suddenly everything took a lot more work. The life I was looking at had gotten hard. And there was no reason to focus on anything else. I had (have) my own problems.

But now, more often than not, I hear my Father whisper, Look, My child. Look up. Look around. And SEE.

See the homeless woman you walk past every day and ignore.
See the terrorism that threatens the lives of innocent people everywhere.
See the child abuse and spousal abuse hidden behind long sleeves and sunglasses.
See the sex trafficking that is happening in my own city and the women desperate to get out.
See the medical waste trucks that come to the abortion clinic to dispose of hundreds of dead, dismembered children.
See the garbage-lined streets of Haiti and the hungry people scraping to get by.
See the Israeli army and police force patrolling the streets with machine guns to protect the fragile ‘peace.’
See the systemic racism that clings to our country like chronic illness.

Lord, why? Why would you have me look at such things? I am powerless against such darkness and evil.  

Because, My child, you must learn to see with My eyes. And you are not as powerless as you think.

And now do you know what else I see?

A lot of us are still looking down. Or looking away.

So many of us are sitting on incredible resources. Money. Time. Influence. And there are those who desperately need our help.

Sounds like an easy fix, right?

Just one problem: Those with the resources, well, a lot of us are looking down. And since we’re not looking for the broken, the hungry, the sick, the victims, the injustice, we don’t see it. And that’s just how we like it.

We’re consumed with our own lives, our own problems, problems that aren’t even problems yet that we practice freaking out about and try to solve ahead of time.

A couple of weeks ago, Brad and I had spent an evening with someone who was going through unspeakable pain.

We looked. And we saw. It messed us up, just like it was supposed to. It broke our hearts, just like it breaks the heart of God. And we immediately started thinking of what we could do to help.

During our brainstorming, Brad took my hand and said, “Our life is perfect.”

Now, of course it’s not. We’ve got problems just like everybody else. But next to our friend, our life was but a dream. And I knew what he was saying.

“It really is,” I replied, nodding. “Perfect.”

And suddenly, instead of whining about our life’s imperfections, we were flooded with gratitude for all our blessings. Instead of feeling helpless, we began to see the resources we have. And we were moved to action.

That’s what happens when you look. When you look, you see. When you see, you feel. When you feel, you take action.

It’s almost like God designed it that way.

We must make ourselves look at the hard things. Because if we don’t see them, we can’t change them.

We must look up, not down. We must look around, not away.

Does that mean we should ignore our own problems and focus solely on others? Of course not. I actually know some people who hide from their own stuff by obsessively ‘helping’ others.

It must be both/and. But when our eyes get stuck in the down direction, we become useless to God and how He wants to use us to redeem this broken world.

Look at it. I know it’s painful. Push through. Keep looking.

Let yourself see it. All of it. The gore. The fear. The pain. The injustice. Take it all in.

Now feel the pain of other person. Feel it all the way in to the deep places of your heart. Let it break your heart and ruin your day and keep you awake at night. This is where empathy and compassion come from. That’s good.

And now that you are in it with them, now that you are both in pain, literally and vicariously, act. Move. Set out to change it. Fueled by the pain you feel and yet not crippled by actually being in that situation, you must use your resources to fight the battle for those who can’t fight for themselves.

Check out the links above if you need ideas on where to get started. If you don’t see your heartbeat in that very short list, let me know and I will help you find a ministry that needs people with your specific passion.

I recently heard Ravi Zacharias speak at a conference. He kept saying, “This is our time. This is our moment.” Later that evening, over drinks with friends of the same mind, we made a toast: “To our time.”

We’re up, folks. We’re not on deck. We’re not waiting in the dugout. We are UP TO BAT.

God is throwing you a nice easy pitch right over the plate, because He WANTS you to hit it. But we must keep our eye on the ball. If we look down or look away, we have no chance of connecting. Look up.

And let’s knock it out of the park.