Sabbath Devotional :: Suffer the Children

Juliaan de Vriendt – “*Suffer the Little Children*,” Public domain, via Wikimedia Common

My brother and I served missions at the same time, even overlapping our MTC stay. I served in Australia: a wealthy country with established peace and safety. Jacob served in a different part of the world where he was exposed to extreme poverty and to regular violence. One of his first letters home included this little description titled “Kids.”

It hurts me. Every time I see one searching through the garbage, it hurts me. I walk through town and they greet me in English — children no more than nine. They want to talk to me, touch me, a mzungu. “Pesa?” they ask, only knowing that I represent a wealth so vast to them it is almost without value. My heart breaks as they take my hands and walk down the street. But I always answer “Hapana,” and they drift away, back into gutters or holes lined with filth and refuse, hungry and saddened, alone and crying, not seeing the mission rules, only seeing that the rich men of the world are unwilling to share with the poor children. Who am I to deny them? I have been called as a representative of the Lord Jesus Christ and did he not say “Suffer the little children to come unto me?” And all I am doing is letting the little children suffer. I am disgusted with myself.

After being in his mission for a year, Jacob wrote a new response to the poverty. It’s called “Sealed.”

I forged a small box

…..out of hardened steel and aluminum alloy.

I made it strong and thick.

I rounded the edges and corners

…..and I made sure the lid was tight.

Then I bought a padlock

…..— also hardened steel —

…..with a complicated Swiss lock and only one key.

When the box was finished,

I painted it red, like the color of my heart,

…..because my heart is what the box holds.

My heart is soft, you see,

…..and needs to be protected.

It needs to be protected so that I can ignore

…..the man in the rubbish heap,

…..searching for plastics and scrap

…..metal to sell. That’s his job,

…..but an occasional moldy bread

…..roll or a not-quite-empty tin

…..of tuna can be a special bonus.

……….Or the beggar on the street,

……….his fingers missing and his face

……….deformed because of an accident

……….or because of a cruel parent

……….interested in making money from

.. …rich tourists by showing off the

……….pained expression of a mutilated

……….child.

My heart needs to be protected

…..So that I can rip my arm

…..roughly from the pleading

…..grasp of a dirty child’s tiny

…..fingers, a child in rags,

…..trying to hide the bottle of

…..glue she has been sniffing.

……….and so I don’t see the man

……….struggling down the street with

……….worn shoes on his hands because

……….he hasn’t got any feet—or legs.

My heart is soft. It needs to be protected.

So I put it in the box that I had forged

…..Out of hardened steel and aluminum alloy

And I locked the box with my hardened steel padlock

…..with only one key.

And the key?

Ah — the key I hid, where no one can find it

…..except me.

…..So, now my heart is safe

…..from trashman, beggar,

…..the child and no-legs.

The sharp needle of my conscience

…..can lose its point

……….tapping soundlessly, endlessly

……………against the cold, smooth, red-painted

…..hardened steel and aluminum alloy

box that I forged.

And it does not hurt me.

It does not hurt me at all.

We have been home from our missions for more than 25 years now, but these two little poems still haunt me and weigh on my heart. I know my brother’s tender and gentle care for all people, and I believe his description of his hardened steel and aluminum alloy box of protection was an illusion he created while trying to protect himself.

But don’t we all sometimes wish we could put our hearts in a protective box? We view human suffering as sacred, but it can be overwhelming to witness and seemingly impossible to advocate for relief. We might turn our eyes away so that we can still function in our own lives. Sometimes we build a wall that shields and eventually relieves us by hardening us against compassion. We teeter on the edge of hope and despair, seeking a balance so our empathy is not unbearable. We want to feel, love, and witness without becoming either defeated or desensitized.

I’m not trying to provide any answers. I would like to invite you to join me as I wander through some scattered thoughts and scriptures.

First, loving and serving others is the essence of discipleship. I need to develop a greater capacity to love in order to fulfill this commandment: “A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another” (John 13:34-35).

I’ve always been struck by something Nephi’s brother Jacob says: “I will unfold this mystery unto you; if I do not, by any means, get shaken from my firmness in the Spirit, and stumble because of my over anxiety for you” (Jacob 4:18).

Can we be so anxious, so concerned, so compassionate, that we can actually stumble and be shaken from our testimonies, our firmness in the Spirit? How can I love, wholly and completely, and still protect my heart, my testimony, and my own life?

Alma instructs his son: “see that ye bridle all your passions, that ye may be filled with love” (Alma 38:12). The interesting thing to me is that being filled with love (which is how all will know we are disciples) can come when we discipline our passions. This scripture is often used with reference to chastity, but he says “all your passions,” which must include compassion and empathy.

I was an adult when I read “Ender’s Game” by Orson Scott Card. It’s a bit violent for my taste but this one passage has stayed on my mind: “Ender’s anger was cold, and he could use it. Bonzo’s was hot, and so it used him.”

Although I often feel angry because of the suffering some endure, I’m using this devotional to explore love and compassion, so I’m taking this idea and adjusting it. When my love is disciplined, I can use it. When it runs hot and passionate, it will control me. It’s when it controls me that I can become shaken or stumble from my over anxiety. It’s when it controls me that I feel despair and want to give up. When we combine our charity with discipline, we can organize and create long term change. That way, we can use that love to the advantage of many.

In a sermon about giving to the poor and administering to the relief of others, King Benjamin includes the admonition: “And see that all these things are done in wisdom and order” (Mosiah 4:27). That verse can inspire us to use our temporal resources wisely and orderly, and those resources include our time and energy. It can also inspire us to use our spiritual and emotional resources wisely, not running faster than we have strength. Instead of letting my passion control my words and behavior, I need to use wisdom, order, and discipline, knowing that by bridling my passions I can be filled with love — real, Christlike, life-changing and life-saving love.

We all give in different ways and can carry different loads. Something we each have in common is that as we figure out how we can personally help, the Lord will be with us.

“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28-30).

That promise that our burden will be made light is what we are seeking. Our covenantal obligation to care for each other is often too heavy for us to bear. But with the Savior, it can be made light. “For with God nothing shall be impossible” (Luke 1:37).

We can choose to love and care with wisdom and order, so we don’t stumble with over anxiety. Our discipline, or bridled passion, will let us be filled with love, love for others and love both for and from God. We can have peace in advocacy while we carefully find balance between the extremes of being crushed by too much compassion or becoming callous in order to insulate ourselves from the pain in this world.