Due to its graphic content, I am not displaying the image
that inspired this post. You may click
on the included links to see the discussed image at your own discretion.
Once more a child from Syria is
haunting us. Last year it was Alan
Kurdi, a three year old whose lifeless body resting on a Turkish shoreline served
the world a painful reminder that we are failing to protect the most vulnerable
lives in an inhumane situation. This year it is Omran
Daqneesh of Aleppo. The five year old boy was recovered from the
rubble of his bombed-out family home last week, another example of the conflict
in Syria raining down terror on innocent victims. The image of him sitting
in an ambulance covered in blood and dust and war should disturb us. It should also jolt us into crying out
(both literally and figuratively) against the violence that has shattered the lives
of countless children, including Ali Danqneesh, the brother of Omran who died in the
attack. Omran’s image has rightfully
riveted the global community; he stares at us as if asking, “Will you face me?”
Omran is one life but he symbolizes
millions of lives. Many of these are Syrian children who have had their worlds turned upside down by death,
destruction and displacement. Even more
are the children around the world that find themselves victimized by cruel
deeds played out by men and women thirsty for power. It is never children who create, distribute or
order the launch of the weapons that leave bodies battered and lifeless. Yet it is always children who suffer most
when ‘things fall apart,’ and it is children who have every right to ask you
and me, “Can you face us?”
As I prepare to return to Lebanon after
a summer abroad I prepare to return to Dar El Awlad, a place that serves over
150 children who bear their own scars of tragedy and pain. Many, like Omran, are Syrians who have
personally experienced the horrors of war.
Others are victims of institutional injustices that deny children access
to the rights, privileges and protections entitled to every person. Some have simply suffered bad breaks and
fallen into hard times that are too deep for any young person to climb out of. The circumstances differ for each individual but
they come to us with the same petition, with the same plea, “Please face me.”
Even in all its quiet power, Omran’s
image should not revolt us nor should it drive us to despair or hopelessness. However, when we look on him we should
see another. We should see someone who too
was bloodied and battered by the senselessness of violence. We should recognize someone who, though
himself a complete innocent, suffered injustices by bearing the marks of blood,
dust and bruise. When we see Omran, we
must see our Lord Jesus Christ who suffered with him and for us. Christ alone can look at the heart-broken,
soul-stricken, body-beaten souls of this world and say, “I face you!”
It is in Christ alone that we can face
the darkest and ugliest evils this world has to offer, and it is in Christ
alone that I can live in the hopeful knowledge that, even in my own darkness and
ugliness, I can face God. May God’s face
shine upon us and be ever gracious to us. May the Spirit empower us to respond to the
evils of violence, to embrace victims of injustice and to be instruments of
God’s healing grace. May we truly face
Omran, and in doing so may we discover Christ.
