The Future of Syria and the Hope in Reaching Another's Pain

I want to invite you to step into someone else’s pain.  The Syrian displacement tragedy is the greatest man-made humanitarian crisis of the 21^st century.  Of the many millions affected, children are the least at fault and yet the most to suffer.  The UNHCR has recently released an intensive report on the plight of the over one million children living this continuous nightmare.  The Future of Syria report provides an in-depth analysis of the scope and dimensions of the suffering.  I encourage you to take some time to read the stories, ponder the statistics, and grasp the sheer scale of the crisis. 

In the coming weeks I hope to draw from the Future of Syria report and share how particular problems are facing children I know.  These may be individuals currently in Dar El Awlad programs or family relatives that have seen life turned upside down by war.  I’d like this to be a tool for others to enter into the pain of the victims and sympathize with the human fallout of armed conflict, but I’m not sure how possible this is.  The issue is not a shortage of knowledge (modern technology has made information very accessible) nor is it a lack of caring (there are many compassionate people around, I know this).  I simply believe the chasm between the experiences of the suffering displaced and us is too great to bridge.

For the nearly the past three years I have journeyed through this conflict and watched it drain the lives of countless individuals.  I’ve sat in refugee tents and visited makeshift camps.  I’ve heard the tales of fleeing in the night from pending attacks and navigating escape routes through combat zones.  I’ve held babies born in displacement and gathered supplies for relief distribution.  I’ve witnessed families divided and tried helping to track down a missing person.  I’ve offered hallow explanations about what is going on and what might happen.  Mostly I’ve just sat in silence, listened to despair and said “I don’t know… I’m sorry.”  I’ve been affected by the armed conflict; my life has been changed by it.  Even so, I’m so far away from it all.  The painful realities facing millions is a reality that I cannot claim as mine.  I occasionally visit their situation of pain, but I live in a different world.  I wake up from the nightmare, they never do.

So what’s the point of caring if I can’t fully feel what they feel?  How do I offer compassion or sympathy in a situation that I can so easily walk away from?  All would be futile and empty if it wasn’t for a baby born two centuries ago.  One single life changed the way we know someone’s pain because it showed to the world that God has felt pain.  Christ was born in a barn.  He was a child refugee forced to flee threats of violence.  His life was one of instability and flux.  Ultimately, Christ suffered rejection and endured death on a cross.  He knows pain.  He knows displacement.  He knows what it’s like when your whole world is turned upside down.  That’s why He can bring hope.  My only prayer for reaching into someone’s pain is the knowledge that I don’t have to bridge the chasm between our experiences. God does.  His grace reaches the deepest parts of hearts alike.  When we read a news story or a U.N. report and learn about another’s pain, we know that God is the only hope we have to respond in any way that will make a difference.  This is all the hope we need to press on in love.