My sister taught me to read when I was 4, and I have been a sucker for fiction ever since. In fact, for nearly all of the 7 years my husband and I have been married, our norm has been to read for fun before bed. Even in seminary, amidst a very heavy reading load, I made a point to only keep books of leisure by my bedside. It is in those late hours that I am lost to a world full of adventure, humor, romance, magic and yes – often war or violence of some sort. Even in these fantasy worlds evil and suffering cannot be escaped.
Lately I’ve noticed that when I hear about real life war, violence and suffering, I have trouble processing them as reality. They all seem too far away or at least too disconnected from my own bubble of safety and privilege to fully resonate with me. Sadly, I tend to process these things as if they were a work of fiction, instead of the stark realities of this broken world.
My heart and mind have been heavy because of the constant stream of injustices and tragedies occurring throughout the world in recent months. I have been thinking of the Nigerian schoolgirls who were kidnapped and the many airplane tragedies that have occurred. I have been thinking about the outbreak of Ebola in Africa. I have been thinking about all the wars and the reality of murder, rapes and kidnappings as a result of them. I’ve been thinking about the innocent children unwanted on our own border and of the heartbreaking reality that human trafficking is a billion dollar industry. I’ve been thinking of terrorism and its frightening reality in our world. I’ve been thinking about how sad it is that treating all people with equality and basic, human dignity is even an issue.
These things are at the forefront of my mind. My heart has a pang of sadness and in helplessness, I voice a prayer to God. But ultimately, my reality is just too different from their reality, and as simply as if I were turning the page in one of the books on my nightstand, I move on to another chapter. It is only another story on my Facebook feed; it is only another plot in my novel. Eventually, I look up from my book, from my computer, from my newspaper. I turn my attention to our overflowing pantry and wonder what to make for dinner after the day’s work. I wonder if I will have time for a quick workout in between. I wonder if I remembered to record that one show I love so much. Life in my bubble goes on.
How do we stop ourselves from living as if the injustices of the world aren’t real? How do we accept that we have a responsibility to face these wrongs and push against them? Where in the heck do we even start, and what on earth can we even do? For the most part, I have no idea, but maybe this could be a start: Maybe first we could remember that these things are real. Maybe we could remember that these people have names; that they live in the same world as us. Maybe first, we could stop treating this like fiction. Friends, this is not fiction.
Aurelia Davila Pratt is pastor of spiritual formation and teaching pastor at Grace Baptist Church, Round Rock, Texas.