Unto the Least of These

Several years ago, my Godparents took my sister and me on a trip to England. It so happened that we arrived in London on July fourth. Thinking of the irony of Americans coming to England on our independence day, I leaned over to my sister as the plane landed in Heathrow and whispered, “We won.”

It has been a few years since our trip to the U.K., and my sister has since married and had two children, and I have since begun the life of an expat in Greece. About two weeks ago, I returned to the U.S. for graduate classes, and for the last week, I’ve been ruminating on July fourth and the idea of revolution.

In 1954, William Golding wrote a book that is now widely used in high school literature classes. Lord of the Flies—while on the surface seems to be an adventure-tale-gone-wrong about a group of boys stranded on an island—is at its heart a profoundly philosophical take on the nature of humanity. The boys are perpetually afraid of “The Beast”—a mysterious creature that they believe may lurk on the island or in the sea. Simon, the character who symbolizes the spiritually astute among us, wisely realizes that “The Beast” is not out there, but rather inside each boy. One night, the boys (who are slowly turning to savagery) mistakenly think that Simon himself is the Beast and, in a frenzy, murder him. Shortly after, all semblances of civilization are lost, and Piggy—an intelligent but physically weak boy—is also killed. Golding’s book does not end there (I won’t spoil anymore of it), but his piece paints a haunting picture of the human heart. We may be capable of great good, but we are equally capable of savagery towards the frail among us.

It would be easy on July fourth to celebrate America’s independence from England with a sense of finality, a belief that oppression and brutality—the beast—lies without. But such a view is limited, even dangerous perhaps. Last week, my professor played for us a video about the work of Robert Coles, a child psychologist. Coles told the story of Ruby Bridges, the young girl memorialized in Norman Rockwell’s famous painting.

I was deeply moved by her story, partially because of her extraordinary forgiveness, and partially because the crowd that came morning and night to harass her was a group of Americans—citizens of a country that celebrates liberty and independence. But their treatment of Ruby illustrates the truth that Golding was hinting at: the victims can become the victimizers. The tyrannized can play the tyrant.
We may bleed with Abel but still throw stones with Cain.

In the world of business and politics, an unspoken status quo rules supreme: “The fittest shall survive.” True, good revolutions challenge this status quo. The greatest of all revolutionaries was Christ himself, who embraced the uneducated, the outcast, the lepers, the tax collectors, the sinners, the weak, and the unwanted. Last week in church, I found myself gazing at a prominently displayed statue of Mary holding the infant Christ. It occurred to me how rather revolutionary Mary’s story really is. In a world ruled by Rome, Mary was not only Jewish, but a Jewish woman. She had no political or economic strength, no standing in society. And yet, thousands of years later, her name is known around the world. In her song, she declares, “My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant…” In that statement is the heart of Christ’s revolution. The minds of the created beings are forever captivated by power and prestige, but the Creator himself is mindful of the powerless and the lowly.

So on this our American day of Independence, I must ask myself how well I embrace the mindfulness that my savior has. Am I complicit with the status quo or do I daily revolt against it? Despite the grand American victory over England, there are still those in my world who are oppressed. I cannot say, “We won,” with absolute finality. There are no redcoats threatening my freedom, but the human heart can still play the tyrant to its brother. There are still widows and orphans, sinners and social lepers, the undesirables and the unclean, those without a voice and those whose voices have been silenced. There are still “the least of these” among us.

For the Christian, we can see how well we love God when we look at what we do unto the weak, for what we do unto them, we do unto Christ. On this day, we celebrate the American stance against the oppression of the British. To be sure, it was a grand revolution. But I find myself wondering today how well I imitate the greatest revolutionary of all.

For what have I done unto the least of these?

Almighty God, what have I done unto Christ?