A MOST DANGEROUS NON-RESPONSE

And now, a word from someone else:

In a way, to be indifferent to that suffering is what makes the human being inhuman. Indifference, after all, is more dangerous than anger and hatred. Anger can at times be creative. One writes a great poem, a great symphony. One does something special for the sake of humanity because one is angry at the injustice that one witnesses. But indifference is never creative. Even hatred at times may elicit a response. You fight it. You denounce it. You disarm it.

Indifference elicits no response. Indifference is not a response. Indifference is not a beginning; it is an end. And, therefore, indifference is always the friend of the enemy, for it benefits the aggressor—never his victim, whose pain is magnified when he or she feels forgotten. The political prisoner in his cell, the hungry children, the homeless refugees—not to respond to their plight, not to relieve their solitude by offering them a spark of hope is to exile them from human memory. And in denying their humanity, we betray our own.

Indifference, then, is not only a sin, it is a punishment.

-Elie Wiesel, "The Perils of Indifference"

Just something I'm thinking about today while preparing for my poli sci class tomorrow. I hope you take some time to think about this too. Check out Elie Wiesel's entire speech at this link (really, do it):

http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/ewieselperilsofindifference.html

Thanks for stopping by.

ARTSY

I love art.

I love what it does to paint and recycled materials; I love what it does to people's minds; I love what it does to the spaces in and around it. I just love it.

Last night I headed downtown with a few friends to check out Art Prize, this worldwide art expo-competition-extravaganza that Grand Rapids has been hosting since September 23rd. It's a huge, eclectic mix of styles and materials and abstraction and play—a true visual adventure.

We didn't make it to nearly all the venues, but we did see some sweet stuff: a giant moose made entirely of nails, portraits made of salt and red earth, a giant sea anemone (or something) made of circus balloons, a pink-frosted room. It didn't really matter if I totally jived with what the artist was trying to do or say (if anything)—it was just delightful to see what people can do with what they have.

In fact, one artist's statement—I can't remember the name—wrote that all you really need to create is all you have right now.

Huh.

Thank you, unnamed artist. I had forgotten.

There always seems to be an extra something—another diploma, a roomier house, a bit more direction, a someone—that we can wait around for before we feel like we're ready and able to get out in the world and do something meaningful.

God invites us to be co-creators now, wherever we are, with whatever we have. Maybe if I relinquish my control over what I have and what I need, God will have room to surprise me with what he can do. Because I've got this crazy idea that God can take my most feeble, disjointed efforts and turn them into something gracious if I just let him. (It's not really about me anyway.)

All I have right now is all I really need.

Okay.