With the time you have...

What will you do with it?

Like you, probably, I get too caught up in my "wants" and the distractions of our very affluent, consumer-driven American lifestyle. I don't have much money to do anything about it. And thank God I've got a husband who has a visceral horror of carrying debit on credit cards, or I might have indulged my micro-obsessions too often.

So each year when September 11th comes around again on the calendar, I find myself asking the question, "What's really important? What will I do with the time that's left to me on this earth?" I actually think of this often throughout the year, but the questions become more powerful, more present on this date.

As a Christian, I found Will Samson's Amos For Our Times convicting. It's easy for me to see that the poor and the marginalized need my attention and care. And too often I feel our care of these people is relagated to those in the church who 'take care of that stuff'--the semi- and believers who take on charities and missions, and leave the rest of us untouched by the ugliness often inherent in that work. It's not right to be a checkbook Christian.

But, coming back to September 11th and rereading the accounts of people who were in New York, I also wonder about my response to the wealthy. What of the rich man who died that day in the World Trade Towers? Would I, if I were a rescue worker, have thought twice about rushing in to aid him? Sure he's had his days of martini and scotch power lunches on the corporate account, his padded income that thinks nothing of the costs of everyday dry cleaning, and gym and country club memberships, of his driver and his doorman, and the two week vacation in Belize that his wife begged him for after years of deferred vacation days...so maybe he's had his fun already, got his share of the goodies already.

Would I run to rescue of the rich man in the ditch? In the burning building?

Looking up, from my little middle-class life, I see so much self-absorbtion, so much excess and yes, decadence, among the very monied class that disgusts me. And I realise that my prejudices against the wealthy are as powerfully destructive as the presumptions others have about the poor.

The government's assumption that, statistically speaking, we're among the "wealthiest" Americans makes me wonder where these feelings come from--if I'm so "wealthy" then why am I so hung up the wealthy? This game, this quasi-Marxist game of Rich Americans vs. Poor Americans, sickens me and leads others down paths of divisive obsessions about the redistribution of wealth. While I completely believe Will's take on Amos and feel that the contemporary American church will have much to answer for the questions it asks, I also think we can unwittingly nurture a contempt for "our enemy" the wealthy. And you know what scripture says about loving your enemy.

My challenge is always not to look up to wealthy and wish I were them, or to look down at the overwhelming needs of the poor and feel helpless to help them--but to eliminate my vision of the abstract and arbitrary spectrum we've created, the little spaces we occupy on the money chain. Instead I must think simply of how I must lay down my agenda and obsessions, my prejudices and preferences, so I can hear what Jesus has to say to me. I know He's trying to get through to me, but I shy away too often, say I'm busy, say I'll be right back and then He'll have my full attention.

But maybe I won't get back. Maybe I need to stop right now and listen. I don't know if this is my last day or last hour. And it is important, this time I have now, this little moment cupped in my hand. Rich man or poor woman...in small ways or large, I owe it to you to give you my best.

(photo courtesy of the Canadian Broadcasting Company)