Broken Heart

Watching the news reports and seeing the pictures is heartbreaking. When the faces of the soon-to-die are seen on the television, my first reaction is to change the channel. There is a part of me that does not want to watch. Yet, I know that removing the faces from the screen will not take away the images which have been placed in my mind and heart. I know of nothing to compare to the suffering and despair seen on the faces of these Somalian refugees who have fled from drought and oppression only to huddle with hopelessness in Kenya's overrun refugee camps.

Sometimes I think an even greater tragedy than their suffering is the indifference of so many to their plight. For days and weeks we have been possessed with watching politicians play their power games. We have breathed a collective sigh of relief that a professional football strike has been averted so that the millionaires can become multi millionaries and we can continue to be entertained on Sunday afternoons. The frontpage news is about such trivial stuff compared to the small columns on page four tellling about the life and death struggle going on in East Africa.

Jesus was a part of a refugee family. As an infant, he was taken from the land of his birth to Eqypt as they fled oppressive rule. As He sees the long line of refugees stretching across the dry earthen landscape, He surely remembers and suffers with them. If the heart of the Divine can be broken, such tragedies among the poorest must surely break His heart. And, if it is not broken by their suffering, most assuredly it is by the indifference of the affluent.