Last night my sons and I joined the youth of our church and other leaders to color, draw, and decorate cardboard boxes that will be filled with food for those in need whom we will never meet.
As we sat coming up with positive words, such as “Smile” and “Happy”, or drawing a tree with the sun overhead, we had been instructed it can’t be overtly religious in nature, just a simple project to make the boxes not seem so…cold or boring…but rather having been cared for by others to bring some joy.
And so, we colored boxes.
This may seem a fruitless attempt to make a dent in the universe, but to each kid and adult drawing, smiling, coming up with positive images and thoughts, it was as if the boxes were infused with purpose, power, and promise, even before being filled with the life giving nourishment it will gift a stranger.
As the world seems to be on fire, it wasn’t lost on us as a group that only a few days prior, the very chapel we congregate in every week is the same sacred place for us as the one that had been the site of a heinous act just a few states over – targeted specifically on a Sabbath morning, members of our church gunned down, the building set ablaze, during worship services.
And yet, here we are, trying to spread light, love, and little positive wishes for others.
In the grand scheme of things, this decorating of empty boxes is almost such a small, unhelpful, uneventful effort, its tragically minimal. And yet, we color, draw, and do what we can in our shattered emotional state of love for others to lift where we can.
On the flip side, a friend of mine initiated a fundraiser for the shooter and killer’s family, even though he doesn’t know the person who committed such an act, and yet, we know his family is now suffering as well, having lost a son in the end. As of this writing, over $220,000 has been raised by our church on his behalf.
That moves the needle in its own right. And yet, why would we care about his family, the one who caused us such harm, sadness, and suffering? Because they are hurting, too, and we know the feeling.
All the while, our chapel burns to ashes in Grand Blanc, Michigan, congregants perish and family members rushed to hospitals, the morning after we have learned our leader and president of our church, President Russell M. Nelson, passed away, and we open social media to see the terror unfold.
And there it is: the condemning of our people from so many corners of the earth, many celebrating the death of our leader, others saying our members who are harmed and killed will end up in hell due to the status the commenters have put upon our faith. Most hurtful of all, the condemning comes from those whom we had just stood with for the past 3 weeks in the wake of other tragedies nationwide, our Christian brothers and sisters have now turned on us in a way we haven’t seen in nearly 2 centuries since the extermination order that led us to go west for safety and settle Utah.
We read the vitriol regarding our theology, the mistaken identity, the lack of empathy.
The truth rears it’s ugly head. I can’t post it here, as this post would be flagged and banned, so you’re free to go find it on X, Facebook, or LinkedIn even. I’ve rarely seen anything like it from those who profess to be religious or faithful followers of Christ.
We identify as Christian, and yet we are not claimed by many of those who say they are, outside of our realm.
This is not a new story, and is not the purpose of this article, although it is a disturbing undertone.
Rather it begs the question: What must one do when despised, condemned, attacked by those we thought were our own, and on our side?
We return to the site of the murder and arson, pick up the pieces, sift through the aftermath, and move forward with faith in Christ.
We praise God for the lives lost and know they are in His comfort and hands, despite what “believers” of other faiths have to say within their realm of misunderstanding, unrighteous judgment, and shortsightedness.
We raise money for the victims, be it those in our faith, or the killer’s family.
We hold a memorial for our leader, a man who changed the world with his work in the medical field, and then served for decades as an apostle, eventually being called as our prophet and leader, whom we hold up and confirm as such, nothing wavering.
We post on social media that we believe in Christ, His name adorning our doors and hearts, where words cannot convince the unbeliever that we belong, we ask ourselves, “What kind of Christian am I?”
We stand firm, together, yet feeling betrayed and alone.
We know many feel this very type of isolation in so many walks of life, and we pray for their comfort, despite our own lack of understanding and doing our best, while being shunned for existing and living the best life we know possible.
We gather to draw, color, and give whatever we can, on boxes for those in need, in a building which very possibly could be targeted…and yet, we return.
This is faith in Christ. This is love of neighbor. This is Love of God, and these are the 2 great commandments.
When the world falls apart, here are the rules, and they’re pretty golden: Love one another as I have loved you, do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
Serve. Smile. Sacrifice. Show up.
Light the world by taking time to decorate a box for someone you’ll never meet.
Keep The Promise.
~ Jason Hewlett
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