I am haunted by a question. After an extended paragraph, where the writer graphically shares his common experience of going to a place in manila called "Smokey Mountain"; a mound of urban waste where eight thousand people live. There he describes that the waste dump often spontaneously burns due to the heat and methane gas created by the piles of trash. People live in cardboard homes and spend their days scratching out an existence. The astounding thing is that he shares how joyful the residence of "hell on earth" are each time he comes to visit. The children of Hell play around his feet, hug his legs and are genuinely thrilled to to see him. The adults are grateful for his life, his spirit of grace and humility. He struggles as he walks to his car as a little girl grips his leg. He returns to his nice home, comfortable surrounding; showers, then polishes his dirty shoes in an attempt to remove Hell's residue. Then he ask, "who wants to walk through Hell to share love?"
I try to think about other things, without success. I hope that sending my money to those willing to walk through Hell is enough. Yet I still see myself in that man, showering and polishing in an attempt to remove the essence of pain and poverty from my memory. I tell myself that I have "done my part" and that obstacles keep me from taking that kind of walk ever again. I can't I tell myself, but in reality what is my true reason? Is my faith only good for me? Yes, the smell of hell is just as much on the rich as the poor, but the question still remains hanging over my heart... "WHO WILL WALK THROUGH HELL TO SHARE LOVE? If not now, When? If not now, Why? If not me Who?
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