And Still, Jesus Weeps
On America™'s Crisis of Compassion
There is a homeless man I occasionally cross paths with. Let’s call him *John.
He’s young, white, blond, and blue-eyed. His voice is monotonous, but his vocabulary is vast, speech polite but withdrawn.
Over the years, I’ve worked extensively with homeless communities across borders. Having never been comfortable with the concept of mere handouts, I’ve come to have regular interactions with many individuals afflicted by this injustice. I am perpetually weepy when met with such situations, but my most recent conversation with John left me with a stronger sense of anger than usual.
Under the same summer sun so many of us rejoice in, John lamented its heat, telling me in detail about his struggles. Courts, community centers, and even churches turned him away when he sought aid, or even advice. Nobody offered him the time or consideration a truly compassionate society would establish as the standard — which is not surprising, given we do not live in a compassionate society — but it is intensely tragic nevertheless. What is even more tragic is that so many people fail to see this as a tragedy at all.
No matter how many people like John I meet, anywhere in the world, desensitization fails to get a hold of me. Perhaps this is because I am a person of faith; even if not, it is most certainly one of the reasons I refuse to turn a blind eye to such injustice. I will never, ever understand how we tolerate a world where such heartlessness is accepted as the norm, where compassion is just a nice word, not a practice — where people like John are treated as irrelevant or invisible.
The more he spoke, the more my heart broke under the weight of mountainous woe. We discussed a plan to get him the help he needs and deserves, but despite being a hopeful person, one who would have usually left that encounter feeling positive about the plan — I felt myself sinking deeper into a pond of sadness. It never should have taken so long, I thought. It shouldn’t be the case that so many people, like John, seek help, only to be met with closed doors and dismissive decrees.
But it wasn’t John’s story that stayed with me, it was his words as I left. In spite of him conversing more actively that day than he ever had before, his tone was its usual self: steeped in nonchalance, words spoken so casually that they didn’t match the desperation I knew he felt and finally accepted. So when I was leaving, already deeply disappointed at the state of affairs that made this experience a reality to begin with, his farewell struck me powerfully. The sobriety of his tone made it ring with an almost cinematic gravity; simple as the words were, they’ve transitioned into a sort of ghost, haunting me in the days since.
“See you later,” I said, waving.
“Jesus wept,” he replied.
He had said it a couple of times throughout the conversation, but I was so caught up in strategizing that I sort of brushed it off. To be fair and honest, I had never heard the phrase before, and so as both a theology student and religious Muslim, I was immediately taken aback. They’re such sad, heavy words together, and their weight has left an ache on my spirit. Spoken by a man so clearly neglected, standing in an area decorated with churches on every corner, where Sunday sermons preach about compassion and love…the tragic irony was all but poetic. Many will read this and dismiss his use of the phrase as ‘crazy talk,’ insulting this man and his struggle. They will call me naive and an over-thinker, say I misunderstood his usage of the phrase, and I very well may have. How would I know what he meant? It doesn’t matter, though. The truth is that Jesus did weep. And if he saw this country today, he would still be weeping and weeping and weeping, endless tears for endless sorrows.
‘Jesus wept’— John 11:35. It’s the shortest verse in the Bible, a mere two words that should lodge themselves easily in any believer's heart. Yet somehow, the lovers of Christ in this nation remember everything but this. They remember how to choose empire over empathy, how to accumulate wealth while others starve, how to wage wars while preaching peace — they remember how to do everything but weep, everything but break their hearts open with compassion.
America is, after all, in its very marrow, a blasphemy against all that is sacred. The desecration of Christ's name and message forms the cornerstone of this nation's foundation. Just as it was used to justify the genocide and enslavement that built this modern monstrosity, so too has this country spent 250 years butchering his blessed name, betraying his ideals with increasing brutality, blood, and breathtaking audacity. Jesus would recoil from this cold, merciless corporation masquerading as a country. One glance at its televangelists lounging in their multi-million-dollar palaces is enough to drive any honest soul to madness with rage and bewilderment. Can any true Christian in this land honestly claim that were Jesus to return today, he would choose to sit with Joel Osteen in his $10 million mansion rather than among the vast homeless encampments in that same city, or with the refugees languishing miles away at our fortified southern border?
The travesty is that capitalism has cemented itself as America’s true deity, the only one allowed to be worshipped in this God forsaken land. The greed and cruelty it demands as offerings has left no corner of American culture untainted by its profane touch. From the halls of power to the sterile corridors of hospitals, from the glittering stages of entertainment to the pulpits of prosperity gospel, all bear witness and fall victim to the prostration it commands. Consider, for instance, the cultural monument that is Survivor, the 25-year-old "game" show now airing its 49th season, standing as both pillar of American entertainment and perfect microcosm of everything diseased in our society. People of every background sign contracts to willingly starve themselves, to humiliate themselves before millions, betraying their own ethics while enduring physical and psychological torture — all for a million dollars (before the tax cut). They cry to the cameras about their personal struggles and share how the money would help their ill loved ones, or pay for their mortgage, or allow them to retire. It is as devastating as it is disgusting, and yet millions tune in eagerly to watch. Not only does this speak to the sickness of capitalism’s tyrannical dominion, but to the moral rot it breeds. Has the collective soul of this country become so deformed that we treat suffering as sport, desperation as drama? Instead of crying at the utter absurdity and tragic display of how broken our system is, we sit back, popcorn in hand. How strange that a country priding itself on Christian values regularly cheers on starvation, whether voluntary or imposed. Except it is not strange at all.
This is unsurprising in a country where news channels share ‘heartwarming stories’ of children putting up lemonade stands to pay for their medical treatment, because the oppression mandated by insurance companies means people are forced to choose between death or a life of extreme debt. The media attempts to disguise the tragedy of these countless stories in saccharine language, but no amount of linguistic sugar can mask the sour truth we have all swallowed and somehow learned to stomach. When they’re not trying to hide the twisted reality of capitalism’s plague killing us all slowly, they’re hosting politicians who speak of the biblical mandate to conduct genocide and rain bombs on defenseless people. They forget that Jesus was never a man of empire, but its most steadfast enemy.
Every dawn brings with it a fresh sorrow to mourn, another horrible crime to add to the catalogue of horrors taking place, both within these borders and beyond. And yet, the incongruity persists, grotesque in its shamelessness (but what is America if not shameless?) Children are being chained and detained, even dying in ICE/CBP custody, and the churches of America, who worship a man synonymous with justice and compassion, are largely silent. Unhoused people hold signs saying ‘Hungry, God bless’, offering prayers to the undeserving, but the believers of that God are too busy waging war and starving others abroad to spare them a glance. The arrogant delusion of Manifest Destiny never died. It simply evolved to speak in softer tones while wielding sharper knives.
There is far too much to say about the hypocrisy, irony, and willful ignorance ruling this country and its masses, particularly its Christian communities. They pray to a refugee and lament ‘war’, but only the mythical, empty version of the word; when war is bombing Palestinian children to pieces and torturing Iraqis, it’s okay. They ‘choose life’, but only for themselves, only when convenient. This cognitive dissonance can perhaps best be described through another personal anecdote. Recently, I fell into conversation with a chatty stranger while out and about. Somehow she started telling me her life story, another very American peculiarity. Anyhow, in the same breath that she mentioned her family’s church provides food to struggling communities, she mentioned that she owns a manufacturing company that provides the military with parts for weaponry — specifically tanks. About a minute later she expressed sorrow and disbelief at the starvation and bombardment of people in Gaza, and believe it or not, a minute after that managed to mention her immediate family members who work for the CIA. This is not uncommon to hear in the DC suburbs, but usually, the people I am unfortunate enough to interact with who fall in the same category of work couldn’t care less about Gaza, or are irreligious. Her ability to voice these realities in consecutive sentences, utterly blind to their absurd contradiction, captured with strange perfection the essence of American delusion.
As I bring this reflection to a close, I’m reminded of a familiar scene that always strikes me, one whose image can summarize this misfortune better than my words can. Driving into DC, there inevitably comes a point in my journey where traffic promises to be standstill. When it does so, at this well-known bottleneck my eyes always find the same trinity of symbols in succession. I look out the window and am immediately met by the grand white dome of Capitol Hill. Shifting my eyes a little to the right, there sits a massive billboard, eternally hosting an ad for the latest Apple product. A little to the left of the Capitol stands another towering sign: Museum of the Bible. This is America — power at the center, embraced at its sides by profit and piety, a perfect formula.
Jesus weeps at the scene.
*Name has been changed.
This post does not in any way mean to diminish the work of the wonderful churches and Christian-led NGOs that do speak truth to power and conduct considerable charity work. I have long respected and supported Global Refuge, a Lutheran non-profit serving immigrant and refugee communities. There’s also Christians for Social Action, who set a great example of what it means to follow and honor Jesus, peace be upon him.