This question is burning in the hearts of so many of us as we face widespread, unparalleled need. The COVID-19 crisis fallout looms large, and the world will not emerge unchanged.
As we take stock of the scars left behind—physical, emotional, economic—we ask ourselves, What can I do to bring relief?
It is not a new question. It is the pervasive dilemma for anyone who has been engaged in the global fight against poverty for any length of time. How can I bring tangible help to these dear people without creating dependency upon charitable donations, circumventing societies’ attempts to help their citizens, or destroying peoples’ natural ingenuity and desire to provide for themselves?
Fighting a “White Savior” Response
The question is especially poignant to Westerners who work in the developing world. In places where our skin color, our American accents, or our European roots speak volumes, we are comparatively wealthy. We come wanting to help—being the hands and feet of Christ is, after all, why we have given up our lives back home to do this uncomfortable thing.
Slipping into the “white savior” persona can feel natural and right. But we fight it, knowing that we can never be the Savior the people we serve truly need.
So, again we are left with the question: How can we help?
In many circumstances, the biblical answer is clear: The Church is the vehicle that God has chosen to bring hope, healing, and help to hurting communities. In many contexts, international workers find natural partnerships with the national church network. They can walk alongside local believers and engage in work that is already being done, encouraging those in need to reach out to the church and collaborating with church leaders to pool resources.
Where the Church Remains Hidden
Our brothers and sisters who grew up in our host culture are far better equipped than we are to provide for their countrymen in beneficial ways—those aimed at providing a hand up instead of a handout.
It is certainly not easy.
Ideas sometimes clash, along with personalities, and it is humbling to consistently acknowledge one’s lack of knowledge and submit to others who are more suited to the task. But it is a beautiful-hard. It is the Church doing what the Master has called her to do—putting aside culture, class, skin color, and heritage in order to submit to one to another, working toward a common goal: battling poverty as we advance the gospel.
But what about the contexts where the Church remains hidden? Places where the light of believers, while not having been placed under a bushel, gleams quietly and even timidly into vast darkness, fearful of what it can do? Places where revealing the “why” of believers’ changed lives too openly could result in unemployment, homelessness, abandonment, imprisonment, or even death?
How can we help when the vehicle that God has chosen to bring hope, healing, and relief into hurting communities is hesitant to identify itself, sometimes even paralyzed by persecution and fear? This is my everyday reality.
Hope is Glimmering
It is an overwhelming yet imperative question. But in my corner of the world, hope is glimmering and growth is taking place through our current crisis. The last few weeks have brought times that I have felt paralyzed and helpless, confined to my home when I know there are real people with real needs from one end of our empty city to the other.
But as promised, the Father has proven Himself strong and able in the face of my weakness. He is moving in the hearts and minds of His people.
Local believers, dear ones who in the past have struggled to be transparent about their faith, who constantly battle the tension between “wisdom” and “bravery” when deciding what to share with their neighbors and whom to allow into their meetings, whose faith has seemed timid at times, have begun taking the lead in the effort to bring relief. Their ingenuity in finding creative ways to reach out—both to fellow believers and unbelieving neighbors—is inspiring.
Coming Alongside National Believers
They are reaching out to us, not to ask for help for themselves but for logistical assistance and extra resources to reach as many as possible. So, we help gather groceries, using lists that a local pastor has put together. We use WhatsApp to help spread the word among other covert saints about how to give or get help, again using methods national believers have designed.
We watch as the gospel goes forth as a result—and we rejoice. We can rest in the knowledge that our lockdown has not incapacitated our God.
So, we sit in awe of our Maker. The One who restores. The One who is in the process of making everything right. The One who grieves the devastation of our sin-sick, pandemic-ridden world, but who has the power to turn our mourning into dancing. The One who is moving His hand and working in His power, even in the darkest parts of our world—not despite this crisis but through it. And the One who affords us–even us!—the opportunities to be a part of His redemptive work that our hearts so desire.
by an Alliance worker serving in a creative-access location