Human Sacrifice, or Living Sacrifice?

Flying home yesterday, I met a young man for whom I will be praying for a very long time. Nineteen years old, from a small city on a bayou in Southern Louisiana, he’d never been on an airplane before. He was extremely anxious, and I assured him that we were banking normally as the plane took altitude. He’d never been north where it was cold either, and didn’t own a coat. I asked where he was headed, and whether he was visiting family. “No, ma’am. I’m on my way to St. Louis, for Basic Training.” In nine weeks, he will go on to field artillery training. After that, he did not need to say. He confided that he didn’t know what he’d been thinking when he enlisted. His mom didn’t take it very well. The Army was going to give him $40,000. When is the last time you had a chance to sell yourself for $40,000, in a town where 30% of the population lives under the poverty line? I suggested that even if it was tough to set aside any of his income to qualify for education benefits, he should do it, and go to college. He looked stunned. “I don’t want to go to school.” “You might want to later. Give yourself that option.”

He gave me his name. I will not forget his beautiful, clear, terrified eyes. I will not forget that he cried when I called him by his first name and gently noted that he would be known only by his last name from here on out. I assured him that he would do well, and with a sense that he needed to hear it, that God would be with him every step of the way. I told him I hoped we would do right by him. From now on, my face on the troops in Iraq is a young Cajun named Tommy. I pray that we help him find a future, not a nightmare. I pray that we will not sacrifice him in our name.

I met another young man during this trip, when we offered ourselves to help with New Orleans cleanup and relief. For the last eight months, Sam has been leading crews of volunteers organized through the Episcopal church as they gut houses flooded following Hurricane Katrina. From Michigan, Sam graduated last year from college, and declined a teaching job to come do this work. Sensitively, wisely, gently, he shepherds people of all ages and circumstances to work together and find meaning in some very unpleasant but necessary work, quietly and discreetly doing the worst of it himself. He coached us how to approach what we would do, and gave us context and closure when we were done. He was mentoring a young woman to lead, and I’m sure he has trained many others. He provides first aid to volunteers who get hurt – ask me how I know, and interfaces with disposal contractors who clear away the mountains of debris. After a long day of labor and leadership, he reaches out to neighbors to find more families the program might serve.

At one point, someone who arrived after we were underway asked Sam, “Are you the leader?” He answered, “No. I’m a follower.”

That about sums it up.