Amanuel

The hot African sun burned the back of her neck as she walked along the dusty city road. Her throat was dry and her legs ached but she did not waver. Her destination was St. George church, in the heart of Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia. It was the city’s most renown place of worship. Certainly it would have many parishioners. Certainly one of them would notice him.

Wrapped snugly against her damp chest was her infant son, barely 3 months old. He was thin and malnourished, as most children are in this part of the world, and most mothers too. Her body failed to produce enough milk for him to thrive and the fever that ravaged her was like a bully in a schoolyard, assaulting her relentlessly. Her child’s belly had already learned that growling only fell on deaf ears. She knew what she had to do.

Finally the church came into view. It wouldn’t be long now. The lump in her throat began to rise but she commanded her brimming tears to stay put. How dare they spill over her lashes and expose her sorrow to this apathetic world. No, she would wait to weep in secret. Now, she must be brave. She was about to hand over her child to the angels, never knowing his fate.

As she neared the church, she refrained from getting too close. Swarms of people milled about. Some walked with purpose, others lingered or simply sat on the hardened earth. She needed to remain inconspicuous. Abandoning a child is a crime and she couldn’t risk imprisonment. There were 2 more fragile souls waiting for her at home, a shanty made of scrap metal and discarded wood.

Diesel fumes filled her nostrils as she swiftly untied the fabric that had strapped her babe to her bosom. She allowed herself one tear as she quietly memorized his face. He barely blinked as he returned her gaze. Kissing his forehead and the tip of his nose, she whispered in her native tongue, “I love you”, and then laid him on the warm pavement.

She dared not to look back as she walked briskly away. His cry of discomfort was drowned out by the sound of a passing bus. She must be strong now. Certainly someone would notice him. Certainly someone would take him in. Certainly…someone…

Fortunately, someone did. He is now our son, Samuel Amanuel Hadjian. After spending 7 months in an Ethiopian orphanage, we adopted him. A pedestrian was said to have found him lying on the ground across the street from St. George Church and turned him in to the city authorities. Subsequently, they brought him to Le Toukoul, a local orphanage founded by a French man named Mr. Ferez. The staff named him Amanuel.

The description of Samuel’s mother is fictitious, however it could potentially describe a thousand mothers in Addis Ababa. The truth is that only God knows who abandoned Samuel there that day and the reasons why they did it. It isn’t difficult to fill in the blanks. Africa is called the Dark Continent for a reason. Poverty and disease run the show. Who wants to live in a place where forsaking your newborn baby seems to be the best chance at their survival? Of the orphans in Africa, Samuel is one in a million, literally.

Why am I sharing this story? I’m sharing it because there is a reason Samuel was left in front of a church. He wasn’t tossed in an open field to waste away or be devoured by wild dogs. No, he was brought to a place where God’s people meet. The person who left him must have harbored some belief that God’s people would step up, and rightly so, since our Lord saturated His daily life with good deeds and we are called to imitate Him.

But is my life really saturated with good deeds? This is the question that has been dogging me for months, years even. Yes, I am a “fisher of men” and I strive to help as many people know Jesus as possible. But once people are caught in His net, then what? Converting others to a specific theology is not enough. I am becoming more and more convinced that my life must be one that demonstrates love in sacrificial, tangible ways and actively changes the landscape of our society.

Matthew 26:31-46 spells out the criteria for those who will be welcomed into God’s heavenly kingdom and those who will not. The only thing Jesus is concerned about is if we truly loved our neighbor. There aren’t any accolades given for how many friends we have at church, how many marriage retreats we attend or even how many people we baptize. What matters most to Jesus is how much we cared about our fellow man. Does this mean that we should neglect The Great Commission? No. But it does mean that we can’t be content with that alone. We are to be Jesus’ hands and feet in this train-wreck of a world, ministers of compassion and agents of change.

In the story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:30-37), sadly it was not the priest or Levite, both men regarded as religious, who came to the aid of a dying man. It was a half-breed Samaritan. What kept the religious men from getting involved? Both are said to have crossed the street when they noticed the victim, although the Levite first decided to get a closer look before doing so. Perhaps they were too busy, too important, too judgmental or just too overwhelmed with the thought of helping yet another person. Why did the Samaritan respond differently? I believe it’s because he paused just long enough to actually feel for this man (vs.33). He got his heart involved and that made all the difference. So he did what he could, and nothing more.

Maybe you’re not in a position to adopt an orphan. But perhaps you can prevent children from becoming orphans by helping to provide clean water for their village or AIDS awareness for their parents. Maybe you can’t solve global hunger but you can ask the principal at your child’s school if there are any families that might need a bag of groceries to get them through the month. This is the kind of love our neighbors need. If they don’t get it from us, the Christians, then from whom will they get it? I believe that every time a meal is served to the hungry, the gospel is preached. Every time a prostitute is treated with mercy and kindness, the gospel is preached. Every time an orphan is brought into a loving home, the gospel is preached. Let our lives be a Sunday sermon.