🎧 If you prefer to listen, the recording is below.
Hi, I’m Tameka, and welcome to this week’s Grace Across Borders.
Lately, I find myself scrolling through social media and wondering what is happening to us.
Another missing child. Another young life lost. Another grieving parent pleading for answers. Another family asking us to share a picture, remember a name, or help bring attention to something that just doesn’t seem right.
And before I can fully process one story, another appears.
I see reports of children being exploited, families questioning the circumstances surrounding their loved ones’ deaths, and people begging the public not to let another name disappear into yesterday’s news.
Then there are those who dare to speak up. People who use their voices and platforms to draw attention to injustice, only to face criticism, threats of being canceled, or demands that they mind their own business.
But since when did standing up for someone who cannot stand up for themselves become a problem?
Since when did caring about another person’s child become minding somebody else’s business?
I wonder how many of these stories we have scrolled past without giving them another thought. How many names have we forgotten before the families have even had a chance to bury their loved ones?
Perhaps we whisper a quick prayer. Perhaps we shake our heads and say how terrible it is. Then we move on with our day.
And I find myself asking a question that I cannot seem to shake.
Must suffering knock on our own doors before we recognize that something needs to be done?
Must it be our child who goes missing? Our brother whose death raises unanswered questions? Our mother pleading for justice? Our friend whose name is being circulated across social media?
When do we join the fight?
I am not suggesting that we can solve every problem or respond to every story we encounter. But surely, as people who profess to love God and our neighbors, we cannot become so accustomed to suffering that we no longer feel compelled to respond.
And surely, prayer should not be the last thing we consider when injustice is staring us in the face.
This brings me to two women in Scripture whose courage has stayed with me: Shiphrah and Puah.
Scripture: Two Women Who Refused to Look Away
Exodus 1:15–21
The Israelites were living under oppression in Egypt. Their numbers were growing, and Pharaoh feared that they were becoming too powerful.
So he gave a terrible command.
He instructed two Hebrew midwives, Shiphrah and Puah, to kill the Hebrew baby boys as they were being born.
Imagine being placed in that position. The command came from Pharaoh himself, the most powerful man in Egypt. Disobeying him could have cost these women their lives.
But Scripture tells us something remarkable.
“But the midwives feared God, and did not as the king of Egypt commanded them, but saved the men children alive.” — Exodus 1:17 (KJV)
Shiphrah and Puah understood something Pharaoh had forgotten. Having the authority to give a command does not make that command right.
They feared God more than they feared Pharaoh.
When Pharaoh questioned why the Hebrew boys were still alive, the midwives gave him an explanation about the Hebrew women giving birth before they arrived.
But what stands out to me isn’t their explanation. It’s their refusal to participate in the killing of innocent children.
They couldn’t end slavery in Egypt. They couldn’t overthrow Pharaoh. They couldn’t change everything that was happening around them.
But they could refuse to become part of the injustice.
And they did.
Scripture tells us that God dealt well with the midwives.
Their names are recorded for generations to remember, not because they held positions of great power, but because they chose to protect lives that were not their own.
They remind us that courage isn’t always found in grand gestures. Sometimes it begins with refusing to do what we know is wrong.
Folklore: The Mousetrap
There is an old cautionary tale about a mouse who noticed a farmer bringing a package into the house.
Curious, the mouse watched as the farmer opened it. To his horror, it was a mousetrap.
Frightened, he hurried to the farmyard to warn the other animals.
First, he approached the chicken.
“There is a mousetrap in the house!”
The chicken listened and replied, “That sounds like a terrible problem for you, but it has nothing to do with me.”
The mouse then ran to the pig.
“There is a mousetrap in the house!”
The pig expressed his sympathy but explained that there was nothing he could do.
Finally, the mouse approached the cow.
“There is a mousetrap in the house!”
The cow could not understand why she should be concerned about something so small.
Discouraged, the mouse returned to the house, knowing he would have to face the danger alone.
That night, a loud snap echoed through the farmhouse.
The farmer’s wife rushed to investigate. In the darkness, she failed to notice that the trap had caught a snake by its tail. When she reached toward it, the snake bit her.
She became terribly ill.
The farmer prepared chicken soup, hoping it would help her recover. When neighbors came to visit, he slaughtered the pig to feed them.
But his wife’s condition worsened, and eventually she died.
As family and friends gathered for her funeral, the farmer slaughtered the cow to provide food for the mourners.
And the mouse?
The mouse watched from his hiding place.
The mousetrap had been intended for him. Yet every animal that believed the danger was someone else’s problem had suffered because of it.
Reflection
The story of The Mousetrap reminds me of an experience I had years ago when I moved from Montego Bay to Kingston, Jamaica, to live in a house my mother had purchased in a newly developing housing scheme.
The community was still unfinished, with approximately twenty occupied houses and four entrances and exits. With so much of the area undeveloped, people treated the scheme almost like a free-for-all.
Sometimes we would wake up to find an abandoned vehicle with a dead body inside. Other times, a vehicle riddled with bullet holes would be left there. Drivers would speed through the community, some simply using it as a shortcut to get to work.
Meanwhile, children lived and played there.
I remember thinking that something needed to be done before someone got hurt. So I began pushing for a residents’ association that could represent the people living in the scheme and address our concerns.
You would think everyone would welcome the idea.
Not quite.
Some questioned why I was getting involved. Others told me to mind my own business. One person even reminded me that the house wasn’t mine.
And technically, that person was right. It belonged to my mother, who was living elsewhere at the time.
But I lived there. I saw what was happening. Why should ownership determine whether I had a right to care about the safety of our community?
Thankfully, I wasn’t alone in wanting change. We formed a committee, and under the guidance of the police department, we began working toward closing at least two of the four entrances and exits to make the community safer.
The resistance continued, even from some residents.
I remember someone warning me that I needed to sleep with one eye open because “that’s not how this area is run.”
Imagine that. Trying to make a community safer, yet being warned to fear what might happen because we were challenging the way things had always been done.
But we pressed on.
And together, we got the entrances closed.
I share this not to take credit for what was accomplished, but because I remember the thought that motivated me from the beginning: Why should we wait until somebody gets hurt before we do something?
Looking back, I see the connection between that experience, The Mousetrap, and the courage of Shiphrah and Puah.
The animals in the folklore could justify their inaction because the danger did not appear to concern them. The midwives, however, refused to participate in something they knew was wrong, even though standing against Pharaoh came with risks.
Having the authority to give a command does not make that command right.
And being told to mind our own business does not automatically mean we should.
Doing what is right will not always be welcomed. Sometimes even the people we hope to help will question our motives. But opposition does not necessarily mean we are on the wrong path.
So what do we do?
We begin with prayer. Earnest prayer, asking God not only to intervene but to show us what part He would have us play.
Second Chronicles 7:14 calls God’s people to humble themselves, pray, seek His face, and turn from their wicked ways. But the verse does not end there. God promises, “Then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.”
What a promise!
We spend so much time speaking about what is wrong with our communities, our leaders, and our world. But here God calls His people to examine themselves. Are we willing to turn away from the very attitudes and behaviors that contribute to the suffering around us?
And we must not overlook the hope in those words. God speaks of hearing, forgiving, and healing. The brokenness we see around us should drive us toward Him, not into hopelessness.
But seeking His face also means being willing to change our ways.
James 2:17 reminds us that faith without works is dead. We cannot speak of compassion while continually turning away from opportunities to demonstrate it.
So after we pray, we must also pay attention.
When we see someone asking for help, we can take time to understand the situation instead of immediately moving on. We can share verified information, contact the appropriate authorities, support families seeking answers, or stand alongside those already working toward a solution.
And when a problem is bigger than one person, we can come together. That was one of the greatest lessons I learned from our experience in Kingston. What began as a concern became a collective effort. We sought guidance, organized ourselves, and worked toward change.
Not everyone will be called to lead. Some will be called to support, encourage, write, speak, or simply refuse to let someone’s suffering go unnoticed.
Our response must be guided by God’s wisdom, not simply our emotions. But we must be careful not to use the need for wisdom as an excuse to do nothing.
Find something within your ability to do, however small, and do it.
Make the phone call. Write the letter. Share the verified appeal. Support the family. Join the effort. And when the first attempt meets resistance, don’t automatically assume that means you should stop.
We cannot fight every battle, and we cannot solve every problem. But we can stop treating every injustice that does not directly affect us as someone else’s responsibility.
I think about those who came before us, who stood against injustice despite opposition and personal sacrifice. Many of the freedoms we enjoy today exist because someone refused to look the other way.
Perhaps that is part of what it means to be our brother’s keeper.
Prayer
Heavenly Father,
Lord, I come before You this morning, humbled, asking for Your mercy and Your grace.
Father, with everything happening in our society today, I wonder how we, as a people, have become so accepting of what is going on around us. We see injustice, yet so often we fail to call it out. We sit, we watch, and we wait for things to change.
But Lord, will things change if we don’t even cry out to You and ask You to intervene? Will they change if we do nothing?
Father, today I ask for Your guidance and Your grace in everything we do. We seek Your wisdom. Your Word tells us that if any of us lacks wisdom, we should ask You, and You will give it generously.
So Lord, give us the wisdom to know when it is time to pick up the phone, pick up the pen, or go marching. Help us recognize when we need to speak, when we need to stand, and when we need to act.
And Father, in whatever way we choose to stand against injustice, we ask for Your protection. Even if our part is simply to get out and vote, help us make decisions that align with Your will and not merely our own beliefs.
And while we’re at it, Lord, please protect our children. Protect our babies.
We’ve seen far too many mothers crying because their children did not come home. Far too many families grieving losses that no parent should ever have to endure.
Lord, please don’t let that be our portion.
Cover our children wherever they go. Keep them safe from harm, and give us the courage to stand up for the children who have no one to stand up for them.
We ask all these things in the precious name of Jesus.
Amen.
Thank you for being here and remember…
We are enjoying the fruits of someone else’s courage. What will future generations have to show for ours?
Leave a Reply