The plane reached the terminal in Recife, Brazil and the ground crew opened the door. I have been through more airports than I can count1 and find they all kind of blur together—jetways, corridors, escalators, luggage belts. But for some reason, I remembered this one from my previous visit. After exiting the secure area, I waited a few moments for my host to arrive, and then together we headed into the city and toward my hotel.
We were just minutes from the airport when we came across the scene of an accident. A motorbike was crushed and broken on the ground beside a transport truck. Nearby, a group of people was clustered on the sidewalk, surrounding someone or something. My eyes turned away from them and, in the roadway, spotted a child who was lying still. For reasons I will not describe, it was clear that he had been involved in the accident and clear that he had not survived. He was lying face down, alone, deceased. He could have been 6 or 8 years old, I suppose, but I did not let my eyes linger long enough to tell.
I looked away. I looked away because I could not bear to look at a tragedy as terrible as this one. But I also looked away because I knew the scene wasn’t mine to look at. I was just a stranger, a passerby, a foreigner. There was nothing I could do, nothing I could say, no way I could help. My host and I drove on in stunned silence, sick to our stomachs, and praying for that boy’s brokenhearted family.
This is something I have been training myself to do in life—to look away from what is not mine to look at. There is so much in life that does not concern me, so much that may draw my eyes or engage my curiosity but is not for me to gaze at or fixate on, not for me to ponder or form opinions about.
I consider this an application of modesty. When we talk about modesty we usually speak about the way people present themselves in public with their dress or demeanor, with their words or their actions. We speak about the immodest ways people may draw attention to themselves, whether to their bodies, their wealth, their power, or any other attribute. But no sin has just one side. If one side of modesty is refusing to display what should remain private, the other side is refusing to pay attention to what is not our concern. Sometimes that is a garment that is cut too deep or too short or an outfit that is meant to draw undue attention. But sometimes it is an accident or a scandal. Sometimes it is a sin or the devastation of a sin. Sometimes we ought to look away.
There are a few areas in life I am convinced God calls me to gaze at intently and to fix my mind upon. These are the issues of my own soul and sanctification, the issues of my own family, my own local church, my own community and country. These are issues that concern me, issues that are within my sphere of responsibility, issues I can do something about. But there are many issues that concern other people or other situations, that are outside my sphere of responsibility, that I can do nothing about. What I have learned is that these are the issues that threaten to distract or waylay me, that can take my attention away from those few things God has made me responsible for. These are the issues that can appeal to me for the basest and least sanctified of reasons.
I believe that God has called me to give the most of my attention to what actually concerns me and to what I can actually change. He wants me to give my attention to situations I can actually impact and people I can actually help. He wants me to give attention to what is my business and not someone else’s. That requires looking toward a few things and looking away from a great many. It requires discipline that I pray he grants me and helps me express.
1 Actually, that’s just stating it for effect. I keep meticulous records so know that I have been through precisely 126 airports.
