Pulling Off the Blinders

WARNING: Harsh reality below. Reading this may make you cry (it made me cry seeing it), it may steal your innocence or it might just offend you. Regardless, this is my experience.

Let me begin this by saying I went to a brothel last night. It wasn't really what I expected. First of all, I wasn't going there for sex, which I imagine gives me a skewed perspective. Secondly, I was praying for the people there, both the customers and the... merchandise. That's a crude way to refer to a human, but that's what it seemed like to me.

I expected to see scantily-clad, rough-looking, apathetic and beaten-down women, most of whom had seen better days. Instead, I saw a group of friends in their mid to late teens watching Tom & Jerry and laughing at the antics of the cartoon mouse outwitting the cartoon cat. Their attire was more akin to that of a middle school party than a dirty movie. I tried to make eye contact to convey a sense that I saw them as people, but was almost universally ignored. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I think I would have preferred to live in the ignorance of my stereotypical ideal rather than the unassuming acceptance of reality.

The customers sat across the room from the girls and watched. They didn't smile or flirt or anything, they just spoke to the pimp when they were ready to choose a girl and left the room with her in tow. It wasn't glamorous. It wasn't emotional. The girls never seemed afraid or reluctant, more like day laborers watching the clock, waiting for 5 to hit.

At first I wasn't really shocked or anything. The sheer normality of the situation was sadly unnerving. I almost wished that it had been more dramatic. It would have been easier to respond to emotionally. What finally made things sink in for me was when I started praying for each girl individually. When you look someone in the face and recognize that they are a child of God, you cannot help but have compassion on them, no matter if they are a prostitute or the wealthy executive of a Fortune 500 company. Each of us bears His image. Each of us tarnishes it in various ways. It tore me up to realize that each girl in that room had a father and a mother and a God who loved her and because of the unequal distribution of wealth, she sells her body every night.

Sure there are girls who choose prostitution because it's an easy buck. But when a hooker costs less than a number 3 on the McDonald's Value Menu, something tells me most of them aren't there by choice, but by desparation. Desparation because they can't feed themselves or their families any other way. This society takes away access to education and job training for many women forcing them to either marry or seek out their own fortunes. Oh wait, most women can't really be entrepreneurs over here. It's getting better, but it is still oppressive.

It's hard to get excited about the massive tibial fracture that we repaired this morning, or the several IV's I got to place with the above as the background noise. But I did. I'm not sure how the resolution of me loving and enjoying my life while maintaining a genuine compassion and outreach for the broken will come about. Maybe it won't. I know I can't live my life the same way I have been, but I do not know what that will mean.

I know that next year, I will go skiing and I will go climbing and I will eat expensive food and drink expensive drinks. Can I justify that as a Christian? Sure. Should I?