If someone came to your door, begging you to hide them because people of their ethnicity were being killed, what would you do? Shut the door before they could come in? Tell them you’ll pray for them and then send them next door? Or take them in, knowing full well that you were risking your own life?

When faced with this situation, Paul Rusesabagina, hid more than 1,200 ethnic Tutsis in the hotel where he worked in Rwanda. More than once, his life was threatened, but each time, he negotiated with the militia who were seeking out the Tutsis, and was able to survive the confrontation. Sadly, although Paul helped those who came to him, more than 800,000 people died over a span of 100 days in Rwanda. Paul’s story and the events of the Rwandan genocide were captured in a movie, “Hotel Rwanda.”

Last Friday, I had the privilege of hearing Paul speak for an hour at the Elliott Bay Bookstore in Seattle. He recently published a book called “An Ordinary Man,” which tells about his experience during the genocide. I was truly amazed that this guy, whose life I had seen in “Hotel Rwanda,” was standing before me, talking about his experience so calmly.

One thing he said was to not underestimate the power of words. Many times when he was confronted by the militia, he calmly stepped forward and used words to relate–not knives or guns. He soon realized that words were more effective than violence or force. Another thing that stuck out to me was when someone asked him about his experience with Don Cheadle, the actor who portrayed him in “Hotel Rwanda.” Paul said, “I spent time with Don so that he could see that I am not a Superman.” I think it’s so easy to see admirable figures like this, and to place them on a pedestal. That’s great, but there is a danger in doing that. When we see people as great, extraordinary figures, we separate them from ourselves. When we separate ourselves from them, we also put their abilities in one box and our abilities in another, meaning, we say, “He’s this great guy so of course he was brave enough to hide people in the hotel. I, on the other hand, am not special, so I wouldn’t have been able to do that.”

Paul wanted to emphasize that he was not a Superman, because he just did what he felt he had to do to help people. If he is just like you and me, that means we should also feel like we could do great things to help other people. We shouldn’t feel like we have to be qualified in any way to help people in need. The reaction to help others in need, in danger, should be automatic. Unfortunately, it’s not, and I’m speaking for myself.

When I see someone in need or if someone asks me for help, I’m ashamed to say, but oftentimes, my first thought is to wonder how it will affect me. Will I be inconvenienced? Am I putting myself in harm’s way? If Paul had reacted in that way, 1,200+ people would not be alive today. And he was just an ordinary man, not a Superman, as he says. I–along with those 1,200+– people would disagree, but his life just shows that we are all capable of what he did.

(I’m on a waiting list to check out Paul’s book from the library, but I’ve also read “Left to Tell: Discovering God Amidst the Rwandan Holocaust” by Immaculee Ilibagiza, which is a powerful first-person account of a girl’s experience in the genocide. She, along with some other women, hid in a bathroom for several months, as people frequently came to the house, searching for them.)