"So, has anyone asked you yet whether you think God directed this Hurricane to Galveston or not?" The question hovered in the air for a moment like a hawk waiting to dive on its prey.
"No," I answered, "and I hope nobody asks me that."
"We were talking about it at work the other day. It was a pretty lively discussion." I couldn't even bring myself to ask what was said. If the discussion was lively, people must have been on both sides of the issue. I know people look for explanations at a time like this, but I can't find resolution in the idea that God decided to wipe out Galveston (or New Orleans, San Francisco, New York, et al.). It's hard enough to deal with the fact that God allowed it happen without implying that He wanted it to happen. I just swung the sledgehammer one more time. Standing in the middle of a flood-ravaged house, I imagined my own family watching all our worldly goods being hauled out on the curb, and I prayed. Life is truly more fragile and less certain than the fantasy we believe. Even American middle class "security" turns into vapor more often than we'd like to think.
The stakes are higher than money or houses or goods, or even health. When you've lost everything, the way the families on Maple Lane in Galveston have, you develop an opinion about God. Is He the problem or the solution? Did He decide to ruin my life, or did He send people to help me when I needed it most? We went to Maple Lane on Sunday with hope that at least three families would choose the latter: twenty or so people and those who supported them by taking care of the kids or providing food and supplies, trying to make a small dent in a giant pile of debris that used to be a neighborhood. We worked hard for a day. We were ambassadors for Christ. We did demolition, gave comfort and a little hope.
Joan suffered a stroke a while back, then lost a husband, then a son, then a house. Two weeks after Ike, her house still sat in almost the same condition in which Ike had left it. When we arrived Sunday, she was doing the best she could with her one good arm to move a few things out of the house. When we left, there was still a long way to go, but the house was cleaner and safer and the process of recovery had been jump-started. More importantly, someone cared. Someone gave Joan a reason to believe that God is for her, not against her. Christ was present on Maple Lane.
I hope we're just getting warmed up.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
The Curse of Civilization
Just a few miles down the road, Galveston Island looks like a war zone. The causeway is blocked by highway patrol. There is a tree sitting on top of the Lutheran church in Dickinson. My oldest son Jacob spent a day last week ripping carpet out of a local teacher’s home that was flooded up to the second floor, while fish swam in the black water in her backyard pool. With such destruction in clear view, it’s wrong to say, “look at the bright side.” I probably couldn’t say it to a resident of Sunrise Beach without getting a black eye. Things are worse than normal. But, ironically, we are better than normal.
As we drove back into town last Monday evening, it was about 70 degrees with a light breeze, and the full moon was already above the houses before nightfall. Neighbors were in lawn chairs in the driveways, and strolling around the neighborhood with their kids and dogs. They came out to greet us as we drove in. The scene would have been Norman Rockwell-worthy if it weren’t for the blue tarps on the roofs and the downed trees. In the days since, we haven’t had dinner without extra folks at the table or a night without guests who needed a place to stay. My sons and their friends spent two days last week helping victims of Ike: teenagers doing actual manual labor for no pay because someone had a need. Sunday, our little church spent the morning and part of the afternoon doing the same. And this week we’ll do it again.
Sadly, little of this would have happened if a terrible storm had not ripped through our community. Not that it was good for us to be hit by a hurricane; no one in his or her right mind would desire this. But sometimes the things that are thrust upon us against our will, as bad as they can often be, awaken us to things we would still be blind to in our normal, comfortable state. One of our guests this week called it the curse of civilization: it seems that as long as we have gas in our cars, air conditioning in our homes, and satellite dishes on our roofs, we’re content to just stay there, each family an island unto itself. But take away the amenities, and magically we venture out-of-doors, greet one another, serve one another. We can only hope that, as our power comes back on and the shelves at the grocery store are fully stocked, we won’t slip completely back into the stupor of self-sufficiency.
I consider civilization a blessing, not a curse. But the behavior that Ike shook us out of--or that Ike exposed--helps me to understand why the Amish feel the way they do about civilization, and how living more primitively by choice protects them from selfish living. They choose to live in such a way that giving and receiving help from others in the community is a necessity of life. I hope we make a similar choice. But let's keep Dish Network.
As we drove back into town last Monday evening, it was about 70 degrees with a light breeze, and the full moon was already above the houses before nightfall. Neighbors were in lawn chairs in the driveways, and strolling around the neighborhood with their kids and dogs. They came out to greet us as we drove in. The scene would have been Norman Rockwell-worthy if it weren’t for the blue tarps on the roofs and the downed trees. In the days since, we haven’t had dinner without extra folks at the table or a night without guests who needed a place to stay. My sons and their friends spent two days last week helping victims of Ike: teenagers doing actual manual labor for no pay because someone had a need. Sunday, our little church spent the morning and part of the afternoon doing the same. And this week we’ll do it again.
Sadly, little of this would have happened if a terrible storm had not ripped through our community. Not that it was good for us to be hit by a hurricane; no one in his or her right mind would desire this. But sometimes the things that are thrust upon us against our will, as bad as they can often be, awaken us to things we would still be blind to in our normal, comfortable state. One of our guests this week called it the curse of civilization: it seems that as long as we have gas in our cars, air conditioning in our homes, and satellite dishes on our roofs, we’re content to just stay there, each family an island unto itself. But take away the amenities, and magically we venture out-of-doors, greet one another, serve one another. We can only hope that, as our power comes back on and the shelves at the grocery store are fully stocked, we won’t slip completely back into the stupor of self-sufficiency.
I consider civilization a blessing, not a curse. But the behavior that Ike shook us out of--or that Ike exposed--helps me to understand why the Amish feel the way they do about civilization, and how living more primitively by choice protects them from selfish living. They choose to live in such a way that giving and receiving help from others in the community is a necessity of life. I hope we make a similar choice. But let's keep Dish Network.
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