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.