My family and I went on a hike yesterday. We chose to visit a waterfall close to the Georgia/Alabama border. I had taken Sunday off to enjoy a long holiday weekend, so we reverted back to our Vancouver "nature church" mode. I had today off too but it's been really hard to feel settled or like I'm on vacation. It wasn't lost on me that my children, Philip and I went in search of water while so many are searching the waters for loved ones. Water is powerful - homes are lit because of the force of water, cars are washed away, our bodies are mostly water - and water can be destructive. It hasn't a conscience or decision-making ability - it moves where is can and takes advantage of land's contours. My junior high experience is marked by Hurricane Hugo in SC - I still remember collecting canned food and seeing the scars of Hugo's assault on my home state's coastline even years afterward. Ask my friends in Western North Carolina about the indiscriminate way water wields its power, and you'll find empathic voices who are weeping with and for our sisters and brothers in Texas' hill country.
Holding these natural disasters within and beside our faith beliefs can feel tricky. I'm a pastor who completed four years of formal theological education and I admit these occurrences make me ask God a lot of questions. And that's OK - God welcomes our questions and can handle them. What I believe makes God ache is when we respond to people thinking we know the heart of God and we get it all wrong. For example:
-Please don't tell ANYone who has lost a child or a loved one that God needed another angel. That's theologically bankrupt and completely makes it sound like God depends on us, God's children, to keep God happy.
-Please don't tell someone who is raw with grief that everything happens for a reason. That's bollocks. We live in a broken world with crazy weather patterns and selfish people who drive drunk and sometimes people get hurt or killed. But I firmly believe there is no way the God I've come to know would EVER make one of God's children into an object lesson.
-Please don't say that tragedy is part of "God's plan". This is much like the previous point, but I guarantee the God who loves us enough to entrust the rest of creation into our care NEVER put into the blueprints hurting the ones God called "good".
Here's what I cling to in times like these. God weeps with us in these tragedies - God plants God's self beside us and promises to never leave us as we walk through the waves of grief as they come unexpectedly and sometimes as powerfully as the waters that raged through summer camps and mountains and beaches. And I follow the instructions of the great prophet, Mr. Rogers:
"My mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.' To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother's words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers — so many caring people in this world."
Mr. Rogers' words are a balm for my weary soul in times such as these. And they remind me that water can be as peaceful as it is powerful. So, I share these images with you of the waterfall we sought out yesterday. In the heat and humidity of Georgia's July, this water offered a shady spot to sit and cool off and reminded me that the creation entrusted to us is teeming with power that not only supports life but can take it. And I pray for the families whose houses feel unnaturally quiet or empty tonight.
Loving and Tender-Hearted God,
There really aren't words to capture how broken my heart feels while I watch the images of Camp Mystic and the rest of the Texas Hill Country. I'm leaning heavily on your promise that Spirit swoops in when our sighs are just too deep for words. I know that we, your children, are no strangers to tragedy and crisis - we read about it in the Bible, we hear it on the evening news, we bear witness to it in our own lives. But this moment lands differently - when the cries of your babies and their parents are so loud and in the forefront. And they remind me that there are countless babies and parents whose cries I don't hear because they fall to the background.
Draw near to them all, O God. Comfort those who are mourning, help them be brave and feel all the feelings that come in times like these. Buoy them with people who surround them and speak your love and care into the broken spots; offer them support through the quiet ones who come and hold their hands without even trying to speak. Make me your helper, God, so that I may be your hands and feet in this broken and hurting world. Help me be brave and see people, really see them. Help me be brave and remember each person I meet teaches me just a little more about who You are. Help me not to say dumb things and to trust silence as a healer. Remind me I don't know the hurts of anyone I come across so that I choose to move through the world gently and kindly. For our world desperately needs gentleness and kindness and love, so please use me to help make it happen.
Amen.
