A Disaster Of Biblical Proportions
Stories
Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit
Series VI, Cycle B
Christmas is such a beautiful time of the year. Physically beautiful with the color and light; spiritually beautiful with story and song. Then there is the special baby -- a baby whose birth was greeted by angels, a baby whose birth meant tidings of joy for all people everywhere, a baby who would save the world. We gather for worship, enjoy familiar company, exchange holiday wishes, then go home, drink eggnog, and eat Christmas treats. God is in heaven and all is right with the world. Or so it often seems.
But all was not right with the world Christmas 2005. A pressure was building up deep beneath the surface. Two unyielding forces were pushing against each other. We sang our Christmas carols ... oblivious. Others partied on, and holidayed on -- walked along moonlit beaches hand in hand, wrapped final presents as the kids fell asleep. "All is calm, all is bright" we sang, "Sleep in heavenly peace." But the pressure grew and grew.
Nothing gave way that night, but the pressure went right on building, and by the next night -- morning in the Far East -- all hell broke loose. Simple geophysics -- two great forces pushed against one another, one slipped a bit, the earth shuddered, the pressure was released. It is all quite simple. The sudden movement caused a wave. That is easily explainable.
But as we in the west sang the songs about that lovely baby, Nathan Nettleton explained the tsunami.
That wave was tearing babies out of people's arms, sucking beds out through hotel windows with people still in them, dumping sharks in swimming pools, turning idyllic beachside villages into churning soups of angry water and broken glass and car parts and blood and corrugated iron and dying children and splintered wood.
It was all over in minutes. The water ran back into the sea taking with it whatever it wished, whatever it hadn't impaled or trapped or buried. We have all seen pictures of what it left behind -- haunting horrible pictures, mud and ruins and corpses. Tens of thousands of corpses -- old, young, men, women -- the life sucked out of them. Dead children strewn everywhere. "What child is this who laid to rest on Mary's lap is sleeping?" What child is this who laid to rest in the mud and devastation of Aceh? And what child is this? And this? And this? Who knows?1
In the immediate aftermath of the tsunami, we wondered. We gathered for worship on the Sunday following -- did we still want to sing of cute babies then? Did the angels' tidings of great joy mean anything in the face of that? Could we stand in the mud and debris of Banda Aceh or Phuket or Galle and speak of the one who is called Emmanuel, God with us? As one local pastor in Sri Lanka quietly asked, "How can we tell people that God loves them in the midst of this?"
Then come those same questions that people raise, not only in the face of a disaster of biblical proportions like this one, but anytime calamity strikes: Why? How could a good God allow such a thing? The feeling comes that if God is really God, if God is really in control, then God is not good. Or the other side of that coin -- if God is really good, and all these things happen anyway, then God is not God because there are things that are beyond God's control.
Why do these things happen? It is not a new question. It is as old as human existence. The book of Job is really one long compendium of the questions people raise when confronted with catastrophe: Why? Why me? Why him? Why them?
Job's story, of course, is one with which we are all familiar. Here was a successful and prosperous man, a man whose life had always been right side up, suddenly confronted with the destruction of his property, even the death of his children as the house collapsed on them (tsunami?). Soon Job lost his own health -- more suffering in a short time than most of us ever endure in our entire lives, and he and his neighbors raised those questions. Why? Why you? Why me?
Finally, after Job and his friends had talked enough, the voice of God broke in. "Tell me, Job, where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? Who hung the stars in the sky and how did he do it? Who tells the dawn to break and the night to fall, and how does it happen? How does the wind work? How many clouds are there?" One unanswerable question after another with Job finally responding, "I put my hand over my mouth" (Job 40:4b), or in more modern parlance, "Gee, Lord, I had better shut up; I guess there is a lot about life I cannot answer." And the Lord says, "Right. There is a lot you will not be able to answer."
The message of the book of Job is that there are indeed things that we will never know -- at least in this life -- things that are beyond our understanding. Our call is to not lose our faith in the face of them, not to begin foolishly blaming God for earthquakes or tsunamis or plane crashes or whatever is not to our satisfaction in this world.
It was that same kind of trust that sent Jesus to the cross. The gospels make it clear that Jesus had no desire to be tortured or to die -- no sane person would. But he endured it, and the tragedy of Good Friday turned into the triumph of Easter. How could that have happened? I do not know. God does -- and that is all that matters.
The book of Job ends with a note that sounds almost too good to be true. Job goes through a horrific series of experiences, but then, as the text has it, "the Lord made him prosperous again and gave him twice as much as he had before ... The Lord blessed the latter part of Job's life more than the first" (vv. 10, 12). Okay. Good for Job. One would wish that every disaster had such a happy ending, but we know better.
Amazingly, good did come out of the tsunami horror. The expressions of human solidarity, stretching across countries and continents, was one bright light. Relief organizations said that the outpouring of support from around the globe was phenomenal, and that was good.
Less than a week after the flood, the world welcomed the new year 2006, but this time the calendar change was marked somewhat differently than before. Prayers were substituted for parties. Revelers in New York's Times Square marked a moment of silence as did those in other major cities; Paris draped black cloths along the Champs-Elysees. In Thailand, hundreds of mourners -- many clutching white roses and candles -- gathered in the resort of Phuket to remember lost loved ones and friends. Many Asians were too busy counting the dead, feeding survivors, and combating disease to even think about partying. This was a disaster the like of which we had never seen, and certainly hope never to see again.
In the aftermath of the horror, Steve Goodier offered these beatitudes:
* Blessed are those who mourn for the tsunami's victims; may they find comfort in their pain and hope in their helplessness.
* Blessed are those who found a way to survive; may they now find sufficient strength and healing as they reassemble the scattered pieces of shattered lives.
* Blessed are those who tirelessly strive to give relief; may they be amply encouraged in their valiant efforts.
* Blessed are those who generously give money and supplies ... may they know the deep satisfaction of having made a difference.
* Blessed are those in every nation who unite now in compassionate service and love; may they show us what it means to be family.2
____________
1. "Christmas Tsunami," 2 January 2005, http://www.laughingbird.net/SermonTexts/0343.html.
2. "A Tsunami Blessing," www.lifesupportsystem.com.
But all was not right with the world Christmas 2005. A pressure was building up deep beneath the surface. Two unyielding forces were pushing against each other. We sang our Christmas carols ... oblivious. Others partied on, and holidayed on -- walked along moonlit beaches hand in hand, wrapped final presents as the kids fell asleep. "All is calm, all is bright" we sang, "Sleep in heavenly peace." But the pressure grew and grew.
Nothing gave way that night, but the pressure went right on building, and by the next night -- morning in the Far East -- all hell broke loose. Simple geophysics -- two great forces pushed against one another, one slipped a bit, the earth shuddered, the pressure was released. It is all quite simple. The sudden movement caused a wave. That is easily explainable.
But as we in the west sang the songs about that lovely baby, Nathan Nettleton explained the tsunami.
That wave was tearing babies out of people's arms, sucking beds out through hotel windows with people still in them, dumping sharks in swimming pools, turning idyllic beachside villages into churning soups of angry water and broken glass and car parts and blood and corrugated iron and dying children and splintered wood.
It was all over in minutes. The water ran back into the sea taking with it whatever it wished, whatever it hadn't impaled or trapped or buried. We have all seen pictures of what it left behind -- haunting horrible pictures, mud and ruins and corpses. Tens of thousands of corpses -- old, young, men, women -- the life sucked out of them. Dead children strewn everywhere. "What child is this who laid to rest on Mary's lap is sleeping?" What child is this who laid to rest in the mud and devastation of Aceh? And what child is this? And this? And this? Who knows?1
In the immediate aftermath of the tsunami, we wondered. We gathered for worship on the Sunday following -- did we still want to sing of cute babies then? Did the angels' tidings of great joy mean anything in the face of that? Could we stand in the mud and debris of Banda Aceh or Phuket or Galle and speak of the one who is called Emmanuel, God with us? As one local pastor in Sri Lanka quietly asked, "How can we tell people that God loves them in the midst of this?"
Then come those same questions that people raise, not only in the face of a disaster of biblical proportions like this one, but anytime calamity strikes: Why? How could a good God allow such a thing? The feeling comes that if God is really God, if God is really in control, then God is not good. Or the other side of that coin -- if God is really good, and all these things happen anyway, then God is not God because there are things that are beyond God's control.
Why do these things happen? It is not a new question. It is as old as human existence. The book of Job is really one long compendium of the questions people raise when confronted with catastrophe: Why? Why me? Why him? Why them?
Job's story, of course, is one with which we are all familiar. Here was a successful and prosperous man, a man whose life had always been right side up, suddenly confronted with the destruction of his property, even the death of his children as the house collapsed on them (tsunami?). Soon Job lost his own health -- more suffering in a short time than most of us ever endure in our entire lives, and he and his neighbors raised those questions. Why? Why you? Why me?
Finally, after Job and his friends had talked enough, the voice of God broke in. "Tell me, Job, where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? Who hung the stars in the sky and how did he do it? Who tells the dawn to break and the night to fall, and how does it happen? How does the wind work? How many clouds are there?" One unanswerable question after another with Job finally responding, "I put my hand over my mouth" (Job 40:4b), or in more modern parlance, "Gee, Lord, I had better shut up; I guess there is a lot about life I cannot answer." And the Lord says, "Right. There is a lot you will not be able to answer."
The message of the book of Job is that there are indeed things that we will never know -- at least in this life -- things that are beyond our understanding. Our call is to not lose our faith in the face of them, not to begin foolishly blaming God for earthquakes or tsunamis or plane crashes or whatever is not to our satisfaction in this world.
It was that same kind of trust that sent Jesus to the cross. The gospels make it clear that Jesus had no desire to be tortured or to die -- no sane person would. But he endured it, and the tragedy of Good Friday turned into the triumph of Easter. How could that have happened? I do not know. God does -- and that is all that matters.
The book of Job ends with a note that sounds almost too good to be true. Job goes through a horrific series of experiences, but then, as the text has it, "the Lord made him prosperous again and gave him twice as much as he had before ... The Lord blessed the latter part of Job's life more than the first" (vv. 10, 12). Okay. Good for Job. One would wish that every disaster had such a happy ending, but we know better.
Amazingly, good did come out of the tsunami horror. The expressions of human solidarity, stretching across countries and continents, was one bright light. Relief organizations said that the outpouring of support from around the globe was phenomenal, and that was good.
Less than a week after the flood, the world welcomed the new year 2006, but this time the calendar change was marked somewhat differently than before. Prayers were substituted for parties. Revelers in New York's Times Square marked a moment of silence as did those in other major cities; Paris draped black cloths along the Champs-Elysees. In Thailand, hundreds of mourners -- many clutching white roses and candles -- gathered in the resort of Phuket to remember lost loved ones and friends. Many Asians were too busy counting the dead, feeding survivors, and combating disease to even think about partying. This was a disaster the like of which we had never seen, and certainly hope never to see again.
In the aftermath of the horror, Steve Goodier offered these beatitudes:
* Blessed are those who mourn for the tsunami's victims; may they find comfort in their pain and hope in their helplessness.
* Blessed are those who found a way to survive; may they now find sufficient strength and healing as they reassemble the scattered pieces of shattered lives.
* Blessed are those who tirelessly strive to give relief; may they be amply encouraged in their valiant efforts.
* Blessed are those who generously give money and supplies ... may they know the deep satisfaction of having made a difference.
* Blessed are those in every nation who unite now in compassionate service and love; may they show us what it means to be family.2
____________
1. "Christmas Tsunami," 2 January 2005, http://www.laughingbird.net/SermonTexts/0343.html.
2. "A Tsunami Blessing," www.lifesupportsystem.com.
