But as I laughed at those passengers to heaven,
A great big wave came and washed me overboard,
And as I sank and I hollered, “Someone, save me!”,
That’s the moment I woke up. Thank the Lord.
Nicely Nicely Johnson, while not a sophisticated theologian, had an insight into theodicy in that stanza, one that came to mind today when my priest read from the pulpit a message from Archbishop Demetrios (Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America) calling for prayers for the victims of the South Asian tsnami and contributions to the International Orthodox Christian Charities’ Asian Relief Fund.
Suppose, I reflected, that I were in the midst of an overwhelming natural disaster. I would pray for rescue, of course. What if the Lord responded directly to my plea? Would it not be reasonable for Him to ask, “Thomas, what have you done that I should alter the laws of nature for the sake of extending your life by a handful of years?” What persuasive response could I give?
Like Nicely Nicely, I woke up from that musing. In Guys and Dolls, he remained a mobster, and doubtless I shall remain a sinner.
If we Christians truly accepted our Faith as a description of reality, catastrophes would lead not just to an immediate outpouring of gifts for the stricken but also to a realization that our constant carping at the disappointments of life is absurd. God made a good universe, but its good things have sharp edges. The very crowding of persons and phenomena that gives us such delight makes collisions unavoidable. God could micromanage the cosmos, guarding us from every scrape and allowing our mortal lives to continue indefinitely. I strongly suspect that an environment like that would eventually become hideous to us, and we would beg for release.
The alternative, alas, is the possibility of premature and painful death. God may, for His own reasons, ward us from imminent harm, but we have no right to expect safety. We certainly cannot claim it as our just deserts if we ourselves relegate God to a corner of our lives and rarely do that little within our power to ward off harm that threatens others.
I am not saying that, if we led better lives, we would deserve physical comfort. Great saints have died horribly, and Our Savior did not expire in a peaceful bed. Nor do I assert that recognizing that comfort and safety are not our due will make us insouciant in the face of danger and pain. Events like the sudden death of hundreds of thousands of people submerge our intellects, and we would be less than human if we were not appalled. Nonetheless, we should not give up thinking. We live among roses. Let’s not despair because there are also thorns.
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