Thursday, May 26, 2011
Reflecting on the tragedy in Joplin, MO
A friend complained that people on social media were saying that God was responsible for the deadly tornadoes in Joplin, MO, and elsewhere. They say God sent the storms as judgment.
Meanwhile, others are saying that the storms present proof that God doesn't exist; if God did, why would he permit the tornadoes?
These are two common responses to tragedy. I suppose it's human to try to make sense of something bad in order to live with it. Some efforts at making sense, however, make no sense: tornadoes as God's judgment?
Moreover, in my observation, when bad things happen, those who feel that they have been wronged by God, the church, religious people regard bad things as yet more evidence for holding onto their grievances against God, the church, believers--be they Christians, Jews, Muslims, or other.
No, I don't have a satisfactory explanation for why natural disasters take place in a world that I believe is governed by a God of love and mercy. No definitive answer exists to the Why, God? question, although some tentative answers are sounder than others.
And I wonder, if we found the answer, would it really mitigate the loss, grief, suffering? No.
In the face of such tragedy, then--both on the grand scale of Joplin, MO, and on the smaller scale of the person lamenting a diagnosis of cancer or the loss of a job or a divorce--all I can do is defer the Why question for now and ask the most important question at a time like this: the What question.
What can I do to ease the suffering of my neighbors in Joplin and in many more communities across the Midwest and the South?
Here are a few suggestions:
Send a check to Episcopal Relief and Development and write "tornado response" on the memo line. Mail your check to ERD, The Episcopal Church, 815 Second Ave., New York, N.Y.
If you live in Springfield, bring bottled water, diapers, personal hygiene items to Christ Episcopal Church, 601 East Walnut St., Monday through Friday, from 8 am to 5 pm. We're gathering items now and will transport them to Joplin.
And if you believe in God, pray for God to help.
As Archbishop Desmond Tutu says in the wonderful new film, "I Am," God has only you.
Meanwhile, others are saying that the storms present proof that God doesn't exist; if God did, why would he permit the tornadoes?
These are two common responses to tragedy. I suppose it's human to try to make sense of something bad in order to live with it. Some efforts at making sense, however, make no sense: tornadoes as God's judgment?
Moreover, in my observation, when bad things happen, those who feel that they have been wronged by God, the church, religious people regard bad things as yet more evidence for holding onto their grievances against God, the church, believers--be they Christians, Jews, Muslims, or other.
No, I don't have a satisfactory explanation for why natural disasters take place in a world that I believe is governed by a God of love and mercy. No definitive answer exists to the Why, God? question, although some tentative answers are sounder than others.
And I wonder, if we found the answer, would it really mitigate the loss, grief, suffering? No.
In the face of such tragedy, then--both on the grand scale of Joplin, MO, and on the smaller scale of the person lamenting a diagnosis of cancer or the loss of a job or a divorce--all I can do is defer the Why question for now and ask the most important question at a time like this: the What question.
What can I do to ease the suffering of my neighbors in Joplin and in many more communities across the Midwest and the South?
Here are a few suggestions:
Send a check to Episcopal Relief and Development and write "tornado response" on the memo line. Mail your check to ERD, The Episcopal Church, 815 Second Ave., New York, N.Y.
If you live in Springfield, bring bottled water, diapers, personal hygiene items to Christ Episcopal Church, 601 East Walnut St., Monday through Friday, from 8 am to 5 pm. We're gathering items now and will transport them to Joplin.
And if you believe in God, pray for God to help.
As Archbishop Desmond Tutu says in the wonderful new film, "I Am," God has only you.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Grief in the light of the resurrection
A friend wrote me today about her profound sadness at the death of her parents in the last several months. My friend is grieving. What is particularly acute is the painful awareness that now the two people who had been with her at the very beginning of her life and through the decades that followed are no longer "on this planet," as she wrote. She is also the oldest of her parents' two surviving children, and she feels she is next in line for death.
I can relate to my friend's grief. My father has departed this life, but my mother, at 89 years of age, is still alert and active and a model for me of aging. As my sister told me today, my mother's doctor told her, "If you stop, you die." Like my mother, I intend to keep moving.
But I know that when my mother finally stops moving, because her body won't carry her any farther, and she joins my father in the life to come, I, too, will likely feel what my friend is feeling today: that keen loss of both my parents and the growing sense of the finality of my own earthly existence. Finality, but not futility.
Death is a staggering and sobering realization--and one few of us take note of, because we keep busy and distracted so much of the time. We don't like to think about final things, and yet final things, the certainty of them, may be just what we need to pay more attention to, for when we do note them in the right way--in faith--we live with a renewed urgency and deepened sense of appreciation for the fragility and fleetingness of this human existence.
As I ask ultimate questions--notably: What happens when my loved ones die? What happens when I die?--I face the heart of my Christian faith. I believe. I believe that when the end comes, I shall not fall into the dark empty nothingness, but shall rise from my grave in the light of God's love and in the power of the resurrection to that eternal bliss.
The end that I face, in faith, gives me the hope and joy I need to live with the tragedies, the suffering, and the losses of this earthly life.
Alleluia! Christ is risen.
I can relate to my friend's grief. My father has departed this life, but my mother, at 89 years of age, is still alert and active and a model for me of aging. As my sister told me today, my mother's doctor told her, "If you stop, you die." Like my mother, I intend to keep moving.
But I know that when my mother finally stops moving, because her body won't carry her any farther, and she joins my father in the life to come, I, too, will likely feel what my friend is feeling today: that keen loss of both my parents and the growing sense of the finality of my own earthly existence. Finality, but not futility.
Death is a staggering and sobering realization--and one few of us take note of, because we keep busy and distracted so much of the time. We don't like to think about final things, and yet final things, the certainty of them, may be just what we need to pay more attention to, for when we do note them in the right way--in faith--we live with a renewed urgency and deepened sense of appreciation for the fragility and fleetingness of this human existence.
As I ask ultimate questions--notably: What happens when my loved ones die? What happens when I die?--I face the heart of my Christian faith. I believe. I believe that when the end comes, I shall not fall into the dark empty nothingness, but shall rise from my grave in the light of God's love and in the power of the resurrection to that eternal bliss.
The end that I face, in faith, gives me the hope and joy I need to live with the tragedies, the suffering, and the losses of this earthly life.
Alleluia! Christ is risen.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Life with that great cloud of witnesses
Early this morning, I was in one of those liminal states, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, when I sensed my father's presence. He didn't speak. I didn't see him. But I'm sure he was there, as if right beside me, and his presence was one of love for me.
My father, Gilbert Hurt Chumbley, Sr., died in November 1994. Although we'd had our struggles over the years, especially because of his alcoholism, we loved one another. After a long absence from one another, we'd kiss one another on the cheek. I thought nothing about it. It seemed right.
Saturdays, when I still lived near him in Louisville we'd spend our mornings together, drinking coffee and talking. Then when I moved away--first to seminary in New York City and then to southern Kentucky and later to upstate New York--we'd talk on Saturdays by phone. We never missed a Saturday.
I knew my father loved me. He told me so. He showed me. He always told me how proud he was of me. I've tried to be that kind of father to my daughter Clare, and now, I'm trying to be that kind of grandfather to June Elizabeth and Christa Marie.
At every celebration of the Holy Eucharist, I remember my dad in the prayers for the departed, my spiritual director telling me a long time ago that doing so would help me stay connected with him spiritually. It works, too.
This morning in that dream state, my dad visited me. He was alive with love for me.
And then this morning at the Holy Eucharist at the sleepy hour of 7, I read the lesson from Hebrews 9.11-15, 24-28 and heard those words outwardly and inwardly.
The writer speaks about the Communion of Saints, that great cloud of witnesses who compasses us about, to quote the Prayer Book, with their loving and strengthening presence.
Today in my dream, the heavenly and earthly communions met, and my dad and I were together again, if only for an instant, and I believe and know that we shall be together again. Only momentarily in this world. But then eternally in the world to come.
Daddy, I love you.
My father, Gilbert Hurt Chumbley, Sr., died in November 1994. Although we'd had our struggles over the years, especially because of his alcoholism, we loved one another. After a long absence from one another, we'd kiss one another on the cheek. I thought nothing about it. It seemed right.
Saturdays, when I still lived near him in Louisville we'd spend our mornings together, drinking coffee and talking. Then when I moved away--first to seminary in New York City and then to southern Kentucky and later to upstate New York--we'd talk on Saturdays by phone. We never missed a Saturday.
I knew my father loved me. He told me so. He showed me. He always told me how proud he was of me. I've tried to be that kind of father to my daughter Clare, and now, I'm trying to be that kind of grandfather to June Elizabeth and Christa Marie.
At every celebration of the Holy Eucharist, I remember my dad in the prayers for the departed, my spiritual director telling me a long time ago that doing so would help me stay connected with him spiritually. It works, too.
This morning in that dream state, my dad visited me. He was alive with love for me.
And then this morning at the Holy Eucharist at the sleepy hour of 7, I read the lesson from Hebrews 9.11-15, 24-28 and heard those words outwardly and inwardly.
The writer speaks about the Communion of Saints, that great cloud of witnesses who compasses us about, to quote the Prayer Book, with their loving and strengthening presence.
Today in my dream, the heavenly and earthly communions met, and my dad and I were together again, if only for an instant, and I believe and know that we shall be together again. Only momentarily in this world. But then eternally in the world to come.
Daddy, I love you.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Standing with the Islamic community in Springfield, MO
At this week's meeting of our Interfaith Alliance, a member of the Islamic Center reported on the latest hate attack on her faith community. Someone had left an anonymous threatening letter at the center. The writer, she told us, said that Muslims don't belong in Springfield. He called for "death to Islam." And he left behind not only his odious letter, but also three partially burned Korans, the Muslim sacred scriptures. One of our constitutional rights as Americans is freedom of religion. Every person may worship the God of his or her choice or worship no God at all. This right is one for which Americans have fought and died to preserve throughout our history. Indeed, America was first settled by people who fled religious persecution in Europe. These dissenters came here for refuge from religious intolerance and for the freedom to worship as they wanted. And yet today, religious and political extremists, who are ignorant of American history and the Constitution or indifferent to them, are attacking Islam. Infamously, Representative Peter King of New York devoted congressional hearings to promoting the idea that Islam is a threat to America. Other vote-seeking politicians, along with ratings-crazed media stars of the right are using Islam to foster hate, hysteria, and division. The only antidote to fear is fact. We must learn about Islam, including from its faithful adherents. Members of the Springfield Interfaith Alliance are doing just that. We're not only learning from the local Islamic community, but we're also partnering with them in promoting a better community for all people. Hitler's rise to power was facilitated by the silence of many German Christian people. Such growth of rank evil cannot be allowed to take root and grow in our good community here. From pulpits and pews, at lunch tables and across backyard fences, people of faith and good will must speak out and to declare: There is only one God, and all people are brothers and sisters in God's one human family. The purveyors of hate and violence will neither separate us nor drive us into silence and fearfulness. We shall meet evil with love for and solidarity with the persecuted. This is our city, and it's a good community--one that we intend to maintain as a place of hospitality, not hostility.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Lamenting the loss of a voice
Bob Herbert, a New York Times' columnist, announced in Saturday's paper that he was ending his column after 18 years. He said he'd be working outside of journalism to help the poor and other struggling people. Ordinarily, I'd take little notice of a columnist laying down his pen, but not this time. Herbert's leaving opinion journalism is a huge loss, especially for people who care about the growing distress of the poor and marginalized in America. In Saturday's column, Herbert opines, as he often did, about the growing chasm between the very rich and the very poor. He writes that, "The current maldistribution of wealth is also scandalous. In 2009, the richest 5 percent claimed 63.5 percent of the nation's wealth. The overwhelming majority, the bottom 80 percent, collectively held just 12.8 percent" (New York Times, Saturday, March 27). In the same column, he cites one important way that this shifting of wealth takes place. He writes, "Despite profits of $14.2 billion--$5.1 billion from its operations in the United States--General Electric did not have to pay any U.S. taxes last year." GE managed this feat, according to the Times' report that Herbert quotes, through an "aggressive strategy that mixes lobbying for tax breaks and innovative accounting that enables it to concentrate its profits offshore." Having been in business, I know corporations do a lot of good. I've seen it. They create products and services that improve and even extend our lives. And companies employ millions of Americans and give billions of dollars to charities. No responsible person would advocate abolishing American companies or expropriating their legitimately earned profits (shareholders expect returns on their investments) or nationalizing them. I'm not advocating such treatment. But Christians and others who care about justice need to be concerned that U.S. tax policy has, within the last decade or more, exacerbated the gap between the rich and the poor. We need to be alarmed that deep cuts in spending on social welfare programs and public education have pummeled the poor and other vulnerable members of our society and have put everyone's future at risk. And we need to pay attention to what's happening in North Africa and in the Middle East and right here in America. Everywhere, the poor and even the middle class are demanding justice, mercy, and compassion. Bob Herbert was like one of those Old Testament prophets. They railed against the sins of the powerful in Israel who defied God and trampled upon the poor, the old, the young. And because the powerful ignored the Word of the Lord and failed to repent of their idolatry and injustice, they brought the wrath of God down upon themselves. I hope Herbert will be as successful outside journalism as he was inside it as a passionate, truth-telling advocate for the poor and oppressed. And I hope the people of America , including those who represent us in government, are listening to the voices of the prophets while there is still time to heed their warnings.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Life could be a lot harder for Missouri's jobless, thanks to one state senator
Every day, I read the newspapers, and every day, I'm outraged.
If it's not the governor of Wisconsin taking money from billionaires and doing their union-busing bidding, it's a Kansas legislator advocating that illegal immigrants be shot dead from helicopters.
Yes, I'm serious; he really said it.
Here's today's outrage from right here in Missouri. The local paper reports that a Missouri state senator is introducing legislation that would refuse all Federal funds for extending unemployment benefits to the jobless and for supporting public education in the state.
And if he doesn't get his way, he says he'll filibuster all legislation. He'll shut government down.
Why? He claims Missouri voters gave him and like-minded legislators a mandate to cut the Federal deficit. He'll pay any cost to do so.
Of course, the cost of such shortsighted legislation is never paid by the politicians who push it, but it's always paid by the unemployed, the young, and the poor.
I'm waiting for this Missouri senator and his bill's co-sponsors to share in the sacrifice and suffering that they're wanting to impose on some of Missouri's most vulnerable citizens.
They can start by foregoing their tax-payer supported salaries and benefits.
Perhaps then--with foreclosures threatened, their utilities shut off, and their children crying with hunger--they'll feel the pain they're inflicting on others and start acting to relieve the pain of all those Missourians who are hurting.
If it's not the governor of Wisconsin taking money from billionaires and doing their union-busing bidding, it's a Kansas legislator advocating that illegal immigrants be shot dead from helicopters.
Yes, I'm serious; he really said it.
Here's today's outrage from right here in Missouri. The local paper reports that a Missouri state senator is introducing legislation that would refuse all Federal funds for extending unemployment benefits to the jobless and for supporting public education in the state.
And if he doesn't get his way, he says he'll filibuster all legislation. He'll shut government down.
Why? He claims Missouri voters gave him and like-minded legislators a mandate to cut the Federal deficit. He'll pay any cost to do so.
Of course, the cost of such shortsighted legislation is never paid by the politicians who push it, but it's always paid by the unemployed, the young, and the poor.
I'm waiting for this Missouri senator and his bill's co-sponsors to share in the sacrifice and suffering that they're wanting to impose on some of Missouri's most vulnerable citizens.
They can start by foregoing their tax-payer supported salaries and benefits.
Perhaps then--with foreclosures threatened, their utilities shut off, and their children crying with hunger--they'll feel the pain they're inflicting on others and start acting to relieve the pain of all those Missourians who are hurting.
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