Wolf Blitzer, Theologian

It’s the interview that has gone viral. Wolf Blitzer was interviewing a young woman holding her baby in the rubble of the Oklahoma tornado. “I guess you got to thank the Lord, right?” No response as the woman cuddled her baby. “Do you thank the Lord? For that split-second decision?” Her response, issued in a friendly voice: “I’m actually an atheist.”  Awkward laughter from both of them, and then Blitzer brings the interview to an even more awkward close. “You are? Oh, all right. But you made the right call.”

The woman is being praised for her graceful response to a question that, rather than a feel-good conclusion to an interview, turned out to be an intrusion into her personal beliefs.  Some pundits are going to so far as to say that no one should be asking for prayers for the people of Oklahoma; not the president, not the governor, and certainly not the reporters. (Follow this link to a Slate article, for instance) Instead of praying, people should be doing their jobs, setting up disaster operations or, in the case of you and me, sending money.  After all, they continue, if God is God, then God could’ve kept the tornado from hitting the elementary school and causing the deaths of seven children.  If God didn’t do that, then why should we pray to that God now?

We are facing yet another disaster, and finger pointing has begun, as always.  There is value in trying to figure out how to prevent future tragedies. This time, the cause cannot be linked to our weak gun laws or flawed mental health system or improper parenting or terrorism.  While it might be possible to link our increasingly severe weather to global climate change caused by human factors, that long-range causation isn’t getting much attention at the moment.  Instead, God is the one on the chopping block.

I can’t answer the “why” of this tornado in a way that would satisfy everyone, including myself. I know that we live in a broken world that has not yet experienced the fullness of God’s kingdom.  The clouds in the sky that bring needed rains and create beautiful, awe-inspiring sunsets are also the same clouds that drop storms that batter the earth. I can’t account for the vagaries of a tornado that would strike one school and spare another.  Just as there is no love on earth like the love of a parent for a child, there is no pain on earth like the pain of a grieving parent. Today, seven parents are grieving the loss of their children to a tornado, in addition to the other families who grieve losses of other family members. My list of things to ask God when we are finally face-to-face continues to grow.  

Just because I cannot explain it all does not, however, exempt me from my deep desire and, perhaps, obligation to pray for those affected.  I pray for the people to find healing and solace.  I pray for them to know God’s presence and love, and for them to be able to experience that presence and love through the hands of others. I pray that they will be led to help others as they themselves have been helped.  

Yes, I’ve sent money already. We’ll be receiving an offering at church this weekend, and information on how to give is the main banner on our website www.BlueSpringsUMC.org.  Our trained Disaster Response Team is on standby, prepared to go if asked. We are doing the practical stuff. Should we skip the important work of prayer?  Of course not!  God’s grace and love are more important in these moments than ever, for both the pray-ees and the pray-ers. When human understanding falls short and pain abounds, praying is exactly what we should be doing. So please pray with me, for the people affected by this tornado and for each one of us.

The Doctor's Prediction

At my first postpartum checkup, the doctor asked how the baby was doing. “He’s great,” I replied, “except that he cries whenever he’s not being held.” With great prescience, the doctor replied, “Ahh, well, the day will come when you will cry because you can no longer hold him.”

Almost a quarter of a century later, that day has arrived. On Sunday, my son is getting married to a wonderful, brilliant, sweet, and beautiful young woman who is as madly in love with him as he is with her. The tears will come, but they will be tears of happiness.

Except. When they announced that they were getting married in Hawaii, which is halfway between her family and ours, I blithely offered to perform the wedding rather than hiring a stranger to do the deed.  What was I thinking? When Caroline got married ten months ago, it wasn’t a problem to discreetly wipe the tears way whenever the pastor prayed. I was able to remain mostly composed. As the officiant, there will be few opportunities to wipe my tears away unseen.  Not only that, but once I start crying, I don’t stop, either.  

I always assure couples during pre-marital sessions that no matter what glitches happen the day of the wedding, they will be married at the end of the day, no matter what. I also promise them that, even if they get overwhelmed during the ceremony, they only have to look to me and I will tell them what to say or do next. I can’t guarantee much of anything to Winn and Farani if I’m a sobbing mass of tears. 

I was confiding my fears to Winn the other day. “What if you end up not married, because I couldn’t get through the ceremony?” “Well then, Mom, I’ll be homeless.” “Homeless?”  “The lease on my apartment ends on May 1, and all my stuff will have been moved to Farani’s apartment. If we’re not married, then I’ve got nowhere to live.”

 

Okay. I’ll suck it up and get them married. The words of that doctor will come true that day, but not until I’ve done my job to the best of my abilities.  After the ceremony- and after the pictures, I hope, so that my face won’t be all blotchy- then the joyful tears will flow. 

(Picture of Winn on his baptism day, November 1988.) 

Blissful Ignorance

After church yesterday, I was driving in the right lane along Highway 40 to join my family at our favorite Mexican restaurant. Ahead of me, a car pulled out, headed towards me in the left lane.  Headed towards me. On a divided highway. A one-way divided highway.

Thankfully, I was the only other car in sight. I started honking, flashing my lights, and waving. He pulled up beside me and stopped, smiling.  I yelled, with great urgency, “You’re going the wrong way! This is a one-way highway!  Turn around!”  The not-young man smiled at me benignly and said “thank you.”  I was amazed. He showed no sign of alarm as he continued on his way in the wrong direction. He finally pulled off right before a flock of cars in both lanes crested the hill behind me.   

When I told my youngest child this story, she reminded me of a joke I’ve told before. An elderly man was driving along the freeway when his wife calls him on his cell phone. “Honey, be really careful. The news is reporting that someone is driving the wrong way on the highway that you’re on.”  His reply: “I know, there are tons of ‘em doing that!”  Ba dum dum.

There are lots of lovely preacher points to make with this story, and it will likely show up in a sermon one day.  Today, however, I’m grateful that an older man and a bunch of cars avoided a danger of which they were blissfully unaware.

Windrows

Windrows.  A new word!  Having been raised on “Wordly Wise” at the Lovett School in Atlanta, where we had weekly quizzes on almost every arcane word known to the English-speaking world, I find it oddly exciting to find a new word. The word of the week is “windrow.”  Around here, it means the pile of snow that is left at the foot of your driveway after the plows have come by.  In case you haven’t experienced windrows after 14 inches of snow, those suckers can be 4-5 feet high. Literally.  And that’s after you’ve already worked to get your driveway pristinely clear.

Some folks around here have complained to the city about the windrows, as if the plow drivers leave them there intentionally.  “Hey, I’ve been driving this snowplow for 12 hours, I think I’ll have a little fun and leave a mountain range of snow in this person’s driveway.” I see it as just the opposite. I had a lovely, clean, windrow-free driveway for most of the day yesterday, because my street remained unplowed. I was thrilled when I looked out late last night and saw my very own windrow- the plows had come!  Andy and I cleared it as new snow kept falling, and we cleared another one this morning.  Keep the plows coming, we’ll clean all the windrows you can give us.

I’ve been thinking about spiritual growth a lot lately.  Right now is one of those seasons in my life where circumstances are forcing me to grow a little faster than I’d prefer. Sometimes it’s kind of messy, and often it irritates me.  “I thought I’d gotten this thing cleaned up in my head a long time ago, and now I’m dealing with it again? Ugh!” What I’m really seeing, I think, are windrows.  The plow has come by, big things are getting cleared up, and the things that irritate me most are simply the remnants of something bigger that is happening. So I’ll shovel myself out one more time and be thankful that the plows have found their way to me.

Weeds become flowers

Sometimes, even when life is full of blessings, the difficult parts threaten to overwhelm.  Worries and

fears crowd in, obscuring almost everything else.  It happens to us all, Scripture reminds us, and it

happened recently to a dear friend of mine. Plowing through the tough times is hard work. It is often in those most difficult times that God is most visibly at work.  Sometimes the work of God involves removing the source of fear and anxiety, and sometimes God’s work is inside us, helping us walk through one more day in the valley.

These things were on my mind the other day when I came across the following poem by Joyce Rupp. She manages to speak so much truth and hope in these few sentences.

How I love it

when what I’ve known

as a weed

in me

suddenly becomes

a beautiful flower.

How I delight

when the rejected part

of me

becomes my friend.

How I cherish

the struggles

that change

my inner enemies

into my beloved friends.