Reflections on Harrisburg

The people of Harrisburg, Illinois who inadvertently became a part of the tornadic history of this region have been in my heart and prayers, especially in the last few days since journeying there to lend a hand in cleanup. The power of violent winds to tear apart and destroy, mixed with the seemingly random way such storms touch one place and not another, particularly evidenced as these storms moved through heavily populated communities, is mind-numbing.

Picking through the lives of those whose belongings have been spread out over the miles, sorting through the masses of wood, household appliances, insulation, shattered furniture, and broken dreams, brings to mind other places around the world where volunteers gather in similar fashion to extend the hands of God and neighbor to one another: Joplin, Missouri; Japan; Italy; Iraq; Afghanistan; Henryville, Indiana; and the list goes on and on. You see, not every storm is formed by nature's power and not every disaster is preceded by warning. Some of the worst scenes of destruction around us are wrought in the hearts of human desire for power and manipulation, yet their outcomes are eerily similar. Lives are lost, homes are left in shambles, the landscape is pockmarked with terror, and the human cost cannot be calculated.

I have long maintained that to call a tornado or a hurricane or a tsunami an act of God is incredibly unfair to the God who also creates the rose, a Springtime day, the songs of cardinals, and the likes of hummingbirds and bumblebees. We live in a dynamic, vibrant world which continues to change and evolve around us. We were not the first ones here, nor will we be the last ones left. We are part and parcel of all that God is creating, yet we are constantly mystified, even surprised when such events consume the very place where we have chosen to take residence, however close to the ocean or river, however deeply located in tornado alley, however close to the mountains we may have chosen to reside. Still, as indiscriminate as nature may seem, human warfare crosses beyond the boundaries of expectation, yielding heartache upon heartache, leaving the dead to bury their dead and the living to pick up the pieces.

And that, my friends, is what truly amazes me: the incalculable capacity of the human spirit to cling to hope, to extend assurance, and to build a new community upon the scars of pain and suffering. What I saw in Harrisburg last Saturday, I have seen mirrored in the eyes of those who continue to pick up the pieces of Joplin, Fukushima, Henryville, Baghdad, Tehran, and New Orleans. FEMA may or may not declare these places disaster areas, but to the people who live there disaster has visited them and they know day by day, bit by bit, prayer by prayer, life will be restored . . . not as once they knew it, but as God and neighbor, hand in hand, work with them to build it anew.

To pray for our sisters and brothers around the world who are visited by such events is an act of faith, yet to work with them in addressing the pain and sorrow while daring to construct a new future, whatever that may be, is truly an act of God. For to own our humanity in living in relationship as sister or brother, regardless our ethnic origin, is to become fully human, whole in the sight of the One who birthes and names us. For such as this we are created. Anything less is truly a disaster.