Earthquakes

There will be great earthquakes, famines and pestilences in various places, and fearful events and great signs from heaven. (Luke 21:11)

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior…Do not be afraid, for I am with you. (Is. 43: 2-3, 5)

My wife has the Weather Channel on speed dial on our remote. She knows more about the origin of a cyclone than I do about the Oxford comma. Her interest in natural disasters comes from her insatiable scientific curiosity— not from some warped need to view nature’s cruel aftermaths. It’s an endearing oddity.

Being an English teacher, I missed out on the scientific genome. I only see metaphorical disasters.  I am not so much interested in an earthquake’s epicenter or the speed of a tsunami wave, as I am interested in spiritual upheavals.

Not all of us have experienced physical earthquakes, but all of us have experienced spiritual upheavals. They come unexpectedly and depending on their intensity, they can be devastating—divorce, loss of a child, cancer, dementia, addiction, death of a loved one. Then there are the tremors—losing a wallet, a flat tire, an unexpected bill, a toothache, deer ravaging a garden. Regardless of their intensity, spiritual earthquakes induce us to consider the character of God and our response to Him.

Every earthquake is virtually unique, and one has to find his own path through it. When our daughter Michelle died in my arms, with her tiny hand wrapped around my pinky, I was mad as hell.  Christian platitudes were worthless. Friends were insensitive.  I knew that God was somewhere around, but I felt abandoned, alone.

Months after Michelle’s death, I curled up in the fetal position in a closet, uncontrollably sobbing. The magnitude of that experience devastated my tenuous faith.

At that particular time, God was an acquaintance.

Several years later, I experienced a different kind of earthquake. Bob, a friend and mentor of thirty years was dying of pancreatic cancer.  He asked Jane and I to come down to his home for a visit. Barely able to walk, his skin gravestone grey, he shuffled to me in the middle of the living room, wrapped his arms around me and whispered, “I have always loved you, and I will always love you.”  The earth shook.  Again, I sobbed.  Christ was no longer an acquaintance.

Earthquakes are unique. And how we respond to them, depends on the nature of our relationship with Christ.  Prayerfully, when the next earthquake strikes, Christ will walk with me, not as an acquaintance, but as the love of my life.