The Quake
I wanted to write something about the earthquake in Pakistan and India but didn’t know what to say. It is difficult to comment on a natural disaster that has seen the loss of nearly 20,000 lives… and still climbing.
What does one really say about such a calamity?
Our immediate response would be to call it a ‘tragedy’ but for some odd reason, the word seems tad too soft to describe destruction of such a massive proportion. We need the comfort of strong adjectives to soothe the sense of incredulity we feel inside. There is, after all, safety in language and comfort in the easily explainable quality of words that enable us to think that, maybe, the world is not such a gone-case after all.
But the images don’t lie and the statistics stare back at us with the force of a whiplash and prompt some kind of an emotional response. They grab us, as it were, by the collar and compel us to ‘feel’. And we are left with no other choice but to ponder over the vulnerability of human existence, the fragility of the eco-system, the unpredictable fury of nature and the nagging insecurity that we feel deep inside with the thought that, maybe, it can happen to us… perhaps, the next time, it will be us? Maybe.
Fear will, undoubtedly, take deep roots and shake the very core of our lives if our spiritual foundation is not based on Christ. If we know in our hearts that he holds our past, present and the future and that our hope can only be centred on His love for us, then, like the Psalmist, we ‘will not fear the terror of the night’ or be ‘unduly alarmed by the fear of bad news’.
But will we take that leap?
Common sense dictates that we would go for the most comforting solution possible but reality demonstrates that ‘faith’ is not the most popular road. We will find very few travellers embarking on that path and finding comfort in the Immanuelness of Christ. It is, after all, our duty to let people know that ‘disasters’ do not define our existence but that there is an even greater thing to our lives, namely, the fact that we have the choice to become part of God’s family and have the right to call God our father. But will we do that? Will we tell people or will we remain silent?
This is a question that we need to ask ourselves – and I need to ask myself because I am quite guilty of being silent – and looks for answers in the stillness of our quiet time with Him.
What does one really say about such a calamity?
Our immediate response would be to call it a ‘tragedy’ but for some odd reason, the word seems tad too soft to describe destruction of such a massive proportion. We need the comfort of strong adjectives to soothe the sense of incredulity we feel inside. There is, after all, safety in language and comfort in the easily explainable quality of words that enable us to think that, maybe, the world is not such a gone-case after all.
But the images don’t lie and the statistics stare back at us with the force of a whiplash and prompt some kind of an emotional response. They grab us, as it were, by the collar and compel us to ‘feel’. And we are left with no other choice but to ponder over the vulnerability of human existence, the fragility of the eco-system, the unpredictable fury of nature and the nagging insecurity that we feel deep inside with the thought that, maybe, it can happen to us… perhaps, the next time, it will be us? Maybe.
Fear will, undoubtedly, take deep roots and shake the very core of our lives if our spiritual foundation is not based on Christ. If we know in our hearts that he holds our past, present and the future and that our hope can only be centred on His love for us, then, like the Psalmist, we ‘will not fear the terror of the night’ or be ‘unduly alarmed by the fear of bad news’.
But will we take that leap?
Common sense dictates that we would go for the most comforting solution possible but reality demonstrates that ‘faith’ is not the most popular road. We will find very few travellers embarking on that path and finding comfort in the Immanuelness of Christ. It is, after all, our duty to let people know that ‘disasters’ do not define our existence but that there is an even greater thing to our lives, namely, the fact that we have the choice to become part of God’s family and have the right to call God our father. But will we do that? Will we tell people or will we remain silent?
This is a question that we need to ask ourselves – and I need to ask myself because I am quite guilty of being silent – and looks for answers in the stillness of our quiet time with Him.
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