A few weeks ago, New York Daily News dropped a bomb on the American public with this cover:
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The headline is a response to the social media storm that inevitably follows any act of terror or disaster: it seems obligatory for each of us to type out a status of "praying for victims of [name-that-shooting/disaster]." The headline and corresponding article point the finger at politicians [particularly conservative politicians, even though all politicians have a penchant for posting prayers...], indicating that God isn't answering prayers because politicians aren't taking action.
I was watching the Today show, eating my breakfast with my husband, when this headline was plastered across our TV screen. I was filled with multiple emotions, knowing that both sides of the argument would represent God in an ethereal, genie-in-a-bottle type way. I felt dread, knowing the responses would be trite and simplistic. I felt disappointment in the way that the world views our God. I know that I am late to the table on this debate; the explosion of debate and heated arguments flooded the internet for the next several days and fizzled as quickly as it arose. But for those of us who follow an incarnational, intimate God and believe in the power of intercessory prayer, this is not an issue that burns itself out nor is it one we can afford to ignore.
I was in third grade when the Oklahoma City bombing occurred. I remember writing some kind of essay about it, and I can remember my teacher expressing sympathy in our class for the victims and their families. I can remember people talking about getting justice and the death penalty. It was scary and sad. It was on the news, and we prayed for victims at church on Sunday morning. My family talked about it because my dad's original birth certificate was destroyed in it.
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I was in 7th grade when the shooting at Columbine occurred. This time it felt personal. Our junior high felt insecure and unsafe; a few impish kids tried copycat threats, by bringing small knives or unloaded weapons to school. Groups met in the counselor's office and my Social Studies teacher created a plan in case it should ever happen in our school. I can remember feeling a lot of fear and a lot of sadness. I felt bad for the victims, but I also felt bad for the perpetrators. At the time, we heard they had been bullied, and we were taught to reconsider the way we treated others in our classes. Again, it was all over the news, but I didn't go to church that Sunday. I don't know if churches prayed for the victims, and if I prayed, I prayed for myself and my school and my fear.
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I was in 10th grade when terrorists hit the Twin Towers on 9/11. I vividly remember the line down the hall for the pay phones, and I remember one girl clinging to the pay phone sobbing. We learned later that a family member of hers had been killed in the attacks. This was news like nothing we had ever experienced; the TV was entirely immersed in images from the day, and politicians made vows to retaliate, to declare war on terrorism, in short, to do something. It was one of the only Sundays of my time in high school when my family went to church. The pastor asked us to take off our watches because we needed time to be with God after this tragedy. He then proceeded to preach for an hour, during which he placed the blame for the attacks on liberals, sinners, homosexuals, and divorced people alike. I felt angry and hollow. I couldn't understand this God who punishes seemingly at random, who causes terror and violence. If I prayed beyond that, I prayed for my mom, who worked in a skyscraper in Pittsburgh, and again for my fear.
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It wasn't until the shooting at Virginia Tech, that I first experienced a social media explosion in response to terror. I was a junior in college. Facebook was 2 years old, and it was primarily a site for college students. The culture of 20-somethings reigned on Facebook. Virginia Tech was scary because I went to a small liberal arts college in New Wilmington, PA with very little security and a hospital that was 30 minutes away. It was scary because girls I had gone to high school with were on the campus when it happened, and it was hard to get in touch with them. It was scary because, as a student I depended on my university for safety and security; there was very little that I could do to prevent an attack, and there was nothing I could do to ease the pain of those suffering. People posted black ribbons for Virgina Tech and said, "Prayers for Virginia Tech."
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I can remember this burning feeling of being helpless, of wanting to do something. I can remember downloading that ribbon and creating my Facebook post. I can remember feeling like I did something, like I was a part of a larger movement of compassion. Because of social media, I could do something from the comfort and security of my own dorm room; because of Facebook, I could do something without doing anything at all.
Of course, it wasn't like I did nothing. My elementary Sunday School teacher, Mrs. Schwartz, would take our prayer requests, and she would ask us to pray for her as she struggled with diabetes, which ultimately would take her life. Mrs. Schwartz would say, "There is nothing more hurtful than telling someone you will pray for them and then neglect to do so. You are making them a promise that you will bring them to God; you are compelled to make good on that promise." Along with many others, I truly did lift the victims in my prayers, this time feeling a deeper sense of compassion than ever before. And I prayed for myself, for my fear and the fear of my fellow students.
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Fast forward several years to the Newtown massacre. For me, the harm of a child is as appallingly painful as it gets. I cannot even watch the ending of the Dark Knight because Harvey Dent points a gun in the direction of a small child. The tragedy of Newtown was more than I could emotionally bear. Although the pastor at our church expressed anger, grief, and pain from the pulpit on Sunday morning, it wasn't enough to satiate my grief. Again, the internet was flooded with prayers for the victims, but this time, I did not feel united to others in grief. I felt bitter and cynical; how many of these people actually prayed for these victims? How many of them pray any other time of year? The sentiments, however well-intentioned, felt hollow, routine, and even callous. I must not have been the only one who felt this way because the political response on Facebook was more pronounced than I had seen before. Suddenly, my entire friend-list is an expert on gun-control laws and mental illness; where my 10th grade pastor blamed 9/11 on homosexuals and sinners, my Facebook feed blamed Newton on every person who owns a gun and untreated schizophrenia. Perhaps worse was the flood of memes which quoted Mr. Rogers:
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As though looking at the silver lining could somehow make the tragedy lessen. As though the good being done could somehow outweigh the vastness of the evil.
And so it has continued with every tragedy since: we respond with prayer, trite popular sayings, and assignment of blame. We do all of this because tragedy pushes us into what sociologists call "anome" or a state of being when the traditional rules of our world are turned upside down. All of our lives, we are taught that the good-guys win and we live in a safe, secure country; in tragedy, we learn that the bad-guys sometimes make a larger mark on the world than the good guys, and sense of security is a false one. We respond because doing nothing feels miserable and makes us vulnerable to our fear. Our prayers, our quotations, our blame - all of it is an expression of our overwhelming fear. This my friends, is the exact desired effect of those who terrorize; every time we give in to our fears, we submit to the power of those who terrorize. Perhaps new gun legislation or mental health care would make a difference in our country. Perhaps the helpers are examples of what humans can do when we are faced with deep adversity. Perhaps we say earnest and honest prayers to God for what has happened. None of these, in my estimation, are the answers we seek. None of these, as far as I can tell, would eradicate the fear we feel.
So...Jesus...
So all of this brings us back to where we started. Is God really not fixing this? Does God hear the prayers being offered up on social media, by politicians and civilians, by believers and non-believers alike? In Christmas, God gives us his answer: God gives us Jesus, who is Emmanuel, which means God. with. us.
"She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins." All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet:
"Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son,
and they shall name him,
Emmanuel"
which means, God is with us.
Matthew 1.21-23
God became flesh and dwelt among us in the person of Jesus Christ; God continues to be present with us by the power of the Holy Spirit. It is a simple truth, and yet one that we struggle to appreciate or understand. In fact, God is with us, God is on earth right now, working for good in the world and bringing about his Kingdom on earth.
And many people have pointed out that in fact these "helpers" described by Mr. Rogers are the Holy Spirit at work right now. Their actions of kindness and compassion are the acts of God in a weary world. Sure. I can buy that. But it's not enough.
Many others have pointed out that God has called us into action through the Holy Spirit. That it isn't God who should be fixing this, but we, who can lobby for our political agendas and create legislation to prevent further gun violence. Sure. I can buy that. But it's not enough.
We know it's not enough because as painful as it was to read the words, "God isn't fixing this," on a newspaper, we Christians felt extra pain because it felt far too true.
God's answer...
I in no way claim to have some special knowledge of how God is fixing this or responding to our prayers. But I do believe in a God who reveals God's self through scripture, and displays for us that God is not in the business of granting wishes like a genie or leaving the people of the world to their own devices for solutions. God is in the business of answering prayer in God's own time and God's own way. When I say that, I don't mean that God has a reason for senseless violence; and I don't mean that God needed another angel because he doesn't; and I don't mean that God is waiting for us to get our act together before God acts. What I mean is two things:
God always has a message of hope
When the Israelites cried out while they were slaves in Egypt, God was moved by their cries.
When Elijah is persecuted and hiding in the wilderness, God comes to him and speaks to him in a still small voice.
When the Jews go into exile and cry out to their God, God leaves the temple and comes to them by the rivers of Babylon.
When the people cried out for a king to save them from exile, God sent them a messiah in the form of Jesus.
When the thief repents of his sin on the cross next to Jesus, Jesus tells him that he will be in paradise.
The most common phrase in all of scripture is, "Do not be afraid." It is a message shared by God and angels alike when they meet people for extraordinary conversation. We are a people drenched in fear, suffocated by terror, consumed with anxiety. God has a message of hope for us, that even in our deep fear, God brings us calm and peace, both internally and externally. I don't know what God is doing to fix the violence in our nation, but I can say with certainty that God's message to let go of fear rings as true today as it did in the Old Testament. When we pray, God is not just a star upon whom we make a wish for peace and lack of violence; rather God is a friend, a confidant, a caring parent. We can confess our fear; we can invite the Holy Spirit to overpower the spirit of fear in the world.
God rarely does what is expected.
I have no doubt that God is at work, but I strongly doubt that God will act in the ways we expect. God is sort of famous for turning the world upside down and doing things in a different way than we expect.
When God brings the Israelites out of slavery, he leads them into the desert instead of the promised land.
When God selected a king for Israel, he chose the smallest boy in Jesse's family, David, and made an everlasting covenant with him.
When there was a plot within the Assyrian government to get rid of the Jews, God sent an attractive young woman named Esther to save the country.
When the Jewish people in exile cried out for a new political regime, God sent a messiah, born in a stable.
When the Jewish people found the messiah in Jesus Christ, he didn't overthrow the Roman Empire. Instead, he lived in poverty, ate with sinners, ridiculed the religious leaders, and was put to death on a cross.
When Jesus died, the disciples thought all was lost, but God surprised them by defeating death through the resurrection.
Little Lord Jesus, [no] crying he makes...
On Christmas Eve, Dan spoke in his sermon about how we often imagine a baby Jesus who is calm and quiet, with no crying or fussiness. Dan described baby Jesus as being like any other baby, coming into the world with cry of life, and that Jesus to this day cries for our world. I love this image.
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As we greet Christmas in a world that is broken and grieving, I hope that we do pray. I hope that we lift our fear, our anxiety, our helplessness to our God, who weeps with us, who gives us hope, and who does a new and unexpected thing. In a culture that is accustomed to immediate answers and wishes granted, we do not feel comfortable waiting and we act to assuage our own fears. Let us sit in discomfort and follow the God who acts, perhaps unexpectedly. Above all, may we believe, truly, that God is living and dwelling among us and is at work in the world today.
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