Aware of the looming deadline for this blog, for several
days I have toyed with possible topics. I considered the discovery, announced
last week, of “liquid water” on Mars—a humorous phrase in some ways, yet one
that makes clear the startling nature of the discovery: not all water on the
Red Planet is frozen solid. But Mars is so far away. Though exciting, the
astronomical news of its liquid water paled in the wake of the human tragedy at
Oregon’s Umpqua Community College. I wonder about us Americans and our guns.
Maybe you do, too. Among my many questions is this: Why, oh why, did the House
appropriations committee, just this past June, renew a 20-year ban on CDC
research into the causes of gun violence in this country? Our nation’s
relationship to guns and our history of gun violence are complex and divisive.
Hundreds of thousands of words from far greater minds than mine have wrestled
with the subject, making it among the last topics I would want to tackle.
I also considered writing about Sunday’s Blessing of the
Animals held in many churches in early October near the feast day of St.
Francis. Where I was, mostly dogs got blessed, but at least one brave cat and
an even braver chicken joined the throng and submitted to having prayers said
over them. Meanwhile, as our congregation engaged in that joyful tradition,
record rainfalls and high tides from an unnamed coastal storm had led to
record-breaking flooding and, in South Carolina, even to deaths. In parts of
North Carolina and throughout my own region of Tidewater Virginia,
non-recording breaking flooding also wreaked havoc with roads and property. As
much fun as the Sunday blessing was, and as sweet as the children’s voices were
as they sang “All Things Bright and Beautiful,” that also didn’t seem like the
right topic in view of the catastrophic rising waters and all the questions
such floods raise: How long and just how far will the seas rise? Where and how
should we build? What can we do to protect human life and property in those
places where we have already built? Should we re-build in those places known to
be vulnerable? Again, those are questions I feel ill-prepared to take on.
All I really know to say right now is the obvious:
Headlines, whether international, national, state, or local bring into our day
not only news of the wise and wonderful but also stories of the deadly and
catastrophic. Some days the latter eclipse the former. For me, today is one of
those days.
There remains one further question: How will I respond to
the news the headlines convey?
On the large scale, I have no power to change what has
happened or what will happen. On a smaller scale, however, there are things I
can do. I can contribute to relief organizations and to groups that work for
regulations that seem sound to me. I can contact those elected officials whose
job it is to represent me in both chambers of Congress. And I can pray for the
people whose individual and specific human lives underlie the sweeping,
impersonal headlines. I can pray for the angry and the dispossessed, for the
mentally and physically ill, for the injured and the traumatized, for the
grieving and the displaced. And for the rescuers and medical teams and
counselors and others who try to help pick up the pieces. And for the
legislators charged with doing the right thing for their people—we the
people—whatever that right thing might be.
