A student he was discipling (i.E: this was a Christian student who he was helping to better grow in love for Christ and others) was devastated that his girlfriend broke up with him. Riding in the car with a young man on the verge of tears, he said something one wouldn't necessarily expect from a professional Christian. "Let's go kick her ass." Some say Christian's shouldn't use such words, but this little crudity was more effective counseling than any wise truths about God's will. Of course, he did not actually mean they should drive up to the heartbreaker's dormitory and physically assault her. He, in effect, said, "I am with you. Those feelings of brokenness and bewilderment, I feel them to. They are valid." He broke holes in the young man's coldness and produced a smile. I thought this was so good that I used the same phrase with a similarly forlorn friend, to the same effect.
Christopher Hitchens has similarly pastoral advice for the suffering, albeit those who have suffered humanities worst catastrophes. He writes these tidings of comfort his eulogy of sorts for Tsutomu Yamaguchi, who survived both Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The apocalyptic events of Tsutomu's life, according to Hitchens, demonstrate the "absolute uselessness of official piety."
"Official piety" seems to mean intellectual religious responses to the Problem of Suffering, and he lists his problems with variations on God's will, karma, and other ways the religious could rationalize such horrors as wars, terrorism and disasters (read the whole thing). About such piety, Hitchens concludes:
"If you think I am being frivolous, ask yourself whether you can picture any religious person explaining Yamaguchi's experience as what it actually was: a mere coincidence that makes nonsense of any idea of any design or predestination. (Either that or something divinely mysterious and inexplicable, which is the same thing as saying that holy men are using guesswork as much as the rest of us.)"
Instead, the only "rational" response is "WTF."
"Unfeeling, you say? Not particularly. It isn't my idea that these capricious catastrophes strike the just and the unjust with such regularity, or that they are soothingly explained away by the pseudo-compassionate. Of all the great cosmic questions, WTF still strikes me as one of the most pressing, relevant, and ultimately humane."
Perhaps it's a dark coincidence that one of these "capricious catastrophes" struck Haiti the week after Hitchens wrote these words. You know the story, ghastly in every detail. Tens of thousands, perhaps upwards of 100,000 are dead. A history of poverty and mismanagement produced such brittle infrastructure, making it all the more tragic. Death and damage would not have reached these stratospheric numbers in Japan or California.
In such situations, I agree with Hitchens that theology is often cold comfort. Even dismissing his straw man versions of "official piety," better theology will likely do little to comfort those who lost family, home and country. Indeed, I think of C.S. Lewis' introduction to The Problem of Pain where he writes, "I must add, too, that the only purpose of the book is to solve the intellectual problem raised by suffering; for the far higher task of teaching fortitude and patience I was never fool enough to suppose myself qualified, nor have I anything to offer my readers except my conviction that when pain is to be borne, a little courage helps more than much knowledge, a little human sympathy much more than much courage, and the least tincture of the love of God more than all." (The book is worth the read for a more detailed meditation on the "intellectual problem raised by suffering.")
Perhaps one of the first ways we can show some human sympathy is to throw up our hands and, along with those suffering, cry "WTF!" or something similar, as in the case of my campus ministry friend. Raw intellectual theology will not help, not because the questions of suffering are unanswerable, but because having answers, however loudly demanded, does not ultimately heal. But as Lewis implies, and I hope Hitchens would agree, we need to go further than empathetic cursing. And that's where true piety comes in.
Whenever we give time or treasure to those who need it, whenever we put ourselves on the line to suffer with them, whenever we advocate for appropriate long-term change, whenever we reverse the effects of the Fall (as my friend Cam would say), we are being pious. We are practicing what the prophet Isaiah calls "true fasting" and part of what the Apostle James calls true religion. If Hitchens or any of his fellow humanists appropriately respond with charity and relief, they are following our "Dear Leader," whistling in the dark as it were.
Now, someone may respond, "I don't need believe in God to give generously and effectively." True. And I have no doubt that people of all beliefs and non-beliefs are giving (and yes, there have has been at least one atrocious response from a professing Christian in Pat Robertson). So let's take this a step further.
As needs are being met, the Christian can offer hope. Our hope is that death is not final, that there is indeed Resurrection. Moreover, we have hope that the Resurrected Jesus will return and put things right. Every part of us that longs for life and justice points to these truths. This hope is not an excuse ignore present or act as some sort of opiate for failed leadership (as a humanist chaplain implied in an interview I saw recently. I could not tell if he was ignorant or arrogant. At one point, he complained that humanists were greatly misunderstood in our country. I sympathize. Middle-American Christians ranting about "secular humanists" churns my stomach. But I would appreciate a better understanding of the faith he was criticizing). How we work to reverse the effects of the fall, however feeble and finite, pleases the Lord. Lewis again reminds us that the Christians who did the best for this world had the most hope in the next. Ask William Wilberforce, or the ancient Christians in Philppi, where their hopes lie. At our best, we store up treasure in heaven, because this is the one life we got, and it will last a long time. And we know that Resurrection, life renewed, is a comforting thought. Hope beyond WTF.
In Freiburg, after conversing with plenty of German students who share Hitchens' dim view of eternity, it was refreshing to eat lunch with an African professor (I wish I could remember his name). I sat across the cafeteria table from him, and he offered me an apple. He told me this was African hospitality, and he would be offended if I did not take it. It turns out that he was from South Africa and was a visiting professor at the University of Freiburg. As I ate his apple with decreasing appetite, he told me some of the appalling things he witnessed in his nation's struggle with HIV/AIDS. He told me of a vile rumor that if an HIV positive man slept with a virgin, the man would be cured. This prompted some HIV positive men to rape little girls. I struggle to write this, because I cannot think of anything worse. He had met some of the victims.
I asked him if he was a Christians. The South African Professor's face lit up beautifully. "Look outside! It's beautiful! How could I not be a Christian?" Indeed it was a beautiful day. Perplexing as it is, many of those who face life's most horrid circumstances are the most pious. This puzzled Pooja Bhatia, who observed faithful Hatians cry out to God from the rubble. It often puzzles me. But it is.
If you should suffer, and can only cry, "WTF," than I heartily cry it with you. If I am in a position to do so, I pray that God gives me the grace to offer you myself. I pray that you will find hope in Him, perhaps where you were not expecting it.
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