Category: Religion

On Sunday, September 10, 2017, I had an orchestra-level seat for what was promised to be the most spectacular show Mother Nature has ever produced in this section of the world. Hurricane Irma—or just Irma in Florida talk—having already decimated a few islands in the Caribbean and the Florida Keys, roared toward my coast of the Florida mainland with Category 4 intensity. By the time it reached my neighborhood, it had weakened to Category 2—still enough to do major damage and, if the forecasts regarding storm surge had become reality, enough to flood every house in my community. A slight last-minute shift to the east spared us such catastrophic results. My home and my neighbors’ homes are all intact; and even though our yards look like war zones, we have much to be grateful for.

I took shelter at my oldest son’s house, which is farther inland than mine and built like a small fortress. Because of the wind direction and the shape of the house, we were able to watch all but the final, and fiercest, 20 to 30 minutes from a secure corner of his front porch. As I stood there beholding in awe giant trees blown about like small daisies and a probably 40- to 50-foot pine gradually lose its grip on the earth and finally topple to the ground, my philosophical mind reflected on the awesome power of nature and the place of human beings in the grand scheme of the universe. And I marveled that any species of creature could ever have been given to such hubris as to believe we could control those forces being unleashed before my eyes.

That spectacle affirmed for me once again that modern humans, although we arrogantly fancy ourselves the smartest creatures ever to grace Planet Earth, often live like the dumbest. We have built a world dependent on electricity and technology, oblivious to the fact that one act of Nature can plunge us right back into the primordial darkness from whence we emerged. Yet unlike our more primitive ancestors, or even some contemporaries in less “developed” countries, we are woefully under-equipped to live in such conditions. We sometimes can’t even figure out what to do when one traffic light is out at an intersection. Throughout my four days without electricity in the wake of Irma, I mechanically flipped switches in my house with one hand even while holding a flashlight in my other hand—so habitual is our dependence on humanly generated power.

In our hubris, we modern humans have considered ourselves the most powerful forces in the universe. Watching Irma’s strength up close was a graphic reminder of how weak and impotent we really are. In our hubris, we have forgotten the only power we have in the universe lies in respect for and cooperation with Nature; yet we instead live in defiance of Nature, as if we fancy ourselves more powerful than wind, fire, and water. We’re not.

Living in harmony with nature and in community with fellow humans are habits which primitive peoples practiced instinctively. We modern humans build buildings that rely on artificial climate control to be habitable, so Nature has to keep reminding us of our foolishness by periodically turning off the juices on which we depend for survival; then as soon as the crisis has passed, we revert to our old habits and take refuge in the hubristic belief that we’re in control. We’re not.

What can be learned from Irma and from her concurrent natural disasters in other parts of our country and the world?

A good place to begin is learning the difference between the word “believe” and the expression “believe in”; in other words, the difference between science and theology. “Believing in” implies choosing to believe as fact something not supported by factual evidence. Humans choose to believe in God or not believe in God; and although both groups cite evidence, little of it is factual. “Believing in” is in general a theological term; it applies to the existence of God, along with the tenets of the specific system of theology to which one ascribes. “Believing in” does not apply to scientific information.

The options for scientific data are either believing the facts as presented or disbelieving one set of facts and rebutting it with another set of facts which one considers more reliable and accurate. Citing some vague theological principle in refutation of scientific data is not an intelligent option; it is evidence of gross ignorance and irresponsibility, and such ignorance endangers our planet and the future of its human habitation.

Every natural disaster—hurricane, earthquake, flood, fire—turns on the chorus of ignorant voices proclaiming that such disasters are wake-up calls from God, because God is pissed at us for allowing gay people to get married and allowing fetal humans to be aborted. God is raining down judgment upon us for failing to follow what those people believe are God’s laws.

I agree natural disasters are wake-up calls, but what we need to wake up to is not some angry God meting out justice on disobedient human beings. What we need to wake up to is our own arrogance, selfishness, and irresponsibility. We have to wake up to the fact that, in our relationship with nature, our only control is respect.

After every disaster, those voices proclaim, “This is not the time to talk about climate change.” If not now, when? What time would you like to discuss the abundance of scientific data that tells us the results of our hubris and our reckless lifestyles? Perhaps after all of the debris piles have been cleared, the roofs replaced, and the demolished structures rebuilt? Would that be a better time to have the discussion? When Harvey and Irma are just names in the history books and recalcitrant humans have returned to their “normal” lives, Harvey and Irma just unpleasant memories—flukes which “couldn’t possibly” happen again?

Smart people called scientists have been telling us for years that natural disasters are increasing in frequency and intensity, and they’ve been telling us why: our climate is changing, and humans are a large part of the cause. Our hubristic defiance of nature has caused us to live recklessly, placing personal comfort above care for our home planet and the more than 7 billion other people with whom we share it.

Ignorant people continue to parrot the angry-God theory over the careless-humans theory, and we all suffer the consequences of that ignorance. And just a quick question to myself and others who smugly proclaim intelligent belief of scientific data: How has that belief altered the way you’re living your life? Yes, I believe what scientists say; but no, I have not done as much as I could do to educate myself on what I as an individual should be doing in response to that information.

Many of the people who scoff at climate change science scream from their soap boxes about aborted babies; yet the same science which peeks into the womb and gives us a day-by-day report of what goes on during those 40 weeks which each of us spent in utero tells us we’re in imminent danger if we don’t do something to reverse climate change. The same science that allows meteorologists to track hurricanes and predict with a fair degree of accuracy where, when, and with what intensity they will strike tells us we’re part of the cause. Science is science. Humans don’t get to cherry pick which parts to believe and which parts to dismiss. My denial or your denial does not change facts.

Humans need to adjust their theology. Not everyone will choose to believe in God, but those who do believe need to review their concept of who and what God is. If I saw God as the angry old man raining down judgment and punishment on disobedient humans, I’d probably join the ranks of unbelievers. An angry God conjuring up disasters and then dispatching them as revenge upon rebellious mortals is the stuff of mythology. God does not create hurricanes, tornadoes, fires, floods, tsunamis, or any other nature-gone-wild event; such things are the result of natural forces. This is God, according to my theology:

You do not send us devastating winds and floods, or make the earth to shake; but you do stand with those who know fear in the face of the storm, and those who must rebuild after devastation. You stand with the victims of this earth, whatever calamity they experience, and you send the faithful into a shattered world to extend your love, grace, mercy, and life-saving acts to all in need. God reaches into the lives of all who suffer and tells them in myriads of ways that they are not alone. (Excerpted from the Affirmation of Faith in the Covenant Presbyterian Church liturgy one week after Irma struck)

May we all have the good sense to let science be science and theology be theology and never conflate the two, and may we resolve to give more than lip service to scientific fact. Belief that does not lead to action is not belief.

The most basic lesson of disaster is that humans need to return to living in community. We have to care for those beyond our own four walls, acknowledge that the least among us are our neighbors too, and know that we’re all on this ride together. If one of us fails, we’ve all failed.

Every hurricane results in a few new tweaks to the building codes, ensuring that the most affluent among us will be more protected during the next disaster; yet those codes and standards do not apply to the shacks inhabited by the least among us—which on their best days would barely survive a hard sneeze, much less a Cat 1 hurricane. A Cat 4 or 5 would level entire communities. We know that, but what are we doing with the knowledge?

I recall hearing my grandparents talk about barn raisings and quilting bees. Neighbors gathered to help neighbors, because their generation focused on the safety of the entire community, not just that of their own families. When did our focus shift? When did our hubris lead us to believe our own lives and the lives of our immediate family members are all that matter?

An essay in an old textbook from which I taught years ago suggests the shift occurred in the 1950s, with the architectural change from front porches to backyard patios. The hubristic belief that we are self-sufficient and no longer need to rely on our neighbors caused a cocooning trend. Front porches welcomed friendly interaction among neighbors and strengthened the sense of community. Rear-facing patios sent the message: “Leave me alone. I’m not available.” That theory may or may not be accurate, but no intelligent person can deny we have become an individualistic culture, with a weak sense of responsibility for each other and, most tragically, for the least among us.

I’ve learned much this week about community. In Irma’s wake, my neighbors and I shared resources since we all spent four days without electrical power; some neighborhoods are still without power one week since the storm passed. Here in my little corner, one neighbor had a generator, so she charged my phone each morning. I have a gas stove—a rarity in Southwest Florida—and a French press, so I made coffee for her. The neighbors who evacuated to another state asked us to check their freezer and use whatever was still good but wouldn’t last until their return. On the first day, I made pot roast from the last three chuck roasts in my own freezer, since I was the only one with a functioning stove. Then each day I cooked the food from my neighbors’ freezer that was ready to be used and shared it in meal-size portions since we didn’t have the means to preserve leftovers.

Power restoration is a gradual process, one grid at a time; so as soon as a friend’s power was restored, he/she sent out messages or posted on social media welcoming those still without power to come over, cool off, use wifi, take a hot shower, wash a few clothes, or sleep in an air-conditioned guest room. Even as I planned to go to a friend’s house to spend a cool night, a plan which was changed by the welcome restoration of my own house’s electricity, I had to wonder about my human brothers and sisters who on their best days are not surrounded by the loving community that sustained my friends and me through a stressful ordeal. When the time came for my neighbors to empty their fridges of food about to go bad, we looked at each other, knowing the potentially stinky stuff we removed from our houses was sure to get really stinky in hot outdoor trash cans. But we agreed, “Oh, well, we’re all in the same boat. We’ll stink together!”

I wondered every day how different my life would be if my post-Irma circumstances were my normal state of existence and if, instead of being in the boat with everyone else, I was treading water beside the boat with few people offering to help rescue me. What must it be like to live every day in crisis mode while others have plenty? How would it feel to smell the aroma of food cooking all around me while I had little or nothing to feed my own family? What resentment would well up inside my soul if those enjoying their lives of plenty judged me lazy, completely at fault for my own poverty, and undeserving of their care and compassion?

Less than 40 miles to the east of my usually comfortable house live some of the hardest-working people I’ve ever met. Laziness is a luxury unknown to them. They labor hours every day for a pittance and live in dwellings which on their best days don’t compare to my house in its post-Irma state—not even close. In our hubris, we modern humans have built a social structure that ignores these fellow humans—our “other” neighbors—while still greedily accepting the tomatoes and other winter crops with which they keep us all supplied. We share resources with those in our own comfortable neighborhoods, but we selfishly fail to acknowledge that those Immokalee field workers are our neighbors, too. Shame on us! We can be better than this.

It has always been a mystery to me how men can feel themselves honoured by the humiliation of their fellow beings.- Mahatma Gandhi

Above all, humans MUST acknowledge that our reckless lifestyle has dire consequences. We have to relearn the wisdom of our ancestors to live in harmony with, not defiance of, Nature. I can tell you, as a member of Irma’s audience in one of the pricey seats, Nature WILL win. Every time. Our only power against Nature’s forces lies in respecting and cooperating with it.

Often during my younger years, I heard the expression “going to bed with the chickens,” which I’m told was based on creatures’ instinctive sense of harmony with nature. When the natural lights go out, they sleep; when the lights come back on, they wake and begin their daily activities. Only humans have defied nature with our artificial lights and internal climate control that allow us to live in disregard for Earth’s natural cycle. How often we forget that our safe, comfy abodes are only one natural disaster removed from those of our most primitive ancestors! Our survival depends on sharpening our own natural instincts and reducing our dependence on Earth’s non-sustainable resources.

During the almost four days I spent without electricity after Irma passed, my cell phone was my only connection to the outside world. It was charged once a day by my neighbor who had a generator, so I kept it turned off except for a few minutes at a time when I checked for messages, to make the charge last until the next morning. My son did the same; and we shared a cyber chuckle in one text message exchange that we were turning into Grandpa—my stepfather whose cell phone is always turned off except on the rare occasions when he decides to make a call on it. Fortunately, he still has a landline, but it’s a longstanding family joke that there’s no need trying to call Grandpa on his cell phone because it won’t be on. No amount of good-natured teasing or appeals to reason over the years has persuaded him to change his ways. The phone remains off.

He and my mother were children of the Great Depression; they never developed any illusions that Earth’s resources are unlimited. They knew from the time they could tie their own shoes, every pot has a bottom, and the contents are precious and not to be squandered. My generation retained that sense to an extent, thanks to our parents’ modeling. Yet many of us failed to teach it to our children, and in our old age, we’ll reap the consequences of that failure. The world will be led by our grandchildren and great grandchildren who believe environmental responsibility means placing their plastic water bottles into the recycle bin instead of the regular trash, and who will be two to three generations removed from the generation who knew better than to put water into plastic bottles in the first place.

As Irma’s fury was being unleased in Charlotte County, Florida, my family watched from our secure viewing space egrets flying about unhindered by the fierce wind. We saw three ducks land on my son’s pond, instinctively positioning themselves to face the wind, flying away only when the giant pine tree fell and startled them. My daughter-in-law’s cat didn’t manage to make it back to the house before the storm, so she found shelter in an old pickup truck and waited for my daughter-in-law to rescue her after calm had been restored. We humans have largely lost our survival instincts; those animals are smarter than we are.

I was told yesterday that the lot surrounding the mission where I volunteer in Immokalee was fairly quickly cleared of tree debris after the storm, because the poor migrant workers took the wood—not to make giant piles for overstressed city and county collectors to eventually clear away as we’ve done in my neighborhood—but to make cooking fires to feed their families while their power was out. Those people who lead such simple lives know a little something about survival that we sophisticated, “advanced” folks would do well to learn.

If we’re to survive, humans simply have to be smarter in electing those in whose hands our collective fate will be held. Anyone who doesn’t “believe in” science should be immediately disqualified. Those who don’t live in hurricane zones do live in earthquake, tornado, flood, and fire zones. All humans live on small islands of land surrounded by vast bodies of water, which together comprise almost three-fourths of our planet’s surface. Every human is at risk of experiencing Nature’s power and fury, so none of us can afford to ignore the warnings or elect foolish people to make laws and determine policies.

Belief means action. If you believe your house is on fire, you leave as quickly as possible. You’d be a fool to sit comfortably in your recliner saying, “Yep! My house is on fire.” Yet how many of us humans are sitting in our comfy houses saying, “Yep! I believe what those scientists are saying,” while making not the slightest adjustment to our lifestyles or our politics? Belief without action is not belief. And it’s not smart!

Signing off from Irmageddon! Stay safe, fellow humans, and let’s all promise to put our heads together after this to figure out how we can live smarter and more responsibly. Now IS the time to have the conversation about climate. There may not be another opportunity.