A paradoxical way to confront our fears in faith

This Washington Post headline is just what we didn’t need to hear: “The states that could be hit by a tropical storm this week.” The story informs us that “a tropical storm may form in the northeastern Gulf of Mexico on Wednesday, bringing the potential for heavy rain, flash flooding, and severe thunderstorms from Louisiana to Florida.”

In other news, a giant swarm of earthquakes recently struck Southern California near a major fault line that could unleash the infamous “Big One,” decimating the West Coast. The earthquakes were just a few dozen miles from several active fault lines running through California, including the San Andreas fault.

And there’s this headline: “A 100 ft ‘mega tsunami’ could hit the US at any moment. And that’s only the beginning.” The Cascadia Subduction Zone, a massive fault line stretching from northern California to British Columbia, could trigger a colossal earthquake and accompanying tsunami that would kill more than thirteen thousand people and cause $134 billion in damage.

The fiction of proximity compassion

All of this on the heels of the devastating Central Texas floods seems like too much to take in. It feels safer to believe that the potential tropical storm in the Southeast wouldn’t strike where I live in Texas. Nor would the Big One in California or the Cascadia quake.

My reaction is a form of what could be called “proximity compassion,” our innate response of heightened empathy for that which comes closest to us. If my grandchildren were missing in the Camp Mystic floods, I would not be writing articles about them—I would be there doing all I could to help find them. You would do the same.

On one hand, this is a necessary way of filtering the fallen world. If we mourned every death as if it were a family member, we would be incapacitated. If we feared and prepared for every potential natural disaster as if it were about to strike us personally, we’d do little else.

On the other hand, proximity compassion is largely a fiction. If major floods strike the Southeast, they’ll affect the rest of us in everything from air travel to roads to shipping and services. The “Big One” or the Cascadia quake would decimate our national economy, affecting the entire country for many years to come.

Not to mention our innate solidarity with our fellow humans. As John Donne wrote,
Any man’s death diminishes me, Because I am involved in mankind.” Ultimately, I dull my compassion for those I do not know at the risk of my compassion for those I do.

I believe there is a better way to respond to the inevitable consequences of life on this fallen planet.

Circles, an arrow, and dots

When I taught philosophy of religion at various seminaries, we always spent time on three ways civilizations have visualized history:

• An “Eastern” mindset can be cyclical, following the repetitions of the seasons and emphasizing the doctrines of karma and reincarnation. I would illustrate by drawing circles on the whiteboard, some on top of each other, and others moving directionally.
• A “Western” mindset has often been linear, viewing history as a steady progression from the past to the future. I would illustrate this by drawing an arrow pointing upward to signify progress.
• A contemporary existentialist mindset pictures life as chaotic, with no past or future, only the present. I would illustrate this by drawing dots on the whiteboard randomly.

I would then associate the Western, linear view of history with biblical teaching, reminding us of the narrative from creation and fall to redemption in this world and glory in the next. One consequence of this worldview, whether we consider the existence and providence of God or not, is the innate belief that what we do today prepares the way for tomorrow.

Such a mindset is vital to progress in nearly every dimension of human endeavor. Scientific and medical breakthroughs in the present lead to better lives in the future. Conversely, preparing for diseases and disasters before they strike can often prevent them from occurring or mitigate their effects.

But here’s where our linear view of life steers us astray: it teaches us that we can prepare for what cannot be prepared for.

“Worry is like riding in a rocking chair”

You and I cannot prevent pancreatic cancer, ALS, or a host of other diseases. We cannot prevent and often cannot predict tornadoes, flash floods, or a host of other natural disasters. We cannot predict earthquakes or tsunamis, or do much to prevent their consequences.

But admitting our frailty and finitude in the face of an unpredictable future runs counter to our linear confidence in inevitable progress and the power of human resolve. So, when we cannot predict or prevent disasters, we worry about them. When we cannot protect our children from harm, we fear for them.

All the while, we subconsciously believe we are at least doing something about dangers we cannot otherwise do something about.

Since we cannot do this with every potential disease or disaster, we also practice proximity compassion, focusing our worries and fears most fully on those dangers that affect us most directly.

Of course, none of this actually changes our fallen world.

I once saw a cartoon in which the character is swaying back and forth in a rocking chair above the caption, “Worry is like riding in a rocking chair. It gives you something to do, but it doesn’t get you anywhere.”

Exchanging an arrow for a throne

A better approach is to abandon our linear belief in inevitable progress through human effort for a different model, one that replaces a line representing history with a throne representing eternity.

When we make Christ our king each day, we enthrone the only One who can see the future better than we can see the present. We trust the only One whose omnipotence can counter any challenge and meet any need. We depend upon the only One who “is” love and who can only want our best.

With regard to our fears for the future, we ask him to show us how to prepare for what only he can see, then trust the rest to his providential grace. As we work, he works. And we know that we are doing all we can while partnering with the One who can do what no one else can.

Said differently, this article is a long way of encouraging us each day to accept our Father’s invitation:

The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus (Philippians 4:5–7).

Are you “anxious” about “anything” today?

 

 

Denison Forum