Lester Start’s Works

1″AND IT SHALL NOT COME NIGH THEE?”

L. J. START

05/25/80

First Baptist Kalamazoo

Somehow one thought it couldn’t happen here — the tornado. Of course, we knew they occurred round about us on occasion — but not in Kalamazoo; maybe long ago when it was a village but not in living memory. Somehow we felt favored, protected. Life is good in Kalamazoo. And many of us cherish that sense of protection suggested in the 91st Psalm, that those who trust in God dwell under the shadow of the Almighty; those who say, “God is my refuge”, will be saved from the raging tempest; though thousands fall round about, those who have God as their shield and buckler will not be touched. No evil will befall them, nor any calamity come nigh their dwelling. It shall not come nigh thee.

But it did come nigh. Too close. And we bemoan, lament, deplore the loss of life, the destruction of property, the shattered glass and scattered shingles of our church, the downed trees in Bronson Park and elsewhere, and wonder how to respond to the words — it shall not come nigh thee?

The problem is as the tragic events of Tuesday show that there doesn’t seem to be any cosmic insurance against disaster occurring, and at any time there can happen an unexpected collapse in our lives, events piling in on us, threatening to destroy and uproot us. This is the first impression, I think, in our reaction to the storm. It is seen in the way we ask others: where were you, what were you doing, when the tornado struck? When we tell others what we were doing when it happened, we are showing how the smooth flow of our lives was interrupted, threatened by something completely out of the blue, the dark, blue-black in this case, completely out of our control.

At Kalamazoo College in the Friday Morning Chapel after that tornado Tuesday, the sermon gave eloquent expression to this experience. The speaker, a senior religion major, described what happened to her.

At 4:00 Tuesday afternoon, my friend and I were talking

about going downtown. We turned on the radio, and the

station we were listening to reported that the danger

was over for Kalamazoo. So we got in the car and

drove downtown. Of course, I wanted to park near the

Mall, since it was raining. So I pulled into one of

those angle parking spaces on Academy Street at

Bronson Park. It was about 4:10 by then. We thought

we would sit in the car a few minutes until the rain

subsided. I remember saying (it was a brilliant ob-

servation) “It’s really windy out here” — when, all

of a sudden the back right window broke. We

screamed and looked out and saw chaos: the park was

full of violent activity and movement, the most

frightening of which was the tree that seemed headed

for our car. At that crucial moment, my friend ex-

claimed, “Why us?” And I replied, most poetically,

“We’re doomed. We’re doomed” — comments that sounded

like the script to a low-budget horror movie.

But the terror was real as we ducked down on the seat.

We heard tremendous noises — and two more windows broke

in the car. Finally it was quiet — unbelievably quiet

– and we got up and looked around. The big oak tree

that we had seen falling had landed on the hood of the

car next to us, and it had completely destroyed the

next car over.

An unexpected and horrible interruption. And it does not sound corny when this student says she has had a new lease on life, really looked at people, and felt a new sense of aliveness after the initial shock and numbness. One is made aware of how fragile our hold on life may be and made more grateful for its richness.

My own experience of the tornado is not nearly as dramatic, but I shan’t soon forget it. I looked up — I was driving up Academy hill at the time — I looked up to see a 4 by 8 foot piece of plywood spinning and wheeling like a falling leaf, but that almost gentle leaf-like motion, I knew, was a sign of destruction that had rained from the skies.

As Jonathan Edwards, the Puritan preacher, would say, this shows how the smoothness of our lives hangs by a thread, dependent on God’s grace and good pleasure. Indeed, the sobering effect of such an experience — and this showed the wrath of God — is that we are dependent and we are not immune.

Indeed the disaster of the tornado does show our close relationship to God, not that God is reminding us of His sovereignty by striking terror in our hearts, but rather the heightened awareness of the goodness of our lives is now seen as dependent on a higher power.

The scripture story of Elijah is instructive here. Elijah is called to stand on the mountain to see the Lord pass by. A great and strong wind came, shattering rocks before him — but, the scripture says, the Lord was not in the wind. And after the wind was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake, fire — but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire, a low murmuring sound — a still small voice — the voice of God.

It is after the storm that the quiet voice of God speaks. It is after the storm that we find the evidences of the constructive powers of God working to bring order out of chaos, help to the stricken, relief from destruction. And we can be proud of the way our community rallied in the emergency. An article in today’s paper by an out-of-town reporter bears eloquent testimony to the marvelous way our community responded. Emergency vehicles to aid the injured were almost immediately dispatched. Within twenty minutes to half an hour heavy equipment from the city was on hand clearing trunk arteries, clearing debris; the Red Cross and Salvation Army were at work; telephone and electric linesmen were restoring power and communications. And the next day found not only the National Guard at work assisting in the clean-up, but a volunteer group of Mennonites who believe literally in the Biblical injunction to share one another’s burdens.

Technically, legally, we call such a disaster as the tornado an act of God. In so far as it is an event stemming from the operation of the laws of nature, God’s creation, we must see it as such, unexpected as it is. But as a deliberate willful act of vengeance, as a punishment to a selected few, as an example to a wicked city — and there are those who see the event as this — it is not an act of God. God, I think, was not in the tempest. There was no divine intent to remove the roofs of the Catholics, shatter windows of the Baptists, topple the cross of the Methodists — to strike some and save others. The purpose of God is found rather in the quiet dedication of acts of concern, mercy, and love — the still small voice of divine conscience and commitment.

So, how do we understand such an event? How do we read the promise of the 91st Psalm, assuring us that the evils will not come nigh thee? In part, the answer is to be found elsewhere in the Psalter, the 77th Psalm, where the Psalmist proclaims that God’s way is in the sea, His path in the great waters, and in the midst of the thunder and wind and lightning and trembling of the earth. This is not to say Jehovah is a God of thunder or lightning — Elijah made that clear — but rather in the storms of life, in the lonely dangerous sea — not just in the pleasant valleys, not just in the sunny hours — God is to be found. And as Paul said so powerfully, “In all things God works with those who love Him to bring about that which is good”.

It is this which gives us confidence to believe that good can come out of evil — that “though the cause of evil prosper, yet ’tis truth alone is strong, truth forever on the scaffold, wrong forever on the throne; yet that scaffold sways the future and behind the dim unknown standeth God within the shadow keeping watch above His own.” In all things there is the presence of God. This is what can give us the confidence of faith that with God, no evil can touch us, can destroy us, can separate us from our being in God — even death itself. This is a courageous faith that is ready to take on suffering in the knowledge that there is a power of God at hand, a love of God, to sustain us and emerge triumphant. “In the world you will have tribulations,” said Jesus. “But be of good cheer. I have overcome the world.” The promise of God’s presence can not be taken away. In all things He is at work bringing about that which is good.

There is that marvelous story from Daniel of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego who were ordered to worship a golden image made by King Nebuchadnezzar on pain of being thrown into a fiery furnace if they refused. And as the King said, “Who is that God who can save you from my power?” And they answered, “If it be so, that there is such a God, then our God whom we serve is able to save us from the furnace, and He will save us from your power. But if not, we will not serve your god.” This is what one might call the “nevertheless” of faith — to have confidence in God’s goodness and saving power, even when evils seem to overwhelm us. The promise of God’s presence in the midst of the evils is still there, working to bring good out of evil.

There is that ancient teaching of the Stoics we might remember, a teaching incorporated into Xian belief: The meaning of an event lies in our response to it. Troubles, ills, defeats come to us all — but we need not be destroyed by them. Nothing can touch the inner citadel of the soul. If we suffer loss, it can be the occasion of rebuilding better than before; defeat, disappointment can be the beginning of a new effort, trusting that in all things there is a power of God to bring good out of evil.

It will not come nigh thee, says the Psalmist. It will not touch you. But the evil did come, we say, in spite of our prayers, our faith, our attempts to serve what is right and good. “Why us?” is the natural cry. As Bacon once said, it was a good response when someone was shown a picture painted of those who had been saved from shipwreck after praying to God; he asked, where are those pointed who drowned after paying their vows?

The distribution of evil is a mystery — like the crazy pattern of the tornado. But some are hit, some are spared. The rain falls on the just and the unjust. How can we say it will not come nigh thee, touch thee? The answer, of course, has to be in terms of faith in the power of God — not to avert the evil — but to overcome it, bring good out of it. That is why the most terrible-seeming events can be the occasion for the triumph of good. This is God’s way — and it is up to us to respond to it. May we come in some measure up to the level of Paul’s supreme confidence.

What can separate us from the love of Christ? Can affliction or hardship? In spite of everything, victory is ours through God’s love. “I am convinced that there is nothing in death or life, in the realm of spirits or superhuman powers, in the world as it is or the world as it shall be, in the forces of the universe, in heights or depths — nothing in all creation that can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”