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Why Not Me?
Reverend Brian J. Kiely, Unitarian Church of
Edmonton, November 13, 2005
Whenever I have read reminiscences about war and the people who
fight them, I have often been struck by the deeply moving personal
stories. One kind seems germane to today’s sermon. It’s
a story frequently told with many variations. Two buddies will be
sharing a foxhole in the night, or a smoke under a tree or a conversation
in the back of a truck. Something happens, something violent if
not always sensational. The truck hits a mine or a stray bullet
finds home and suddenly one pal is looking at the corpse of the
man who had been sharing something with him seconds before.
In the cooling aftermath of grief and regret, the question often
surfaces, “Why not me? Why was it my buddy? Why didn’t
I get hit?” Sometimes there is a sense that the dead soldier
- or civilian -had so much more to live for than the one who made
it. Sometimes there is a feeling of survivor’s guilt or perhaps
even an obligation to the grave. In the hit Spielberg movie “Finding
Private Ryan” a few years ago, a squad of GIs is sent out
in the days after D-Day to find an army private whose brothers had
all died in the invasion. The military didn’t want to risk
the compassionate and public relations disaster of having an entire
generation of sons wiped out, so eight men are sent to save one.
Naturally most of the rescue squad dies along the way and so does
Pvt. Ryan’s outfit in a last ditch hopeless battle. In the
final war scene, the squad Captain, played by Tom Hanks, lies bleeding
to death. Ryan, about to flee for his life, tries to save the Captain.
The Captain pushes him away but not before looking him hard in the
eye and whispering his last words, “Earn this!”
Earn this! Earn the rest of your lost life that has been restored
to you. Earn the sacrifice of these men who died to make it possible
for you to go home. Pay attention to every detail of life from now
on and savour them.
What a burden, and yet, what a gift as well! Not only has the young
man’s future been restored to him but he has been given a
brutal lesson in how much that future has already cost. Few of us
who grew up in North America after World War II ever get a first
hand sense of what a life is worth. Few of us can say that someone
else died or suffered so that we wouldn’t have to. And if
that phrase sounds familiar, well, yes, it is the cornerstone of
Christian belief, that Jesus suffered and died so that his followers
wouldn’t have to do so. But this sermon has far more earthly
concerns in mind.
A few weeks ago I sat in a meeting with a group of people from
this church. Hurricane Katrina had just struck, devastating the
American Gulf Coast. Death estimates were still inflated and the
refugees were still struggling with their new homeless state. We
reflected on the tragedy and wondered why they got hit by a natural
disaster, why them and not us? It seems that none of us felt immune
that day. There was a slight sense of foreboding that some kind
of natural disaster might lay ahead for us. Our environmental choices
seemed to be coming home to roost. All of a sudden we could no longer
trust the earth.
I don’t know much about the science of the environment and
I am not trying to predict any such event. But I do know feelings,
and each of us that day felt just a little less certain of the ground
on which we stood.
Why things happen is a question religion has wrestled with for
countless centuries. A longtime ago, whether in Palestine or in
the Mayan empire or a hundred places in between, people would have
believed that the hurricane was a punishment from the gods for some
offence known or unknown. In spite of our increasing knowledge of
weather patterns I’m afraid there are a still a few people
who think that way. Perhaps even those of us who have a grasp of
such sciences can’t help but to anthropmorphize, can’t
help but to want to put a god-like face on this stream of natural
disasters and wonder if Mother Nature just doesn’t like us
anymore.
Last week as many of you know I was at an international Unitarian
conference in Montserrat, one of the holiest pilgrimage sites in
Spain. The mountain top monastery where we stayed is home to a 12th
century statue of the Virgin and child called “La Marionetta”.
But many who have studied ancient religions see her as a Christianized
version the ‘Black Madonna”, the earth mother herself,
for the statue’s skin is a deep dark brown.
Most of the statue is protected by glass. But in her hand she holds
a globe of the world. Half of that globe can be touched through
a hole in the glass and it is kissed by hundreds of pilgrims each
day. I don’t as a rule pray in traditional ways, but in such
a place, it seemed to be the thing to do. When I touched the globe,
I couldn’t help but utter a prayer that went back beyond Christianity
to the Earth Goddess herself. My prayer was for protection of…
and perhaps protection from, the planet. It felt right.
Thinking back on that a little later, when I had left behind the
Basillica and the monks singing their Vespers, when my rational
mind was back in control for awhile, I was struck by the fundamental
head/heart division of this ‘Why not me?’ question.
Theologians who have pondered such things offer, if not helpful
answers, at least helpful categories in which to frame our conversation.
Are these disasters simply random acts of “Natural”
evil? Natural evil describes things which we see as ‘bad’
because they harm us, but which have no moral cause or action. They
just happen. A dying tree collapses and falls across a road causing
an accident. There is no fault, no moral intention. Stuff happens.
Or are such events, especially disasters on a Hurricane Katrina
or Pakistani earthquake kind of scale the direct result of some
kind of human choice? Perhaps Katrina was caused by global warming
which may have in turn been caused by humans burning fossil fuels.
The science is far from conclusive, but in a time of uncertainty,
we must allow that it is possible. If so, such an event would then
be classed as ‘Metaphysical’ evil. Metaphysical evil
is sometimes described as the Law of Unintended Consequences. Well
meaning human systems whether economic or political can sometimes
create great harm that was never intended or forseen. One good example
would be how the capitalist drive for global prosperity has caused
dramatic environmental destruction.
Have humans had an accidental hand in the creation of these recent
natural disasters? Are our chickens coming home to roost? Or are
we in a little understood natural cycle where climate is just more
dramatic than we have been used to? I don’t know…and
we are still left with the question of why did it happen to someone
else and not me?
When preparing for this service, I reread Rabbi Harold Kushner's
excellent little book "When Bad Things Happen to Good People".
He wrote the book after his son's tragic death. In Kushner I found
a kindred spirit.
"The books I turned to were more concerned with God's honor
- with logical proof that bad is really good and that evil is necessary
to make this a good world, than they were with curing the bewilderment
and anguish of the parent of a dying child. They had answers for
all their own questions, but not for mine." (p.4) He adds much
later, "'Why is God doing this to me?' is not a theological
question, but a cry of pain."
We don't quietly say, "Why is this happening to me?"
in a calm and rational way...No we shout out in anguish, "WHY
IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?" Whenever people have wrestled with
this subject, the cause of their wrestling has been their suffering
or the suffering of others to whom they feel a bond. It's not an
explanation they seek, or even advice on how to proceed. What they
want, what we want is comfort, a feeling that there is meaning in
our suffering. We want reassurance that we are good people and that
this thing really is unfair.
As Kushner wrote, "Some people cannot handle the idea (of
randomness) they look for connections, striving desperately to make
sense of all that happens. They convince themselves that God is
cruel, or that they are sinners, rather than accept randomness.
Sometimes they have made sense of 90% of everything they know, they
let themselves assume that the other 10% makes sense also, but lies
beyond the reach of their understanding." (p46-7) Sometimes
there is randomness. Sometimes we just are in the wrong place at
the wrong time.
If ‘Why me?” is a cry of pain and a demand for reassurance
then perhaps “Why not me?” asked in the face of disaster
is a cry of fear, possibly guilt and certainly relief.
Staring in the face of the suffering of others, we see the potential
for terror, fear, grief and sudden shocking loss in our own lives.
And like a surviving soldier in the foxhole, we wonder guiltily
if we deserved to escape, or was this some lucky freak accident?
Have we been given a gift? Like Pvt. Ryan, are we now obligated
to earn the rest of our lives?
Well, in one sense, yes, we are obligated. But all the brush with
death or disaster does is bring that already existing obligation
into sharp relief. Each life is a gift, and each of us is charged
with making the most of that gift. Although the Biblical parable
of the talents is fairly drowned by divine judgment interpretations,
its message is still valid for those of us who doubt the existence
of that final accounting. This life we have comes to us as a gift.
From where or whom it comes we may not know. I’m not sure
that knowing matters very much. Life is still a gift, in that we
did not create it or earn it. We may not be obligated to some divinity
for our lives, but that does not nullify its value, uniqueness or
preciousness. It is our obligation as humans, whether humanist,
atheist or devout believer, to make the most of that gift.
The advent of natural tragedies or close calls only reminds us
of that obligation. In the end, the questions of Why me? or Why
not me? are only of value when they cause us to evaluate the lives
we are living. And ultimately, that has to be a good thing, for
it is only by self-examination that we can find the path to our
best selves and the fulfillment of our deepest yearnings.
Meditation
Spirit of Life, hello, it's me again.
You know, sometimes I wonder if you exist at all, or if you care.
Can you care? I'd like to know.
And even if you do care, is there anything you can do about it?
I'd like to know that, too.
You see, I've seen a lot of bad things happen for no good reason.
More than anything it saps any faith I might have in you, Spirit.
Sometimes it even seems to sap away life itself.
And if perchance you are behind these bad things, then consider
us quits. I don't care about great plans for the universe unfolding
as they should. If it is your great plan, it hurts too much. Leave
me out of it.
Alright, I admit. I am being petulant, but sometimes the randomness
of bad things makes me angry in my helplessness and I just want
to yell at you...or anyone else who stands in the way.
But when some of these things do come my way and there is no obvious
villain, you'll just have to do.
Maybe that's one of your jobs, eh Spirit? to take the heat for
the random actions of the universe.
Well, if you can mind such things, I hope you won't mind when I
take it out on you. Sometimes my rage is the only gift I can offer.
And by emptying my rage on you, maybe I can make room for hope
to grow again.
Thanks Spirit.
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