Wade Hodges posts a link to an article by England’s Bishop of Durham, Tom Wright, about the Indian Ocean disaster.

His source, pomomusings, posts another which places the responsibility for the disaster and deaths on God because He “could have stopped the waves.”

I guess I’m in the ignorant minority, but I believe that there are things that God allows to happen that we perceive as evil … maybe to remind us that Death is always waiting in the wings, and Christ is always dying to intercept Death and claim His own.

Maybe there are some things that God permits to remind us that sinleadstodeath sinleadstodeath SINLEADSTODEATH.

Maybe things like earthquakes and tsunamis (earthquakes, at least, are going to happen until the end – Jesus says – but aren’t particularly a sign of it) just happen. Maybe God wound up the clockwork globe and, instead of walking away disinterestedly, waits on the edge of His throne to see what we do with it.

Maybe how we react to disaster is what’s important: with compassion and generosity to the surviving victims, or by trying to blame God or Satan or offshore drilling for them.

Is it even possible that the earthquake/tsunamis that wiped out tens of thousands might have been acts of God’s mercy? That had He not rescued some by water (as He did for Noah) or shortened the days of the tribulation (as is also promised in another context), the disaster might have been many, many times worse?

The only clear message I get from scripture is that, like Job, we can ask all the questions we want to about such things. But that doesn’t mean we can understand the answers.

Claiming to have them seems dangerously arrogant.

One thing is certain: the disaster has already stirred the murky waters of mankind’s innate need to know how good and evil fit into our world.

If we as Christians can’t claim to have all the answers, the least we can do is offer to share in the struggle … ask questions of our own … assist in rescuing the physically and spiritually perishing … pray without ceasing … weep with those who weep; mourn with those who mourn.

And, yes, rejoice with those who survive.

We of all people should know what it is like to be rescued from utter disaster.

My kids – who have been cranky up until Christmas because it wouldn’t come quickly enough – are now calm and sated with more gifts, candy and food than anyone ought to have.

So is their dad. I’m just pleasantly miserable with all of the holiday excess of joy and blessing.

Angi has been slaving away in the kitchen all week, preparing gourmet masterpieces. With my mom and mom-in-law visiting, we’ve watched football and half-a-dozen Christmas classics, including my perennial favorite “It’s a Wonderful Life.” (My 8-year-old daughter Laura gave me the DVD early so we could watch it together on Christmas eve.)

I’ve rotated out of teaching in the Singles class on Sunday mornings, and though I will miss that awesome energy and youth and passion, I’m eagerly anticipating my return to sitting at the feet of two beloved elders and their wives in class again.

With the Singles, I’ve put some very out-there questions before them about what comprises true doctrine, suffering, leadership and holy living. We’ve studied James and I Peter this quarter; a study which seems incomplete without II Peter, where (like the progression in “The Lord of the Rings”) the story grows darker and more threatening. I couldn’t leave the Singles class without recommending that they spend some time in II Peter during the holiday … and if they couldn’t stand a story without a satisfactory resolution, skip on to Revelation.

For in his second letter, Peter struggles with the problem of false teachers, lambasting their empty words, blasphemies, boastfulness and arrogance. (I’ve wondered if some of the Gnostic “secret knowledge” teachings discovered at Nag Hammadi were among the heresies Peter was battling.)

About those teachers, he describes a truly miserable existence:

If they have escaped the corruption of the world by knowing our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and are again entangled in it and overcome, they are worse off at the end than they were at the beginning. It would have been better for them not to have known the way of righteousness, than to have known it and then to turn their backs on the sacred command that was passed on to them. – II Peter 2:20-21

It sounds like a tragic parody of the rescued George Bailey’s words from “It’s a Wonderful Life”:

“Maybe they’d have been better off if they’d never been born again. … I wish they’d never been born again.”

Whew! Now I’m really glad to rotate out of teaching for a while!

A news analyst commenting on the “Today” show earlier this week made an interesting observation about the terrorists/insurgents who bombed an alliance mess tent in Mosul: “They have an easier military objective than the peacekeepers.”

Isn’t that true, not only of the insurgents, but also of evil generally? It has an easier military objective.

A follower of Christ is called to walk a narrow path and enter a straight gate. To perfection without pride. To generosity without curiosity. To be a peacemaker.

Evil’s goal is not necessarily to turn us into Vaders and Valdemorts, but into Potters and Scrooges. Evil only demands a little. Thirty pieces of silver are not required to sell out our Savior. A ten-penny nail of greed will do. A thorn of selfishness. A pocket of lust in our hearts to strip and shame Him.

That’s all it takes to separate us from Him.

And if that was the only evil in our lives, He still would have come. He would have left it all and become nothing for us anyway. Innocent from cradle to grave to throne, so that we might be considered the same.

God’s most extravagant gift.

Is there a difference between something that is God’s will and something that is within God’s will?

Is there a greater good that includes the choice to do what’s right or what’s wrong?

Is there a need for evil to help define what’s good – just as darkness and light work together to define what’s visible?

Is God evil because He permits evil? Is He good because He permits choice?

Is it necessary … is it even possible for us to comprehend the full extent of God’s goodness; His providence; His wisdom?

Or do we just need enough of a taste of it to let us know what the banquet in heaven is all about?

A couple of weeks ago, my preaching minister began a message on the spiritual disicipline of guidance by showing a clip from “Cool Hand Luke,” where Paul Newman’s fugitive character petitions the “Old Man” in an abandoned frame church.

It wasn’t my favorite clip, nor would it have been my choice. Up until a few minutes ago, I’d have picked the scene in Martini’s bar from “It’s a Wonderful Life,” when Jimmy Stewart’s desperate George Bailey pleads “God, I’m not a praying man … but if You will, show me the way, God. Show me the way.”

What has changed my choice is seeing a DVD press of “The Bells of St. Mary’s” in glorious, full black and white. I haven’t seen it since I was a kid, and I didn’t remember the scene near the end in which Ingrid Bergman’s Sister Benedict is wrestling with God over being sent away from her beloved St. Mary’s School. She doesn’t know why, and Bing Crosby’s Father O’Malley won’t tell her. “Remove all bitterness from my heart,” she begs first of all. Then, she too asks for God to reveal His will.

He does, of course. It happens in the movies. But art does not always imitate life.

At noon today, as my disappointed twelve-year-old son begged me to take him back to Blockbuster to exchange the NHL Hockey PS2 game that his mom mistakenly rented (it had been filed behind an NBA game cover), sleet began to fall while I was shrugging on a winter coat. I renegged on the deal, advising him that this might be one of those instances when it would be wiser to wait, and be grateful for what we have … which is not being stuck at the bottom of a ravine in our minivan as we were after the accident we had in sleety weather in January. “But I hate hockey!” he protested.

It’s a little after 3:00 p.m. now. We’re snowed in, and the blizzard continues. While the rest of us watched “The Bells of St. Mary’s,” my son has worn out his fascination with his sled, left his clothes on the hearth to dry, and bounded upstairs. The hockey game didn’t go upstairs with him (yet), but he has gained an appreciation for the amount of fun one can have on ice – safely.

Show me the way. It was a wordless prayer as I was putting on that coat, watching sleet collect on the deck and deciding whether to go: Risk our lives or risk my son’s perception of my courage, integrity and faith.

God had an answer … white, cold and wet.

Winter is here. The colder, snowy weather is scheduled to blow in from the northwest tonight, and my mom is racing in her Cadillac to blow in from the northeast and beat the weather to our house.

The weatherman on the radio has a good perception of it: “The days only get longer from here – at least for the next six months!”

That’s looking at the brighter side.

Some folks do that. They see that glass half-full. Others – and I am too often among them – see it half-empty.

My mom sees in a whole different dimension. She sees a dirty glass that needs to be emptied, washed and put away.

I often wish I could see through the eyes of others. (See Greg Taylor’s post yesterday, The Platinum Rule, to fully understand why.)

For instance, a friend of mine said he sees the banner on my blog in three dimensions after gazing at it for a few seconds. Apparently, the white letters seem to advance and the orange nebula recedes, while the nebula’s aqua “eye” floats somewhere between. I understand the principle behind the phenomenon. I just can’t experience it. I’m a bit cross-eyed, and even with corrective lenses can’t quite perceive the 3-D effect.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m more than grateful that I’m blessed with even flawed vision!

But I really look forward to the time when my gifts from above include nightless day … perfect vision … and flawless optimism.

I confess that I find mistaken predictions amusing, whether they’re about technology or the second coming.

I can’t confirm the one about Thomas Watson, IBM’s chairman in 1943, who is reputed to have said: “I think there is a world market for maybe five computers.”

But Hal Lindsey published his great “Aha!” for all the world to read and buy: The world will end in 1988. The year came and went, without a Roman antichrist to be seen, and his prediction turned into an “Uh-oh.” (I think he has since revised his math, and moved the date to the 2060’s — well past his expected lifespan, so there won’t be any personal embarrassment from a second “Aha!” gone “Uh-oh.”)

Maybe Hal just needed one of those five computers.

Oh, he’s not alone; I’m not just picking on him. Jehovah’s Witnesses and just about every other Christian group have had their spokesperson(s) for God in revealing His timetable over the years.

Why is it so hard for us to accept the fact that there are some things we just don’t know? Why do we insist we must and do understand every detail of God and His creation (much like Job’s three friends)?

Jesus said that even He, the Son, didn’t know the day or hour set by the Father for His return (Matthew 24:36) – only that the days of devastation would be cut short for the sake of the chosen (24:22).

Is it possible the Bible is written on a need-to-know basis? Or that – as God more or less told Job – we can ask Him all the questions we want to, but that doesn’t mean we can understand the answers? Or that we could do anything about the answers even if we had them?

How much do we really need to know about gravity in order to live our lives wisely? Do we have to know that an object accelerates at 32 feet per second per second as it falls? That a human body has a terminal velocity of about120 mph as it falls due to air resistance? That a black hole’s gravity bends space and time to create an event horizon around itself?

Or just that if we drop a hammer in a pitch-dark room, it will fall to the floor in the vicinity of our feet even if we don’t see it?

Aha!

(Uh-oh.)

A baby’s face, innocent and pure.

A face filled with compassion for a couple at a wedding, a centurion, a woman who touched Him, a group of lepers.

A face streaked with tears at the death of His close friend.

A transfigured face that shone like the sun.

A face upon which He fell to pray for deliverance from a cup of death.

A spat-upon face, stained with blood for our guilt.

A dead face, bound with burial cloth.

A resurrected face, not immediately recognized.

A face, now seen as in a darkened mirror.

A face someday to be seen where sunless light can no longer reveal guilt.

We owe each other a glimpse at that face while – as we worship together – we are transformed into the very image of its glory.

Do we see it? Do we show it?

Do we recognize Whose it is?

“And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.” – II Corinthians 3:18

Some months ago, after returning from Disneyland with my family, I posted the question Wonder What Walt Would’ve Wrought?.

I’ve wondered since if the cast members, ex-cast members, stockholders, classic Disney fans and others who post articles at SaveDisney and MiceAge have things in common with the folks who are challenged by the concept(s) of the emergent/emerging church.

The SaveDisney and MiceAge people run the gamut: disgruntled, loyal, militant, nostalgic. The one they look to for answers is gone; died years ago, leaving a rich legacy of simple wisdom. The organization that bears his name has taken directions which don’t always conform to that wisdom, and there are questions about what qualifications its leaders must have, how homosexuality should be dealt with, how stories should be told, and whether the organization should be driven by a passion to accumulate money.

My children are pretty much oblivious to this. They just absorb the Disney stories over and over, enjoy them, play them, live them.

Maybe they know something I don’t.

My son Matthew turns 12 on Saturday and we celebrated yesterday in the manner he chose: he and six of his closest friends (and younger sister Laura, 8) were picked up at school in a chauffered, white stretch limo and whisked off to the game room at Casa Viva in true superstar style.

As they tumbled into the back of the limo, four boys and four girls and me, one of their moms said to me, “Oh! You volunteered for this?”

“Was volunteered,” I answered, throwing a look over her shoulder at my grinning wife, Angi. She followed at a safe distance in the minivan bearing cake, gifts – and backpacks.

The true nature of pre-teens is revealed in the back of a limo where there is a control panel for all of the interior lighting, the radio, speaker balance, moon roof and even the button that opens a drain port to the street, letting the condensation from the ice bucket/soft drink compartment dump onto the street below.

It is also revealed in the somewhat run-down game room of a Mexican restaurant which has long since seen its glory days under original ownership and the name “Casa Bonita.” It is visible when about a third of the games are marked “Work in Progress” since your last visit.

It’s visible at your final destination, CiCi’s Pizza, where the buffet only has three or four half-claimed pizzas on the buffet upon your arrival instead of the usual dozen. (They immediately ramped up and began throwing pizzas, to their credit!)

True character is also revealed when there are just a few games available to play at Cici’s, and they must be shared in turn.

While that was taking place and the cake was being readied and the gifts lined up to be opened, I just had to say something to Angi: “Well, my son continues to amaze me. This time, with his choice of friends. They had a great time in the limo, doing all the stuff you’d expect. They had a great time at Casa Viva. Not a complaint or a rude comment among them. Matthew didn’t choose the most popular kids, or the richest kids, or even the prettiest kids. He picked the sweetest.”

“I know!” she agreed. “Every one of them has already said ‘thank you’ to me, and what an awesome time they’re having.”

To top it all off, our son (who can at times insist on his own way and tend to be controlling) shared the limo, its control panel, the games, the tokens, the tickets, the cake – and the spotlight – with some truly superstar friends.

It may well be the best surprise I’ve ever received.

And it wasn’t even my birthday.