Have you ever seen something really bad happening at a distance – I mean something world’s-attention-grabbing-bad – and known that you have close family or friends right there in it? I can say now that you probably don’t know what that’s like until it’s happened.
Last Tuesday at work an alert pops up on the computer screen. Almost instant information about a seismic event somewhere, direct from the computers at the various geological analysis centres around the world. We need this because earthquakes cause tsunamis, and part of the service we provide is tsunami warnings. We all spring into action, though probably 99% of these are either test messages or statements that there is no threat to Australia and turn out to be just an annoying interruption to the flow of work we’ve already got. In the rare cases that it could be a real threat, priorities are immediately rearranged to deal with it. Nevertheless depending on the format of the message, often we have to send a message back to the source regardless, acknowledging we’ve received it. The basic information is there. Magnitude 6.3. Latitude and longitude coordinates. For ease of interpretation, the general area is added: “South Island New Zealand”. I’m a bit new to the job I’m doing so I quickly but nonchalantly look up the written procedures for what to do about it. Already it’s been assessed as a “No threat to Australia”, probably because of the land location as well as the magnitude and distance from us. Just while I’m looking around, my mobile phone shakes. After a few minutes establishing what action is needed, I look at the message from my brother. “Just had call from Mum. Has been earthquake in Christchurch where they are but they are ok. Hotel is damaged so not sure what will happen with accommodation.” It’s the first time it’s crossed my mind in those few minutes that Mum and Dad are indeed touring New Zealand. I knew it, but I admit I didn’t have the itinerary memorised in my head. I am suddenly a lot more interested in this event.
Acknowledgment of technical message happens in a timely manner, and then soon it’s lunch time. The TV is on in the lunch room. All the TV stations have gone to Christchurch. Dust. Debris. Chaos. Piles of bricks and concrete where buildings were. Serious looking and sounding live reporters – some, as it turns out, from the very Canterbury TV organisation which now has a collapsed main office building with numerous employees inside. Dazed and confused people wandering about, some covered in dust, some with blood as well. They are there, somewhere. “Just where?” I start wondering. Nice to know they are “OK” – for the moment. But I hope they get out of there reasonably soon. All sorts of thoughts come to mind. Aftershocks. They might bring down buildings on the edge of collapse from the first shake. Sharp debris. Burst water pipes. Flash floods. Broken gas pipes. Fires and explosions. No fresh water. No sewerage. And, as the message said, presumably no accommodation. I see someone about the age, size, shape and hair colour of my mother, between 2 strong sturdy guys in fluro yellow jackets, using their strong shoulders for support, and being assisted away from a collapsed building (I haven’t told her that yet). Behind the dark glasses, and with the brief nature of the shot, I can’t tell either way. After a considerable time watching the drama unfold, it’s back to work time. I’m now in a different world from the rest of those around me. Certainly from one of the managers who wants to talk to me later and is disproportionately concerned about relatively trivial matters like my knowledge of obscure new procedures to do with monitoring of rainfall rates from automatic rain gauges, which apparently didn’t go quite as planned over the weekend when I was on duty. It occurs to me no-one actually knows what sort of a day I’m having, because they are not where I am, even though most of them now know about this situation. I’m pretty distracted for the rest of the day but manage to get through the rest of the work.
At the end of the day, just before leaving, I get through to Mum. They were in separate places doing different things when it happened, but the phones still worked and they found each other. They are still safe. They’ve been to an evacuation centre, but have now found a very nice guy who offers to give them a bed and a roof for the night. I’d like to know how well built his house is, but for the moment I have to live with some uncertainty about that. They sound confident though, so I’m happy about that. Their phone battery is almost dead but they have time to tell me I probably know a lot more about it than they do, with my access to TV, internet etc. It doesn’t occur to me to quickly tell them what I do know. Death toll 65 and counting. Prime Minister says “New Zealand’s darkest day”. Maybe they don’t need to know that yet.
As planned I go to a work function at a restaurant to farewell a very good work colleague who is leaving us. Conversation is buzzing. I tell people about Mum and Dad in Christchurch, then many other topics inevitably come along. I get into a stimulating and motivating conversation with some co-workers and one of the managers about ideas going around about how to improve the way we work and provide our services. For a while it’s a normal day again. Then the dinner ends and I say goodbye to everyone and start heading home. Now I’m in my own thoughts again, and they return across the Tasman Sea and to hoping and praying that Mum and Dad have a good, safe night. They plan to pick up a hire car the next day and get out of the town. I’ll be happy when they are out of there. I’ve been shaken up too. The dominant thought is my being a long way away and not able to see or hear what’s going on or do anything to help. From this point on, I have a bit more of an understanding of what it was like to know someone close who was booked on Pan Am flight 103, or to know someone who worked at the World Trade Center in New York in September 2001 while watching live pictures of two of the world’s most impressive buildings self-demolish from the top down in a matter of seconds, or to know someone who was in Mumbai running from men with guns shooting at everyone they saw, or to have family in the direct path of Cyclone Yasi (like someone at work did), or in Cairo at any time in the last few weeks. This wasn’t as dramatic as some of those things but I suspect the associated helplessness is the same. Despite the apparent danger I wanted to be there, to know what was happening, to talk to Mum and Dad, and to see what I could do to help.
Now a few days have passed, and so has the danger. They are well away from Christchurch and looking at other parts of the country. A sobering thought has stayed with me. In such events, the destruction is random and unpredictable. If you are in it, whether you survive or not is a pure lottery. It depends on exactly where you are – inside or out, in a building that survived or one that collapsed. I find myself thanking God that my mother and father are still safe and well. I especially thank him that Mum decided to have lunch later instead of earlier and went inside a building just before the shaking stated, given that on exiting the building, which didn’t collapse, the smashed remains of the fallen facade could be seen all over the outdoor chairs and tables at the nearby coffee shop where lunch was to be had. On such random decisions major consequences can hang. It is a good thing that they are alive and I try to make a habit of thanking the God from whom all good things come, for every good thing he gives. But this time I have an unease about this thanks in light of that obvious lottery nature of people’s fortunes on that day, which is of course the question of what the family and friends of the dead will be thinking. For what will they be thankful? At this moment there are people I know who know people in the earthquake zone they have not heard from. For those who are confirmed dead, what was God doing for them, especially the ones who trust him? A trite answer would be “taking them to heaven/a better life/a better place” but from my earthly perspective death is still not in any sense good, so that answer’s a fail for me I’m afraid. Were they less “deserving” of being safely preserved? Luke 13:1-4, it would seem, says an emphatic “no”. What was the God who has plans to prosper people and who works for the good of those who love him doing when they lost their friends and family members? For me, at present, the evidence before me in events like those in Christchurch speaks against these verses. If you are already typing a comment about death and destruction being inevitable in the world anyway, no doubt with well-worn cliches about a “fallen world”, or even about there being people even worse off still, then you have already missed the point. Yes these are obvious facts – the point I make can be summed up as “why are some things the way they are, if God is all-good, all-loving and all-powerful?” This is an old, old question, and one which I find myself thinking about often. Maybe I’ve missed the point of what is “for the good of those who love him”. But “good” and “suffering” are words I am not in the habit of calling synonyms. Do I just have a difference of opinion with God on this matter? There is more to say about this, and I’ve been thinking of writing more about it here at a not-too-distant-future time. So for the time being I thank God for every good thing, but the evidence all around me in the real world convinces me I should not have any confidence that things which are as they should be, will remain so at any given time in the future, even if I ask God to arrange for it to be so. He seems to want us to ask for good things, but when I do, in my experience he often just says “no”. So why should I continue to trust him, as I actually do? Well, the good news is I actually think there are, paradoxically, good reasons to do so despite all the above. But that is for another time. Here ends this rambling post.
Astro's random writings 