broken city, broken people

I farewelled my sister back home to Christchurch this morning and my heart is still heavy. She heads home to a city that remains broken and to a house that is still recovering from chaos; a constant reminder of the earthquake.  She and her partner are lucky enough, their house was not seriously damaged and they both have jobs. But the earthquake has changed everything.  The way they drive to work, the atmosphere they work in, and what they do with their spare time. Their electricity is back on, but for essentials only. Through a miscommunication it turns out they didn't have contents insurance after all, so three or four hundred dollars' worth of food is lost, as well as some expensive tools. It's not money they can just pull out of thin air. She's been up here for a break, and was happy to be going back to her own bed, but she wasn't looking forward to returning to a disaster zone. Who would?

Christchurch has seen a range of responses to the earthquake. Many families have temporarily relocated to other parts of the country, plenty more have simply packed up and left. Some have gone to Wellington and Auckland, some even to Australia. Whole suburbs have been abandoned; empty houses stand beside roads covered in pot holes, silt and flooding. But community spirit still abounds. Churches all over Christchurch have stepped up to supply free meals, food banks and temporary accommodation. A memorial service was held in Hagley Park on Friday, attended by Prince William and thousands of Cantabrians. Mayor Bob Parker looked tired but resolute. Everyone promised that Christchurch will be rebuilt.

But buildings can be rebuilt. Given the necessary time, money and expertise, re-building will happen. Not so for people. Damaged emotions aren't so easily healed. Time helps, yes, but the other ingredients necessary for healing are not always clear. What will it take for my sister to feel at "home" in her own home? What will it take for those who have fled Christchurch to find home in the places they have fled to? What about those who struggle to sleep? Those for whom fear has manifested as anxiety and depression? And what about those who suffer most of all, those who grieve the loss of their dearest? How will their lives be rebuilt?

When the first earthquake hit last September it was easy to write about angels. We all said it was a miracle that nobody was lost. This time around we are hard pushed to find miracles. No survivors have been discovered since the day after the quake. But there are miracles. Every survivor will tell you there are. The beloved Christchurch Cathedral has been completely cleared with no bodies found, when we were expecting twenty. When rebuilt it will become a place of hope, without any shadow of death. Perhaps they're small miracles, but they're miracles nonetheless.

Still, some will refuse to see miracles at all. For many it is just too difficult to bring God into the equation. A talk back caller was asked how the earthquake had changed his life, and his answer was bitter. "I'm now convinced there is no God," he said. I expect that for him Japan's earthquake and tsunami have been the final nail. Who can believe in a God who allows such things to happen? Yet earthquakes and other natural disasters have occurred relentlessly over the ages, and there have always been believers.

For the first week after the earthquake I found prayer was as automatic as breathing. I couldn't not pray. But at the same time I was keeping my distance from God. Deep down I felt abandoned. I could see God in the earthquake of September 4th, but not on February 22nd. It was too awful. I found within me an endless, anguished "why?" I heard it repeated by others as the days went on. Even the Mayor voiced it, wondering if there was anyone he could ask why these things happen. Then he answered it himself. "I don't think so."

No one would begrudge that talk back callers' denial of God. On a rational and intellectual level it's completely understandable.  Why would we place our hope in a God who appears to have failed us? Historically we have been seen as a Christian nation.  Missionaries were some of our first European settlers. But who would question us now if we completely turned our backs on any faith at all?

I haven't heard an answer to my guttural "why?" and I can't see anything in what I know of the bible or the Christian faith that gives me a solid answer to that question. All I know is that my instinct tells me something which goes beyond any head knowledge. My instinct tells me that this world as it is, with its earthquakes, floods and famines, is not how it was meant to be.

 There's a mental and emotional leap required to keep faith in God. Those unable to make it often count those who can as lucky. They stand as if on one side of a divide watching the rest of us as we size up and then make the leap. They don't feel capable or even necessarily desirous of making the same jump, so they shrug their shoulders and get on with their lives. Often it's as if we humans live our lives separated by this divide, believers on one side, non-believers on the other. But in times of inexplicable tragedy such as this, the divide is erased. We all suffer the same grief, we all ask the same questions, and for believers and non-believers alike, the answers are few.

Yet there is a difference. Many of the groups serving the practical needs of the people of Christchurch right now are Christian. These are not believers who are providing food and shelter simply because it's what they "should" do. These are people who are moved by genuine compassion, people for whom their faith not only compels them to serve, it gives them the strength to do so.  The bible is not silent when it comes to grief and tragedy. Jesus himself is often described in the gospels as weeping. The words of the Psalms take us as frequently through suffering as they do rejoicing. Think of those words we all know, Psalm 23. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...

I haven't heard an answer to my "why", but that hasn't stopped me asking. My "why" makes my prayers feistier and my tears real. And I've added this "why" to all the "why's" from years gone by which somehow I know I will get to ask in person, one day, on the other side. My "why" finds me here, writing, and as I write I find the heaviness of my heart lifting.

Just as Christchurch is broken, so are we broken. We need hope, peace, and all of us need some measure of healing. We can turn our backs on God if that feels safer, but in doing so we may be rejecting the very thing we need most.