this is why hurricane frenzy and a gas shortage mean there is hope for us all

In the last few weeks, Texas has been an interesting/encouraging/challenging place to live.

The drama started with Hurricane Harvey. We all ran to our grocery stores and bought water and bread just in case. My own city of Cedar Park, well above sea level and far from the gulf coast, issued a “you may have to evacuate” email, which was ridiculous. I wonder if they thought Dallas and the whole state of Oklahoma needed to evacuate, too?

Grocery stores ran out of bottled water and bread. There was a general sense of low-level panic in HEB when I tried to buy my beloved Topo Chico and found out that even sparkling mineral water was being rationed as a disaster staple.

“Frenzied” is a good word for pre-hurricane life.

Hurricane prep drama gives me all sorts of good feelings about my native California, where our earthquakes and mudslides gave us zero warning. There was no pre-potential-disaster angst. You were either doomed because there were heavy things hanging above your bed, or you weren’t. We lived in the oblivious bliss of a total lack of warning.

But hurricanes are like an unstable ex. You never know how vicious they may be.

And Harvey was vicious, though not in the way anyone expected. Who could have guessed it would be the sheer volume of rain that would break so many hearts?

Texas, in all her Lone Star Independent Glory arose in might and mercy. Many of my friends headed straight to Houston to help the rescue effort. Some even bought boats so they could lend a hand. All of us gave money in one way or another. It’s been inspiring to see the goodness of humanity on display.

But then we all got scared one random Thursday after the storm, and a rumor started that surely, surely, we were about to run out of gasoline. Every gas station in my part of town ran out of gas, despite the state government declaring that there was no shortage. The lines  of cars waiting for a chance at the pump wrapped around the block. People argued and fought over who was next in line and who had cut in unfairly. I heard a gun was pulled in an altercation at the Costco gas station near my house.

It’s marvelous and crazy, that the same kinds of hearts that would run to rescue people off a roof in another town would bicker over gasoline with their own neighbors.

The human predicament is a tricky one, indeed.

Somewhere in the absurdity of our inconsistency I see a great deal of blessing, though.

If we’re this hungry for a rational hope beyond our control, there must be a divine meal that can satisfy our angst. Jesus is the bread and wine that says, “I’m here to satisfy your deepest longing. It’s all going to be okay.” 

It’s nearly absurd that the teachings of a Jewish carpenter who lived 2000 years ago can meet our needs here in this modern world, and yet, the spiritual life has changed little since he walked the dirty roads of the Middle East.

Besides, Jesus was a always a bit absurd.

After all, he was the prophet who said things that no culture could comprehend. Things like “Blessed are the poor, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” There has never been a culture that thought the poor were the ones who were blessed. Jesus was possibly drunk on the Holy Ghost.

Jesus was the rabbi who let women sit at his feet and listen to his teachings. What? Women were known to be clueless even back then, not to mention a total distraction to the brilliant men, and they belonged in the kitchen with their own kind. Jesus was obviously morally questionable.

Jesus was the preacher who broke a few loaves of bread and passed out a couple of fish, thereby feeding thousands of people. Now, come on, Jesus. That’s just impossible and quite showy. You should stop with your trickery.

Jesus was wrongly executed, and then his body was just…gone. Then he showed up and ate some fish and walked through some walls while he helped his friends process their grief and shock and find some next steps in life.

This Jesus would say some interesting things to Texas and everyone else if he showed up today in the flesh. He would undoubtedly shock and confound many us with his response to our current events.

But gosh, I want is to be one of the eager students in the multitude on whom he has compassion.

Because the world is a very scary place to live. If politics don’t have your soul completely rent, then perhaps the economy or the environment or the plight of the poor does. Maybe your own little neighborhood is hurting, you wish North Korea would sit down for a minute, or your dearest friend has cancer.

Here in this place, where we are hunkered down waiting to see if our personal storm is as bad as they say it could be, is where Jesus makes the most sense. It’s where our weakness and inconsistency end up being the very things that qualify us to belong to God.

I’m grateful for the frenzy and for the rain that drives us back to the only Love that can really ever save us. Right here between the day the gas tank runs dry and the day our heavenly chariot rescues us off the roof, we are triumphant in Jesus.

For those who love him best of all, there are only blue skies and endless mercy ahead.