There are times I miss being a pastor within a local Christian community. There are plenty of obvious reasons for this. Less obvious, until it happens, is the inner urge to gather together with the community of faith, as one called to encourage and enable this particular community to work out its own theology, with fear and trembling, in the face of disaster. In my years as a pastor I found myself at different times on a Sunday Morning leading worship in the aftermath of Tiannemann Square, 9/11, the Omagh bombing, Piper Alpha, Dunblane, Lockerbie, and in subsequent days sharing the prayers, conversations, questions and grief of a community reaching out in heart to love a broken world.
The task of the pastor and community theologian, when disaster overwhelms some in our world, is to recognise the faith questions and the faith resources within the Christian community. Then gathering our wisdom and bewilderment, holding onto both our faith and uncertainty, mouthing our hope and defying the despair, we pray. Determined to try, together, to respond in a way that willingly absorbs the suffering and human anguish of others, we bring it all into our worship, our prayers, our supplication to the God who in Christ entered the deepest darknesses of a fractured creation.
And so today, with the anguish and danger facing the people of Haiti, I so wish I was again in that role of sharing the life of a known community as its pastor, learning again the necessary humility of the pastor who truly believes that theology and doxology, reflection and worship, plaintive prayer and patient praise, that these are the Church's work of witness in our world, and that they come not from her or him as pastor, but from the community itself. No hard edged doctrine of providence like so much theological shoulder shrugging; no Bible quotations to silence impolite questions; not a word justifying our faith, because God's response is never self-defensive. Instead tears for the dead and the broken; prayers for those who dig with their hands and with kitchen utensils; inner recoil from the hard fact that the logistics in Haiti just now are near impossible; guilt at our own impotence and gratitude for every gesture of help and humanity. ( The photo of the wee toddler's smile of recognition as he is handed to his mother is for me a powerful image of the reaching out hands of God).
How do you pray in all this? The question isn't so much where is God as where are we and where is help for our world, and what will help anyway? Money will. So we give it, then double it. Long term compassion will, because money and relief aid will be needed for years. Questions will – especially those about the unfair distribution of wealth across our world, and why it is that poor people, in a high risk area, whose homes are cheaply built and collapse easily, and who have no state sponsored medical service, are utterly vulnerable. And yes prayer will, especially prayer as Barth urged, the lifting up of holy hands against the status quo.
Last night, and today and coming days, I will light a candle and pray for the people of Haiti. And that small flame, the candle self-consumed in the giving of light, will signifiy our calling to lighten the darkness, to radiate the life and light of Christ – by the strategic generosity of giving money – by long term commitment to go on giving into the future – by not settling for the rules of the global money-grubbing and resource-grabbing game – by praying against all that diminishes and crushes human hearts and bodies, and by doing so in the name of the One whose own body was crushed, and through whom life and hope and the love of the Eternal reaches the darkest recesses of our God-loved world.