As
time goes on, have you seen improvement in the way you handle storms?
What difference does your faith in Christ make? (Serendipity Bible
10th Anniversary Edition, page 1399).
Storms
never put my behavior in the best light. I live in St. Petersburg
Florida and every year we have a hurricane season. I would only be
kidding myself if I pretended to think that if a storm directly hit
my city, I would be tranquilly sitting in the back room studying the
sermon on the Mount completely devoid of fear, anxiety, and guilt
that I could have and should have done more in preparation. When my
wife was deathly ill, I prayed – but without much comfort. I was on
a continual emotional roller coaster from one day to the next as her
prognosis fluctuated from optimistic to dire. And I can readily
anticipate my state of mind if I should find myself in the dark
within a remote secluded area miles from any city stranded among high
weeds on the side of the road with a flat tire. No, I am definitely
not the man for all seasons.
The
sobering thing to consider is that I have not really changed that
much in my ability to handle storms with equanimity. Rather than
standing tall like John Wayne, I look like that crazy, neurotic cat
whose fur is always sticking out on end in a state of berserk terror.
They say desperate times make everyone religious. Not so me. For
me spiritual uplift requires a degree of space. It does not come
easy in times of strife and turmoil. Take any of Jesus' parables—for
example the Good Samaritan. I am a good Samaritan mostly where there
is a degree of—for lack of a better word—abundance. If I am in
the middle of a financial crisis, that is not the best time for me to
assume and address the welfare of my neighbor. Actually, in the
parable, the good Samaritan seems to have a fair amount of personal
resources.
Now
some might counter that it's entirely possible to be generous in
spirit if not in resources. I think of the story of the lad who
aggravated the busy waitress with his meager resources—delaying a
bit sorting though his change then ordering the cheapest thing. When
the boy left, the waitress realized he bought the cheapest thing so
he would have enough money left over to leave her a tip. Personally,
I leave bigger tips the more affluent I feel—liberated, as it were,
by an enabling credit card. It is much easier for me to add $8 to
the bill as a tip rather than laying down green currency. Again, I
think generally speaking a sense of affluence fosters good Samaritans
whereas scarcity elicits parsimony. In this sense, rather than
religion being the opiate of the masses, it is the context by which
the affluent exercise generosity.
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