We were in the United States on
September 11, 2001, when America went into shock and mourning.
Everything shut down for two weeks and the total energies of a
great nation were focused on dealing with meaning of this attack.
The world was changed, not by the 3,000 dead, but by the meanings
that we construed from it. America had an enemy: terrorists, Osama
Bin Laden, Taliban, Afghanistan, Iraq. We were not safe anymore.
We are not safe. So we launched a war on terror, our own terror
and those we deemed our enemies. Are we getting safer yet? Who
is the enemy who caused this humongous earthquake and tsunami?
Who do we fight? How do we make the world safe again? How can
we construe the meaning of this event? On the television a woman
in Aceh sobs before the camera. She cannot fathom the loss of
her whole family and focuses on her need for clothing. She hasn’t
bathed for days. She appeals to her relatives in Jakarta to send
anything, since she has nothing. Then abruptly, through her tears,
she screams out: “Allahhu Akbar! Allahhu Akbar!” God
is Great! God is Great!
In these days, as I process my own puny grief, I try out various
stratagems. For example, death is not so bad. We all have to die.
Does it really matter if we die now or in a few more, short years?
The 100,000 all would have died sooner or later. Even Jesus only
lived until he was 33 and was killed in a cruel and senseless
manner. Would the meaning of his life be greater if he had lived
to be 90? The Christian faith has affirmed his death as a sacrifice
for all humankind, allowed by God, and crowned with resurrection.
The grief of his friends was turned to joy by the conviction that
he was alive again and still with them. Muslims and Christians
live with the hope of the resurrection. But there will be no resurrection
on this earth for the 100,000 dead in Aceh. Instead the numbers
will swell like the bodies that are putrefying in the rain. The
grief of those left alive will not turn to joy as they struggle
to find food, water, clothing, and shelter in the rainy season.
The children will remain orphans, and the parents will not receive
their children back.
Tragedies sometimes give birth to miracles, like the story of
the brave, 5-year-old boy, swept out to sea clinging to a door,
who crawled on a floating mattress and survived for two days on
the open sea before being reunited with his parents. Amazingly,
they too were still alive. Unfortunately, for every miracle of
survival there are a thousand tales of death. Not many can ride
out a tidal wave. I play with the idea of going to Aceh: I can
drive a truck, bury dead bodies. I am strong in mind and body.
I can give comfort. I can lead. But there are no flights. The
roads are broken. There is no gasoline. There is no food or lodging.
Would I ease the burden or add to it? Am I tempted by heroics
to ease the pain?
We may be tempted to ask: Is this God’s judgment on Indonesia?
Or on Aceh? Aceh is called “the Porch of Mecca,” the
most religiously devout area in Indonesia. It is the only province
to enforce Islamic Syari’ah law. Aceh is ruled by the Indonesian
military accused of horrendous human rights abuses, sometimes
matched by their separatist guerrilla opponents. Its governor
was recently arrested for corruption. Do we dare ask if God would
punish a province bathed for years in blood and corruption? But
this is a question that does not bear asking. The tens of thousands
of children, women and men who died, the millions who lost their
homes, were not more evil than you or I. They have already suffered
through years of warfare and oppression. What kind of a God would
punish with such indiscriminate slaughter? Allahhu Akbar.
A man who had lost his whole family sobbed, “My life is
over. I can only be pasrah (submitted to the will of
God).” Those without faith may see this tragedy as further
evidence of the incomprehensible meaninglessness of human existence.
But those with faith can only submit to the will of God. The earthquake
and tidal waves are acts of God that demonstrate the immeasurable
power of God and nature. Terrorists seem puny in comparison. “Why?”
is beyond the powers of human comprehension.
Nevertheless, we can and will construct a meaning for this tragedy.
We cannot live without meaning. The meaning of this tragedy is
not fixed or eternal. We will create it by how we respond. As
the grief and donations flow in, we feel the unity of Indonesia,
indeed the unity of the world. Eleven countries were hit, and
the entire world is responding. Poor farmers in Java are sending
their best change of clothes to Aceh. The Indonesian soldiers
who survived the tidal wave have put down their weapons and taken
up shovels. The military is the strongest institution in Aceh
and at least for now, it is focused on relief of suffering. Foreign
agencies, long denied access to Aceh are pouring in. How long
will this compassion and unity last? Soon the ideological battles
will begin as different interest groups compete to exploit the
tragedy for their own agenda.
For now, we are content to feel the grief this tragedy demands.
We are pasrah. Later there will be time for celebration.
Tonight, Farsijana, my loving wife, cooked a delicious meal and
we cancelled our plans to celebrate our anniversary and the New
Year at a fancy restaurant. Instead we put on a recording of Mozart’s
achingly beautiful Requiem and felt the grief of death. Farsijana
said we should not fight nature. This is the time for grief. We
remember the 5-year-old boy who survived the tidal wave by floating
on a mattress. He said, “I was not afraid. I am used to
the sea. I was only cold.” He became one with the wild ocean
and his courage saved his life. Perhaps, only perhaps, the courage
and compassion of Indonesia and the world may transform this tragedy
into a new opportunity for peace, justice and life. Insya
Allah. (God willing)! “Thy loving kindness is better
than life.”
Bernie and Farsijana Adeney-Risakotta
Yogyakarta, Indonesia
The 2005 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p.
128 |
