A Distress Signal

2 Timothy 3:1

Robert M. Watkins

April 22, 2007

 

I have only been to Virginia Tech once. It was twenty years ago for an indoor track meet. What I remember is the mass of gray granite from which most of the institution is built. It gives the place the feel of a fortress or even an ancient European cathedral—heavy and massive in its presence, communicating the import of what is happening within the place. It gives the sense of solidity and impregnability to all comers.

 

And yet we know that it is an illusion. The mighty fortress protected no one. The cathedral of academia witnessed only madness and the flight of reason. Those powerful stones became memorial and funereal in nature in the course of a single day.

 

Sadly, as the news scrolled across the news channels, the response was in part resignation—here we go again. The tragic murder of students at school has become part of the fabric of the modern world. It is no longer viewed as a one-time, unique rending of society—it is not seen as an “if,” but now as a “when,” simply another in a series of horrific events that rip the world from beneath us from time to time. Time magazine even gave us a timeline, tracking all such events over the last fifty years.

 

That sounds absolutely ridiculous. That sounds terribly pessimistic. That sounds beyond the pale of reason.

 

But it is true. Last year it was an Amish school turned into a killing field. Before that, it was a high school, before that,…

 

A distress signal has arisen from the world. It is not as it should be, no matter how hard we try to keep up the appearance that it is. It is off kilter. It is in need of mending.

 

Eugene Robinson, writing in The Washington Post on Tuesday, began by admonishing his readers to wait before trying to explain anything or fill in the blanks within a twice-told tale. The first step was simply to absorb the event, to leave it be, to simply be still. The enormity of the tragedy needed to speak for itself before anyone began to spin it, to list reasons, to find motivations. It needed to stand there in its own bitter and violent starkness and command our attention unimpeded. Chaos had broken loose from the created bonds that hold it, bonds set in place by God, and wreaked havoc. We needed first to absorb that reality, simply see it for what it was.

 

Paul wrote his letters to his student and fellow missionary Timothy in a time remarkably congruent to our own. Rome was in full flower as the most powerful empire the world had ever seen. Rome imposed order on the world to such a degree it earned its own name—Pax Romana—and to be sure, the citizens of the Empire saw a level of plenty and settledness that rivaled any seen before or since. But Paul saw cracks in the façade. There were warning signs that all was not as it should be. There were terrorist attacks and sabers rattling and troops marching. There was poverty, oppression, and greed. There were glimpses that beneath the surface, there were problems and rot that were eating away at the foundations of society. Paul saw within these images sights of the apocalypse, the coming end and replacement of all that was. He writes to Timothy to be alert and to read the times for himself.

 

Paul would be astounded that we are all still here. The end has not come. But that was Paul. Most of us do not share his thinking on points of the end times. Yet, the warning signs are there to be heeded, warning signs that do not indicate the great and terrible transcendental end of the ages, but that rather indicate warnings on much more practical and actual level.

 

The young man who went berserk was fractured and broken. He was consumed by the demons of mental illness. There is no reason and there is no explanation for what he did. It happened all beyond the scope of reason and logic.

But already there has begun an assessment of who and what we are. Were the rules in place to handle this? Were the procedures correct and handled appropriately? Do we need to reexamine ourselves on a broader scope to prevent a recurrence—our laws and rules for life together? Do we need to check our own hearts and minds and souls?

 

Of course we do.

 

A distress signal was sent up. Are we paying attention to it?

 

This is the heart of Paul’s admonishment to Timothy—pay attention. He wants Timothy to open his eyes and his ears to see and to hear all that is happening around him. He wants Timothy to take it in. He wants it to sink into Timothy’s heart and soul. Is he attuned to the world?

 

The reason is simple and basic. In order to minister to the world, Timothy has to know the world in which he lives.

 

In that regard nothing has changed. We have to pay attention, even when the images are horrific and command that we do nothing else than withdraw from them and sink inside of ourselves. That is the easy response and a reasonable response—when the world is beyond reason, run from it. But our Lord requires something other from us.

 

This is the hard part of being faithful, but it is what makes our hope and our ability to stand within the world possible. The Lord asks us to reach out and to go and to enter the very mess of the world. We cannot fall into self-absorption or withdrawal. We have to now become present, becoming involved and taking part in ways we may not have imagined beforehand. Like Timothy, we have to open eyes and ears and take it all in.

 

Mike Luckovich published a powerful political cartoon in The Atlanta Journal Constitution midweek. In it, he drew a map of the United States with a flag stuck in Blacksburg, Virginia. Then beside it, he drew a Middle Eastern map with flags stuck where murderous violence erupted. The reminder was clear—our tragedy is not unique, but one shared by human beings throughout the world. One is not greater or more insignificant than any other. The world is violent. Human beings kill one another at an alarming rate. Meaningless insanity seems intent on ruling over us.

 

The Lord asks for another voice to rise—a voice of love, peace, comfort, and, yes, power. The Lord asks for us to move into the world as instruments of grace and compassion, seeking and finding the lost, binding up and mending the broken, and proclaiming another way of being, a way of justice and righteousness that proclaims the goodness and miraculous value of human life. God made us—we are all unique acts of the creative will of God—that message must be proclaimed.

 

Why?

 

Because perhaps if enough of us say it and act on it, we can alter the direction of the world. If enough of us act with the certainty that the human beings around us are miraculous treasures, then maybe it will actually be believed. Maybe then life will be precious to all. Maybe then children will no longer suffer from the madness of the world. Maybe then we can hear something other than cries of anguish.

 

Maybe then we will have a future.

 

Amen.