Hope and hurricanes

While Katrina did not physically pass over Washington D.C., it seems to be semi-permanently situated over the bounds of the District.
The timing of the storm was such as it hit the last Monday before recess was over. Most senators and representatives were in their home districts, boasting of the busy legislative agenda for the coming months: immigration reform, gun rights legislation, stem cell funding, Medicaid reform, and a myriad of pet projects that would never get off the ground – but they made for good press pieces. Gas prices were rising, but a manageable concern for staff. Then, the hurricane hit, and within hours of the initial assessments, Hill phone lines were ringing off the hook with angry constituents. The first complaint was gas prices: fuel exceeded $6 per gallon in Atlanta the day after the event. Once oil reserves were released and the “right to gas” was reestablished, another wave of calls came in. The speeches started virtually the same way: “Now, I don’t know if anyone else has called to tell you this, but the situation down in New Orleans is really a mess… (no kidding?)… it’s really inexcusable the government didn’t prevent this and isn’t doing more… the President and Congress are all responsible for what happened!” By the end of Friday, our staff assistant was ready to string himself up by the longest phone cord in the office. I was disgusted by these people, too. Don’t they get it? We are people up here, too; we see the devastation, we know help isn’t getting there fast enough, but even the federal government can’t snap their fingers and make it happen! If that were the case there wouldn’t be cancer or nuclear weapons or expired flu vaccines! This was not in the control of man, nor can the consequences be contained by man! Don’t you understand? We may be a first-world country, the world superpower, but there is something greater than us!
And that is what scared the politicians – on both sides, mind you – but especially the liberals.
Liberals are satisfied to guarantee external outcomes to bad situations. You don’t have a job? Have welfare. No healthcare? We have Medicaid and Medicare and the state programs. You don’t have morality? We’ll have government tell you what’s right and wrong and how we can peaceably live in society together. That way, we can cover up the true hue of human nature, look around, and congratulate ourselves on being pretty good people.
Funny thing is, when houses are crushed, the power goes out, bodies are floating in the water, and survival becomes an issue, human nature cannot be masked.
On Friday, Nancy Pelosi gave a less-than-rousing speech that included the sickeningly Mrs. Lovejoy-esque statement of “think of the children… they will now see rainstorms and think their homes will be washed away if the government doesn’t get there soon enough… think of the children!” Emergency session was called just to get FEMA the money they needed for the weekend and it turned into gross political grandstanding. But I defy Nancy Pelosi to go tell the rooftop shooters aiming at hospital evacuees that guns are bad, they should be against the law, and think of the children. No policy can cover that up. People were shooting people down there even in a time when we’re supposed to come together because that is how some people react to dire situations. Under all the social norms, people, in one way or another, are as wild as the hurricane that drove them to madness.
And neither can be externally controlled by man. And to a man who has no other hope, that is terrifying.

As I was waiting for Heather down in the basement of Cannon today, before walking up to the Christian college grad luncheon, I started reading the much-ignored plaques describing the plaster casts around the room. They’re all facsimiles of statues that adorn the exterior façade of the Capitol. One particularly caught my attention.
In the middle is America, radiant, with an eagle at her feet with the trademark arrows and olive branches in his talons. America is leaning on an altar with the inscription July 4, 1776 with a copy of the Declaration on top. To her right is Justice, bearing the Constitution. And on her left is Hope. Hope is positioned a little lower than the other two, but not unequal in stature; she is reaching up to America as if to grant her more grace, and she is leaning on an anchor.
Hope was a striking picture to me. I’ve not seen her very much in classical art or otherwise, so I don’t know much of the history. But just the idea of an anchor being her symbol was thought-provoking. We use the word “hope” so lightly, and are gravely disappointed when it does not come through. But what is the weight of the anchor we’re using? What is the measure of hope we are hoping?
Most people are willing enough to admit that people let us down, that man is fallible. So we set up systems, processes, governments to try to take human error out of things. So long as they work alright for the vast majority of people, we’re good with the status quo. But someone has to write, interpret, and execute those laws. And they’re people. Those crying out about the failure of hurricane relief may be right. But I can’t help but wonder if there’s a sense in which folks are simply crying out against the very failure they see in themselves – their inability to be their own salvation. We have been reminded of our own mortality and our vulnerability to the elements this week. For those whose anchor was the goodness of man or the soundness of government, hope was uprooted. Hope has failed because they were using an anchor of driftwood in a stormy sea.
I do not exclude myself from those who have hoped in error. I have put my hope in people many times. And every time, without exception, I have been disappointed. Outcomes have ranged from mild disillusionment to outright betrayal, but when weighed in the scale, all were found wanting… of no fault of their own. I was wrong to toss them overboard and think they would hold me in the first place; they have no staying power in and of themselves. And yet when it happened, I still despaired. We all do. We question others, we question ourselves and our plans. And yet how rarely we think to question what we use as an anchor. We would do well too. Especially when you consider this:

When God made his promise to Abraham, since there was no one greater for him to swear by, he swore by himself, saying, "I will surely bless you and give you many descendants." And so after waiting patiently, Abraham received what was promised. Men swear by someone greater than themselves, and the oath confirms what is said and puts an end to all argument. Because God wanted to make the unchanging nature of his purpose very clear to the heirs of what was promised, he confirmed it with an oath. God did this so that, by two unchangeable things in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled to take hold of the hope offered to us may be greatly encouraged. We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. (Hebrews 6:13-18)

An anchor for the soul. Isn’t that what we all need so desperately? It’s there – Christ has already given it to those of us who are His children – and how often I’d rather select anything else as our anchor. And when I cast a wistful eye to The Anchor, I lull myself into thinking it will be no different from the others. A foolish and inaccurate assumption indeed.
My Hope and steadfast Anchor will not change. But there are so many people who do not know Him. So many of them are suffering right now because every other hope has disappointed; nothing for sure has endured. They are angry at the government because it has fallen through, and maybe they are right. My heart just breaks for those who think that I work in the temporal realm for a be-all-end-all entity.

As I was walking to the Metro last week, I believe it was Thursday, I was overcome with a sense of sadness and powerlessness. The news had been on all day, and none of it was good. Angry constituents were calling and acting like it was by our will alone that people were suffering. We had no answers. I was pondering how people would react if they knew how many 21 and 22-year-olds were running this catch-all government of theirs. Reflecting on our inexperience and naiveté, I shook my head for a moment.
We didn’t sign up for this part, I muttered to the sky.
And then the thought struck me. Government wasn’t created for the times that everything is going alright, job approval ratings are good, and no constituents are writing in because life is just that good. Nor was government created to give me a job to write to the constituents who aren’t happy. It was created for the crisis, for when all seemed lost. This was exactly what government was supposed to do – even if it couldn’t do it perfectly. I think I understood social contract theory for the first time on that day.
Order and authority are good gifts God saw fit to give mankind, but like so many other things, they are only a shadow of Himself. They help give us an idea of what He is like, but to truly know, we must pursue Him. If somehow by serving in government, I can point people to that higher and perfect Authority, to the Provider who does not disappoint, then my time is well spent. Perhaps then they will see that He is not only the Anchor in the hurricane, but He is the sail and the gentle wind that directs us all the days of our lives… whether we recognize Him or not.