The Very Rev. Dr. Peter Short

On December 26, the God who controls the world slipped beneath the waves.

As a spiritual leader, I receive calls, letters and messages from people who have been touched deeply by the magnitude of the disaster. Even as we do what we can -- giving generously to bring relief, keeping vigil with those still frantic to account for loved ones, trying to contemplate the rebuilding -- we cannot escape this: we are dismantled inside.

We know how the engulfment happened. There was a shaking of the foundations of the Earth and a rising of the waters of the sea. It did not take 40 days and 40 nights; it took little more than 40 minutes to engulf worlds. That much is explicable, if not imaginable.

We do not know the why of it. No one is responsible. There is nowhere to lodge the meaning or lay the blame, except at the doorstep of God. Who else can shake the foundations of the world? At least the grief is deep, strong and true. Grief is best when only God carries the blame. It liberates the heart for clean anger.

And here is something I know about the broken-hearted. They are the blessed, for they have loved and been loved. They know that this world is no paradise, but somewhere along the way they have encountered the greatest of the gifts. If it were not so, they would expect little and grieve less. Great grief can only be produced by great love.

One young mother wrote to tell how she is haunted by the television images of parents holding their dead babies. Her words carry me to the deep into which all caring people have been cast. She is singing the ancient lament of Jeremiah for the one who has lost her children: "Her sun went down while it was yet day." This has happened. The sun has gone down while it is yet day.

I cannot speak for God, although I have spent many years trying to listen for God. What I hear today is the sound of weeping. What I taste today is the salt of God's tears. What I remember today is a day, we call it Good Friday, when God's sun went down while it was yet day. What I know today is that if there is a presence in all creation that is crying, that presence is God.

I have come to believe that God's ultimate commitment to the world and its creatures is not a commitment to control but a commitment to love. I believe that between control and love God must have had to make a choice. This is the same choice we all make. My own life as a parent of four has taught me this.

Perhaps Margaret Atwood was right to say that we see the world clearly when we see it through tears. Broken hearts are the best companions on a day when the sun goes down.

Now we must do what we can to help. The United Church is joining with all Canadians of good will in the effort to respond generously, wisely and bravely. When our common and frail humanity moves us to work side by side we may become aware in spite of ourselves that the One who loves the world is rising from the deep.

This commentary appeared in the "Globe and Mail" on Saturday, January 8, 2005.