Revisited

I noticed this the other day as I checked in on visitors to My Dogs but didn't think twice about it. Then this morning while working on things while simultaneously wishing I was asleep, I visited Charmaine Yeost at Reasoned Audacity.

A couple of days back, Charmaine revisited something I wrote in the wake of the Terri Schaivo ordeal last spring:

When I wrote earlier about Terri's plight, (here) my point was that suffering is unintelligible from a secular worldview. Without an eternal perspective, why bother with pain, difficulty, and troubles, if a quick fix or a way out is available?

But if suffering doesn't make sense to the secular, this brings us right back to Paul's original question: What's a Christian to do?

Because I'm a political scientist, I've spent my entire adult life thinking about this question . . .

The Schiavo case is, of course, intrinsically important. Terri lost her life in the political struggle. However, the battle over her life highlights a portentous political reality: the divide between the religious and the secular is growing, and the ramifications of that in our communal life will become ever more apparent.

This was the elephant in the room throughout the public debate over Terri's ordeal. There were some liberals on her side -- it was fascinating to watch David Boies (Bush v. Gore) argue in favor of reinserting her feeding tube.

Still, things really do get dicey when one of the toughest theological questions we've got -- the orgin of evil, the purpose of suffering -- is situated right at the heart of a political question.

Sadly, after the furor over Terri's situation died down, I stopped pondering the question. It's been one that I have some unique experience with in my own life. For me, the question is settled by virtue of my own trials; I've been through the desert with God's help and I understand that there are events and times that we will simply not understand.

As for the unbelieving world, my original question still stands: What are we to do that will effectively communicate God's presence and love and purpose when they look at a situation that makes no logical sense?

Charmaine suggests it's a matter of finding the right "voice": So what do we do? We've got to be wise. And wisdom requires searching out the right people to talk when the need arises. You have to have standing to talk about suffering. That's one reason I quoted Joe Ford -- the young Harvard junior who has cerebral palsy -- in my post about Terri.

Another one is Joni Eareckson Tada. Joni's been in a wheelchair for some thirty years. . . and she is easily one of the most beautiful women I've ever met. I once had the opportunity to work on a project with her -- she is positively radiant.

The story of Joni Eareckson Tada is well-known in Christian circles and is one of great encouragement and testifies to the power of Grace. Charmaine is right in that Joni is a voice that speaks authentically to the issue of suffering and pain in life. Her's is a voice that offers hope.

As I've written this though, I'm struck by the realization that Charmaine's thoughts raise: I have a story that offers hope for unbelievers also. Many believers do.

I sit here more than slightly ashamed that in the many years since my own walk through the desert that I've stopped telling the story of God's sustaining power, grace and strength in the face of struggle.