Computer models now predict that the storm will skirt along Florida’s coast Tuesday and then move alongside Georgia late Tuesday and into Wednesday. But no one can be sure of its path. A low-pressure system forming to its north could lead the storm in its direction. A sagging jet stream and a weakening high-pressure system to its northeast could steer the hurricane as well.
Dorian could head out over the Atlantic, where the ocean’s cold waters would cause the storm to eventually dissipate. It could turn to the west and strike our east coast with historic severity. Or it could do something in between, lashing us with winds and rain but never making true landfall in the US.
Hurricane Faith followed a somewhat similar path in 1966, churning westward toward the US and striking Bermuda but then turning northward and eventually weakening north of Scotland. In 2012, Hurricane Sandy forced closures from Florida through the Carolinas and states of emergency all along the eastern coast before finally making landfall in New Jersey.
As many as 118 million people live on the East Coast of the United States. Any of them—or few of them—could plausibly be affected by this storm.
Another shooting in a community I love
The other major headline of the day is the shooting tragedy in West Texas. As of this morning, seven are known to have died and another twenty-two were injured. Police have identified the shooter, though, as is our policy, I will not name him to avoid giving him greater notoriety.
I was privileged to live and pastor in Midland, Texas, from 1988 to 1994. Janet and I still have many close friends in the Permian Basin and are grieving with them as they deal with the shock of this tragedy.
Rejecting God when we need him most
When a hurricane threatens millions of people, we could be frustrated that meteorologists cannot predict its path. However, they are doing the best they can with the best science we have.
When a man kills seven innocent civilians, we could be frustrated that police officers could not prevent the atrocity. However, they did the best they could in a horrific situation, risking their lives to save many others.
When such tragedies strike, we could be frustrated that our omniscient, omnipotent God does not prevent them and choose to reject his help when we need it most.
Or we could reframe the fact of suffering by including God in it.
Wehner quotes Episcopal priest Fleming Rutledge, who notes that before Good Friday, “No one in the history of human imagination had conceived of such a thing as the worship of a crucified man.” Even today, the world’s religions picture God, if they picture a personal god at all, as separate from our world and distant from our pain, a Zeus atop Mt. Olympus rather than a carpenter writhing on a cross.
In his suffering, Jesus entered our suffering. The New Testament says it this way: “We do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin” (Hebrews 4:15).
Here’s the result we can embrace: “Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (v. 16).
“By thy scars we know thy grace”
We most need meteorologists when hurricanes threaten us. We most need police officers when shooters are on the loose. We most need God when our broken world breaks again.
Wehner’s perceptive meditation includes some lines from “Jesus of the Scars,” a poem by English minister Edward Shillito. Written in response to the suffering of soldiers returning from World War I, he testifies: “Lord Jesus, by thy scars we know thy grace.”
Here’s how Shillito ends his poem:
The other gods were strong; but thou wast weak;
They rode, but thou didst stumble to a throne;
But to our wounds only God’s wounds can speak,
And not a god has wounds, but thou alone.
