"When Bridges Fall"
Hosea 11:1-11, Luke 12:13-21
A sermon preached by Rev. Dr. Beth A. Donaldson
August 5, 2007
Added 08/07/07
People build bridges. People erect tall buildings. People create machines that do extraordinary things. People invent contraptions and gadgets and do-dads to entertain, assist, and amaze. People have even discerned a few combinations of atomic structures that would end the world as we know it. People grow closer to being God-like in these ways every day. People are able to build bridges that span broad rivers without having to build pilings or supports IN THE RIVER. And these bridges are strong and beautiful. They are works of art, and works of engineering genius. For their time, they are also roadways we depend on and take for granted on a daily basis.
So when they fall, they take our breath away – literally. We gasp, for an instant without the essential thing of life – oxygen – because we know without thinking that we have lost something vital. We gasp, for a moment unable to function as human beings or as any creature, because when the bridge falls, we are confronted not only with loss and destruction, not only with massive amounts of concrete and steel folding and crumbling like a discarded paper napkin after the meal is over, not only with the reality of the pain and suffering that must be beginning for any number of people – our species. But we also gasp, because there it is again – our finitude and mortality. WE… ARE… NOT… GOD.
Somebody said, in these last few days – in the aftermath of the collapse of the 35W bridge, “Bridges in America should not fall.” But why shouldn’t bridges in America fall? Because we are a rich country? Because we are a preferred country on the planet? Preferred by whom? Because we are a smart country? Where should bridges fall, if not in America? Or, should bridges no-where fall?
As the last century came to an end, and this new one began, it is my perception that we emerged from a great century of building and developing many things in this country, including a broad and significant infrastructure. There were jobs for many people, building road-ways and bridges and towns and cities. There were developments and expansions that helped our economy to boom. There were great noble efforts both in industry and in the universities to show our primacy in all areas of society. Not only was there a boom in the number of babies during the major part of last century – there were booms in most other aspects of life, including the economy, and the development of our physical communities.
Now, the baby boomers are in their forties, fifties and sixties… and so are our roads, buildings, bridges, tunnels, and levies. When I turned 42, my eyes began to have trouble focusing. A couple of years later, other things are now showing signs of strain. (I won’t say what.) It seems to me quite natural at this age for people and things to feel and show aging. It is natural. That doesn’t make it any less difficult or painful. I know anyone over forty would likely agree with me!
The mistake we might be inclined to make in ideas like, “Bridges in America shouldn’t fall,” is the same mistake the farmer in Luke’s scripture was making. Believing that because we have major resources available to us we are somehow immune to suffering and deterioration, puts us in a significantly unrealistic, and disconnected state. We can store up all kinds of treasures… and in many ways, that’s what’s been happening in our country for years. We’ve been amassing wealth and resources, building all kinds of structures, and enjoying the benefits of all of these, while we’ve also been using them without much reflection or concern. Until very recently.
Now, we are being faced, almost on a daily basis, both environmentally and structurally, with the need to take deep responsibility for our lives and our world. We are being forced, in any number of ways, to recognize that we cannot just collect progress like the man collected grain in his bigger and bigger barns. We cannot create life and by-way, as if we were God, and then close our eyes to the responsibilities of such creations, claiming then to only be people.
And yet, we are just people. We are not God. So what do we do with everything we have created? How do we manage a balance between the gifts God has given us both of talent and of abundance, and the realities of mortality and finitude? How do we stay true to our human nature, and yet at the same time celebrate that we have been given so many abilities and resources, and that there is much to give thanks for in all the ways we create and imagine and develop and bring forth life itself – just like God?
It starts in the Garden. It starts in that proverbial Eden, where all good things have been given to humanity. It starts with the goodness of life itself. It starts there – where God asked us to take care of God’s creation, where God made human kind the stewards of God’s created world. And it continues with the teachings, life and ministry of Jesus, who called us to deep and broad compassion.
After we gasp… after we have found a way to breathe again and the oxygen entering our brains helps us to see and reflect on what’s happening…after we remember that we are not God, but are human beings with all our limitations, many among us jump in to help. Many among us offer our resources, our abilities, our safety and comfort to the tragedy that has occurred. Many remove the stores from the bigger barns, and share them with others to help heal the broken and wounded. Many cry with compassion, and carry sadness in their hearts, not even knowing exactly why, but able still to feel empathy for a community that has suffered huge loss of human and communal life. Many among us ache with love for our brothers and sisters, and for the river, the city, the fish, and the flora and fauna that will be affected by this collapse. Many among us become the glory of God which is a human being fully alive and responding in all these ways.
On the first page of your bulletin notes, I included this poem by Mary Oliver, entitled,
“Just a minute,” said a voice…
“Just a minute,” said a voice in the weeds,so I stood stillin the day’s exquisite early morning lightand so I didn’t crush with my great feetany small or unusual thing just happening to pass bywhere I was passing byon my way to the blueberry fields,and maybe it was the toadand maybe it was the June beetleand maybe it was the pink and tender wormwho does his work without limbs or eyes and does it wellor maybe it was the walking stick, still frailand walking humbly by, looking for a treeor maybe, like Blake’s wondrous meeting, it wasthe elves, carrying one of their ownon a rose-petal coffin away, awayinto the deep grasses. After awhilethe quaintest voice said, “Thank you.”And then there was silence.For the rest, I would keep you wondering. The poem spoke to me this week as I reflected on the events we have all lived through. I was struck by the power of the idea that a human being, by not taking another step, might save some precious, yet almost invisible, life. By stopping, something beautiful might not perish. The poem evoked such a sense of the delicacy and fragility of all life, that it reinforced how fragile even our full and rich lives are.
My friends, it doesn’t matter, as I know we all know, how much stuff we have, how many things we build, how much science and technology we pursue, or how much of life we understand… we are still human. But as such, we also need to celebrate that we belong to God. Hosea says that the more God calls us, the more we move away from God…. kind of like parents and their teenagers, I guess. But it’s true, isn’t it? God offers us new insights, and we take them and run right into nuclear power. God offers us engineering abilities, and we take them and build sky-scrapers and bridges that some day need to fall! God offers us variety in all kinds of ways, and we take it and run, creating genetic modifications that threaten to kill the originals off. Man, do we run!
Hosea reminds us, though, that it is also God who taught us to walk… who embraces us when we are failing… who heals our wounds when we are hurting… and who introduced us first to kindness itself. Kindness – the most underrated of virtues.
When bridges fall… bridges must be built. But I am not talking here about the structures of highways and the spanning of rivers. I’m talking about the bridges of kindness, of compassion, of radical stewardship of this planet’s resources, of learning again to walk gently on the earth so as not to tread on some delicate and perfect thing, whether a worm, or a whole people… for we have done both.
When bridges fall, we are invited, not to regret that we are not God, but to rise to the humanity that is ours as a gift of God. So many have shown this to us this past week, and I, for one, am grateful to have witnessed so many acts of care and compassion. When bridges fall, after we have gasped in disbelief and mortality, we are called to great humanity. Come, my friends, God has equipped us well for this – let us become the glory of God – human beings fully alive, even in our sadness and grief and fear.
Amen.
