Jesus, the Tsunami, and the Hawaiian Shirt

I ran into Jesus when I was buying another Hawaiian shirt the other day at Wal-Mart. I have several Hawaiian shirts, but they all need to be washed in cold water, so it's kind of a pain. So I figured I would buy one so I didn't have to do a cold wash as often. They're only ten bucks, unless I let myself get large enough to need a double-extra large, which I have avoided so far.

I was scoping out a black Hawaiian shirt with electric blue palm trees when Jesus came.

"You know," Jesus said, "those shirts are made in China."

"Last one I bought was made in Korea," I said. "And before you go off on the social justice tangent, if I don't buy it, someone else will. And also, if there aren't people buying these shirts, how are those people going to be able to afford to eat?"

He sighed and shook his head. He was wearing a U2 t-shirt and jeans and Reebok running shoes.

"We need to talk about those things," Jesus said.

"You gonna hit me over the head with the social justice mallet?" I said.

"No, I want you to think about what you are doing."

"That's fair," I said, as I considered a yellow and orange Hawaiian shirt. It was loud, which is pretty much the point with Hawaiian shirts, but it might have been too much. I work with accountants. And though the place in which I work is pretty open-minded about attire, I didn't think they were ready for shirts that came with optional sunglasses.

"I have a question for you," I said.

"Okay."

"Well, you're getting ready to get after me about buying stuff that enslaves poor people," I said. He bobbed his head a little to indicate that I wasn't quite right, but got the gist of it. "But what about that giant tidal wave?"

"What about it?"

I put the orange shirt back and mulled over the selection.

"Well, when someone flies an airplane into a building or feuding warlords cause a lot of people to starve to death because they don't let the food through, you can right it off to man's free agency. I mean, that's all free will. But the tsunami...there's no free will there. It's what the insurance companies call an Act of God.

"And though I'm not certain that God said, 'Hey, I know what will liven things up...I'll kill a quarter million people with a giant tidal wave,' He didn't do much to stop it, either. What's the story with that?"

Jesus said nothing. Instead he fiddled with the Bucs jersey on the stand next to mine.

"The Bucs are going to let Alstott go after this year," he said. "They have to, because of the salary cap."

"Probably," I said. I thought about pressing him for the answer, but decided instead to just see what he had to say. It was a technique that I'd read about from multiple people. Most people don't like silence and they will fill it, if only to hear their own voice. And they will answer questions they might not ordinarily answer, if you keep quiet.

There's only so much quiet in the middle of a Super Walmart, but the question was still out there, and it hadn't been answered. I almost told him that he was God and I wanted an answer.

"I'm not going to satisfy you with the answer," he said. "It's not going to make sense to you."

"Try me," I said. The defiance was more evident in my voice than I might have wanted. But the more I though about it, the more I thought the tone was proper. "What in the hell were you trying to accomplish with that?"

"How much have you given to help?" he asked.

"Some. Not everything."

"You are supposed to tithe. Hell, you're supposed to do more than that," Jesus said. "And you don't."

"No, I don't. Are you suggesting that if everyone were to tithe, this wouldn't happen?"

"No. It is what it is," he said. "God isn't Gepetto. He's not the Divine Puppetmaster, up there pulling all the strings so that Lassie always saves Timmy from the well. In real life, sometimes Timmy doesn't make it."

I nodded and slid the shirt back on the rack. I looked some more at the other shirts.

"You're being patronizing," I said. "I know that sometimes Timmy doesn't make it. I was unemployed for 19 months and I fight depression on a nearly continual basis. I know that God was speaking when Loretta Lynn said she didn't promise a rose garden."

Jesus looked up at me, almost with surprise.

"Wow," Jesus said, "you're old."

I thought about saying "bite me" but decided that wouldn't be appropriate. Just in case. Instead, I just kept looking at him. It was as if the people at Walmart didn't exist. It was like we had been transported to some minimalist stage someplace with three or four clothing racks, me, and Jesus.

And The Question.

Jesus sighed. And for the first time, He looked tired. As if the weight of a million broken hearts were baring down on him. For all I knew, it was. He looked old, and somewhat beaten down. And then the look passed. I made a mental note to ask about that sometime.

"There isn't enough time to tell you all the reasons that happened," he said. "One of the reasons is that if the earth doesn't periodically shift, it will eventually disintegrate. Earthquakes are necessary."

"In civil courts, they call that a design flaw," I said. "And companies often end up millions of dollars over it."

"You aren't being disrespectful," he said. His eyes were intense, but didn't bore through me like they had the previous day when we had dinner with Marty. "There are several hundred people who are in heaven now, who weren't before that happened."

"And there are several hundred thousand children without parents today," I said. "Is their pain really worth the joy of the people who are now in heaven?"

"Yes, it is."

I sighed. Pretty deeply. He was right. I didn't like the answer. I still don't.

"Do you remember when you were a kid and your parents would tell you not to do things, and how it would irritate you?"

"Father knows best?" I asked. "Please."

Jesus was really pissing me off.

"Not exactly. It's just that you don't understand. You can't see where it fits and that it really makes sense overall."

"So you are saying I just need to accept it as part of my faith? How can you say that when you bust my chops about the effect of buying a friggin' Hawaiian shirt?"

Suddenly, we weren't on a sparsely populated stage any more. We were back in Walmart and people were staring. Apparently, I had raised my voice more than I thought.

"I mean, if you want me to do my part to help poor people, how about not sending a wall of water over them and what little they have?" I asked. My volume was lower, but I believe that my tone was harsher.

"You're angry," he said.

"Don't try that passive listening crap on me," I said. "Man, that pisses me off."

I pulled the black Hawaiian shirt with the electric blue palm trees off the rack. I was going to buy it just to spite him.

Jesus smiled, in spite of Himself. His face was softer now, and felt warm and inviting. Which didn't make an awful lot of sense, considering the fact that I was yelling at him.

"It is good that you are angry about this," He said. "I like that you are angry about this. It is much more fitting than when you get angry at hitting five red lights in a row, or when someone does something you think is stupid at work."

I shrugged somewhat sheepishly.

"Bigger minds than yours have grappled with this question since the dawn of time. You can't expect to have full understanding in a few minutes at a Walmart when saintly people have spend a lifetime in prayer and contemplation and the answers have eluded them. All I can say is that eventually, you will know."

The answer shouldn't have satisfied me. It should have pissed me off. I should have been petulant and told him that I deserved an explanation. And I guess part of me felt that way. But a bigger part thought that maybe He was right. And though, as He had pointed out the day before, everything wasn't about me, this was.

I put the Hawaiian shirt back.