Erasmus | Religions and hurricanes

As storms rage and waters rise, religions speak with many voices

Though many religious leaders and groups have sought to alleviate suffering, some zealots have suggested that the storms are a form of divine retribution

By ERASMUS

RELIGIONS and their sacred texts have a lot to say about floods and catastrophes, as does the traditional lore of many ancient peoples. In Islam, Judaism and Christianity there is the story of Noah, a righteous man whose boat preserves his life, and life on earth generally, at a time when the rest of humanity is punished by rising waters. (The Hebrew Scriptures speak of a global flood, the Koran of a more local one, but the stories are very much alike.)

In the 19th century, scholars rediscovered the story of Gilgamesh, probably the oldest piece of epic literature we now possess: it tells how the god Ea warns a good man to build a huge vessel to save himself, and the seeds of life, from an impending surge. And in the Hindu tradition, there is the story of Manu, who is warned of a coming inundation by the god Vishnu, appearing in the form of a fish.

What have today’s religious groups and their leaders had to say in response to the tropical storms and hurricanes now sweeping the Caribbean and North America? At least three different sorts of voices have been heard.

First, religiously-inspired charities have been working hard to anticipate and ease the woes of the neediest victims. Catholic Relief Services, the humanitarian arm of the American Catholic church, has been driving home the message that even in normal times, people in the poorest bits of the Caribbean live in flimsy uninsured structures and have precarious livelihoods. Hence the effects of a physical disaster can easily be compounded by longer-lasting problems of destitution and epidemics. Intelligent action like handing out tarpaulin (waterproof coverings) can help to limit the damage. Still, generous as churchgoers in the United States often are, there will be other calls on their money as storms hit their own country.

A second, narrower concern is that of faith groups which want to strike down the constitutionally-based bar on religious bodies receiving federal funds. President Donald Trump has weighed into the dispute, saying churches ought to be able to receive money from the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA). Many religious bodies are looking for funds both to repair their own structures, and as compensation for the succour and shelter they have given to disaster victims. Three churches in Texas have filed a suit in a Houston court, seeking federal assistance. As of now, FEMA’s aid programme bans providing relief in cases where at least half a building’s expanse is used for religious purposes.

Jewish leaders have weighed on both sides of this argument. The Orthodox Union, representing Orthodox Judaism, is a long-standing advocate of lifting the FEMA ban, but some liberal rabbis have said the current rule is a necessary consequence of America’s church-state separation.

Thirdly, some zealots (albeit fewer than usual) have claimed that the hurricanes are divine punishment for behaviour of which God disapproves. Some have suggested that Houston’s recent woes have been a sort of punishment for having once elected Annise Parker, an openly lesbian woman, to run the city. One popular religious conservative, Ann Coulter, opined that such a theory was less implausible than anthropogenic global warming. She tweeted: “I don’t believe Hurricane Harvey is God’s punishment for Houston electing a lesbian mayor…but that is more credible than ‘climate change.’”

But so broad and devastating has been the impact of the recent waves of hurricanes (affecting rich and poor, communist Cuba and capitalist Florida, shanty towns and luxury villas) that it is hard to construct a general theory of divine retribution behind the trail of disasters. Some believers may instead be pondering the well-known line in the New Testament, apparently intended to warn people against second-guessing God’s judgement: “The Lord sends rain on the just and the unjust.” And others, including hard-pressed relief workers, might be recalling an elaboration on that line by a Victorian-era wit, Charles Bowen:

“The rain it raineth on the just

And also on the unjust fella;

but chiefly on the just, because

the unjust hath the just’s umbrella.”

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