Ivan and I were extremely blessed to close 2024 in Paris as a delayed honeymoon/ninth anniversary. Since we got married while Ivan was in grad school and I was working full-time, our wedding fell on December 30^th, 2015, and we returned to work and school on January 2^nd. At the time, we were extremely grateful to be married, and didn’t mind postponing our honeymoon for a few months until our finances and free time were more conducive. Then my accident happened, and our married life took a wildly different turn from anything we could’ve imagined. But a few months ago, we realized we’d accumulated enough travel points from the international trips Ivan’s led for work to cover a short anniversary trip to Paris and make up for the honeymoon we never took. 

While we were in Paris, I imagined coming home and writing about the cultural and historical tours we took, or the food we sampled, or possibly reprise an old post about attempting to speak French. Daily metro trips also offered a wellspring of amusement and frustration. But when we got back to the States, we were confronted almost immediately with news of fires cropping up across Southern California. Living in a fire-prone region ourselves, I assumed that they’d be contained quickly and life would go on. This has not been the case. What at first looked like “just more fires” have now become the most destructive wildfires in Southern California’s history. 

There is a connection that strikes me as I consider the apparent contradiction between the centuries of art and architecture that we admired in France and the devastation that continues to occur relatively close to home. That connection is the human quest for control. Whether we were roaming the historic Marais district in Paris, admiring 18^th century palaces and gardens tucked nonchalantly among 21^st century boutiques, or visiting the baroque Vaux-le-Vicomte chateau that was so opulent that Louis XIV banished its owner and built Versailles as the ultimate putdown, our guides highlighted their ancestors’ quest to project power and control through highly-stylized gardens, extravagant architecture, and artistic perfection. 

We might smile patronizingly at the notion that an expertly-pruned hedge proved man’s mastery over nature, but is that so very different from our twenty-first century obsession with science and technology? We have made many stunning scientific advancements, but countless diseases remain uncured, and natural disasters like Hurricane Helene and the SoCal fires remind us of our human finitude. Even if we have the technology to predict an oncoming storm, we are relatively powerless in the face of its fury. And although we live in a fire-prone state and are aware of the protocols that should be in place to keep us safe, an extended period of worst-case scenarios is highlighting both human error and the limits which are inherent in even the best manmade plans.

So what do we make of our limits, as Christ-followers? Do we give up on art, architecture, and science as meaningless in the face of tragedy? How do we answer the question of why God allows us to make so much progress in certain areas, while remaining relatively powerless in others? More practically, how to we respond wisely in the midst of a crisis that is ongoing? 

For me, answering the first question involves examining why I’m engaging in a particular activity. For the French culture we were observing, they used both art and science to “prove” they could control nature. Many people in our post-Christian culture also pursue their goals for self-centered reasons. However, if I’m reading, or writing, or playing music because I believe that will please God, or help me know him more, or serve those around me, then that’s a fruitful way to spend my time.

As to why God allows us to make progress in certain areas of science and technology while being limited in others – I believe he does this to remind us of our humanity. This is true whether or not we openly acknowledge him as creator. The fact that some riddles of our universe remain unsolvable, and that man, no matter how much he prepares, will always face annihilation by an avalanche, earthquake, or fire, confronts even the most resistant of us with the uncomfortable truth that we are not our own masters. On the positive side, God, in his infinite wisdom, also gave us dominion over the earth and made us his stewards. Although he periodically uses nature to keep us from exalting ourselves too high – that does not mean he wants us to give up on our mission, especially as believers.

Finally, how do we respond wisely in the face of yet more bad news like the fires in Southern California? It’s tempting to keep scrolling if the tragedy is not in our part of the country or world. But that is not how God calls us to respond as Christ-followers. The very least – and also the very most –  we can do is pray for God’s intervention. I’m confident that I’m preaching to the choir here, based on all the prayers that Ivan and I have been blessed to receive over the years. The next practical step is to see if your church is doing anything to help. I recommend starting with the church, because ideally the people in the affected area would hear the gospel as well as receive practical aid. Also, your church may be aware of churches in the affected area who need help or encouragement, and could provide targeted information about how to serve those brothers and sisters. Finally, if you’ve checked out your church or churches in your area, there are also many secular humanitarian organizations that provide avenues for donating and volunteering. Not everyone can help with every crisis, but the important part is that we stay fervent in prayer, ask the Lord for soft hearts, and are willing to serve however he leads.

Ivan and I realize that some of our Blogging Family are located in Southern California, and we grieve for you and with you. We pray for God’s protection over you spiritually, emotionally, and physically during this time, including protection of property and restoration of what’s been lost. He is able to grant the peace that transcends understanding, and to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think.