(King James Version)
For that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts; even one thing befalleth them: as the one dieth, so dieth the other; yea, they have all one breath; so that a man hath no preeminence above a beast: for all is vanity.

All go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again.

Who knoweth the spirit of man that goeth upward, and the spirit of the beast that goeth downward to the earth?

Wherefore I perceive that there is nothing better, than that a man should rejoice in his own works; for that is his portion: for who shall bring him to see what shall be after him?

Do you think St. Jude actually intervened in some material way to make Danny Thomas more of a success than he would have been without supernatural help?

Do you think there is any problem in praying, “Dear God, if I win $150 million in Powerball, I will donate $25 million to help widows and orphans?”

If you’re lucky, your death will be relatively easy and someone will mourn your passing. Of course, they’ll be gone, too eventually and not a trace or memory will be left of you. Will there be a “reunion” elsewhere ? It’s an undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns. “We’ll find out” is all I can say about it. Since this place is random and indifferent, another, if it exists at all, may well be just like that. But, since we didn’t exist at one point, it’d make sense that we won’t again at another. Scio me nihil scire.

I haven’t even stopped marveling about existing at all, not to mention on a spinning, racing ball in an endless universe, moving fingers on a Mac, communicating with other beings on said ball – and none of us fall off. As I type, three beings commonly referred to as cats (Augie, Benny and Spaz) are wrapped around me. This communion with another species is astounding. Of course they’d eat my eyeballs, but for the time being they’re snuggly. Maybe I’ll get to the ‘final things’ once I’ve stopped being amazed at the simple things.

My thanks to you for the thoughtful and challenging comment. I can well imagine the scenario you describe. Were I to encounter such a person, I would not argue against his or her interpretation. There’s a time and a place to debate the significance of signs. Moreover, as the crucifix itself does mean something, does point to a sorrowful and glorious reality to which we profess belief, it can serve as a reminder of many truths and it can mean much subjectively but nonetheless truly to those who come upon it, and I would not dare to downplay the significance of true interpretations, especially by those offered by people in grief. Having myself tragically lost a newborn daughter, I imagine I might venture words of sympathy rather than reverent silence, though my choice here would depend upon what seemed right at the time. On the other hand, I would not likely affirm what I take to be presumptuous or false claims about how God is involved in creation, no matter how comforting such proclamations might be. If I were to offer words on the sign, I would stress my belief in a God humbly bent low in love for his creation, a God who suffers with us, not a God who watches us from a distance or who keeps suffering and joy at the right balance. Of course, my goal would be comforting those suffering, not defending a theological hermeneutics.

But I wonder – what if we paint the scene thus:
a mother or father who had just lost his children in the quake, suffering physical pain that doesn’t come close to the emotional pain and heartbreak of losing his children, comes across this very crucifix. And suppose that he or she in her suffering reads this sign with the very interpretation you (rightfully) refuted. That is to say, he or she somehow finds immense comfort in seeing the most vivid (to this person) reminder of a God who comes so near as to assume even human suffering into Himself. And because of this, this person senses his or her suffering is not simply removed, but brought before the cross where he or she unites it to Christ and so can utter a “cold and broken Hallelujah” (as Leonard Cohen splendidly wrote).

Now, based upon the thoughtful manner in which you present your position, I am going to assume that if somehow you were to encounter this person, this suffering Haitian mother or father, your only response would be reverent silence (it would, I suppose, feel like being in the presence of holy person). Even if this Haitian were to ask you what you thought of his or her interpretation, you might be so moved to suddenly suspend your theological acumen and instead be-holden to this interpretation, coming as it would be from a much deeper place than either you or I could know vis-a-vis this tragedy.

I suppose this uncovers one important component of symbolism: symbolic meaning is in excess of any one interpretation, and even though there are good and bad interpretations (as I said, yours is good), the context – that is to say, the conditions in which those interpretations live – are just as, if not more, important than the theoretical analysis we may give them, no?

Anyway, just a thought that occurred to me while reading your fine post.

Signs of God’s presence are all around us; always given. All we need do is open our eyes and see them for what they are.

While it is claimed that God did not cause an earthquake, or even allow it to happen, few would hesitate to pray for the victims, or pray that the rescue workers find their loved ones. Are we to imagine that God lets a house fall on a family and then leads rescue workers to dig them from the rubble and save them?

The great problem, it seems to me, is that we all are led to believe that by praying, we can convince God to do something other than he would have done.

The interview with the Tebows on the Focus on the Family website begins with Tim Tebow’s father saying he told God that if God gave him Tim (as yet unconceived), he would raise him to be a preacher.

Here is how we got St. Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital;

More than 70 years ago, Danny Thomas, then a struggling young entertainer with a baby on the way, visited a Detroit church and was so moved during the Mass, he placed his last $7 in the collection box. When he realized what he’d done, Danny Thomas prayed for a way to pay the looming hospital bills. The next day, he was offered a small part that would pay 10 times the amount he’d given to the church. Danny Thomas had experienced the power of prayer.

Two years later, Danny Thomas had achieved moderate acting success in Detroit, but he was struggling to take his career to the next level. Once again, he turned to the church. Praying to St. Jude Thaddeus, the patron saint of hopeless causes, Danny Thomas asked the saint to “help me find my way in life, and I will build you a shrine.”

His career took a turn for the better, and soon he moved his family to Chicago to pursue career offers. A few years later, at another turning point in his life, Danny Thomas visited a church and remembered his pledge to St. Jude. Again he prayed to St. Jude and repeated his pledge to build a shrine to the saint if he would show him the way.

In the years that followed, Danny Thomas’ career flourished through films and television, and he became an internationally known entertainer. He remembered his pledge to build a shrine to St. Jude.

Now, did St. Jude help Danny Thomas so he could get a shrine of his own in Tennessee? And how did St. Jude help Danny Thomas? Did he cause him to do his readings better when he auditioned for the part? Did he sabotage the other actors? Or did he influence the person doing the casting to select Danny Thomas?

Few question the intervention of God or the saints and take the whole matter to its logical conclusion. But it seems to me the logical conclusion is that you can bargain with God, persuade him to “change his mind,” and when he makes the tornado veer across the street to avoid your house, he destroys somebody else’s house in order to save yours.

Good. Just wanted to have that caveat otherwise you know what will come next ;)