We are vulnerable, frail creatures. A tree or two can upend our entire lives. But that doesn’t change the fact that the trees are still beautiful and good. We cannot afford to sequester ourselves off from pain, from danger, from the fear of loss and the anxiety of discomfort. We have to keep planting, keep building, keep growing, even though we know that we still live in a world where trees will fall.

I’m just now back into my study at the church building. My wife and kids are with her parents where power has been restored and I’m now able to put some thought toward what the role of our church in our community looks like in the days ahead. But first, I feel like it would be inappropriate not to process the thoughts that have swirled in my head since last Friday morning when the power went out.

I live in Greenwood, South Carolina. Our town was hit hard by Helene: 100% power outage, 100-year old trees down everywhere, homes destroyed. My neighborhood is on day eight with no power. My family and I were lucky: trees missed our house by a few feet, and no permanent damage was done to our home or to any of us. We’re blessed with a gas stove and easygoing children. Others weren’t as lucky on any front.

The Greek word apokalupsis, from which we get “apocalypse,” carries the idea of “unveiling” or “revealing.” The Southeast has had, in its own way, a miniature apocalypse. Hardship always brings truth to the surface. As a church, we’ve explored 1 Peter 1:6-7 and its implications over the past several months. The apostle begins declaring the beauty of the salvation in Jesus, and then states:

“In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, ⁷so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.”

What has this storm revealed about the Christian faith? What should we remember long after we get the lines back up, the refrigerators restocked, and our AC running?

A disclaimer: none of the following is intended to paint a rosy picture of what life on the ground is like, especially for those who have lost their homes or for the entire communities in Western North Carolina that are just gone. These are my thoughts from an immensely blessed position, trying to carve out some space for hope and joy in the midst of what is for many a very dark time. Read accordingly.

Here are a few thoughts.

Our neighbors are always there.

Our community has jumped into action to serve one another over the past week. Christians have been leading the charge in clearing trees, prepping meals, and collecting materials for those who have lost everything. My neighbors and I have stood in our street and checked on each other daily. Information about needs and updates has spread rapidly.

It seems like our idea of who counts as “neighbor” quickly widens when the trees come down. Everyone checks on everyone else,

I can’t help but think: won’t it be terrible if we go back to pleasantries and polite distance after this? Our neighbors will still be there once we’re all back in our air-conditioned homes. And needs will still exist. They might not be as immediately obvious as “a tree is blocking my driveway,” but is it not worth thinking about how we can continue to serve, love, support, share, grieve with, and edify one another?

What are the weaknesses in our community that this storm has exposed? What can we do on the other side of this not only to get things back to how they were, but to make them better for all of us in the long run? The same neighbors will be there in the years to come. Will they still know that we love them? Will we work to show them that our love goes beyond just their immediate need to their ongoing wellbeing, and ultimately their eternal joy?

The crucial things are the simple things.

I’ve eaten a lot of rice and beans this week: kidney beans, black beans, you name it. I’ve gotten pretty good, if I say so myself, at seasoning and dressing them up a bit so they have some flavor. And to be honest, they’ve been quite tasty! Simple things can go a long way. I just talked about serving our neighbors. The thing that’s been interesting to me is how simple the work of service is. Provide a meal, move some branches, hear a sad story.

How much of our churches’ ministries have abandoned the simple and crucial things for the big and spectacular but ultimately shallow? How much of the Christian life have we made arcane and complex when the basic commands—pray, serve, obey—are actually remarkably straightforward? What if the unnerving lesson that we need to learn from Helene is that being a Christian, at its basic level, by the grace of Christ, is actually quite simple?

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