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It must be noted right now, before you go any further, that you should stop reading this essay if you or anyone close to you is suffering first hand from the fires that are raging throughout the west coast of America. To continue to read this might prove to see me as a kind of callous, outside observer of what can only be labeled a disaster. Disasters they are, which is why it troubles me to write while simultaneously recognizing what those closest to the pain need right now is not words or theologies, but comfort, help, companionship, and mercy. Considering this essay does not provide such essential things, it is, however, meant for those of us who exist at a kind of distance from the suffering, participating in the 21st century’s version of “spending time”: endlessly scrolling, watching pain from a long way off and, unfortunately, trying to understand it.
You are not imagining this. The fires happening across the west coast are far worse than anything in recent history. The devastation is catastrophic, including 26 dead in Oregon alone at the time of this writing and around 500,000 evacuated. Thousands will lose their homes, livestock, and sense of living. My hometown of Portland had the worst air quality in the world yesterday. It is difficult to comprehend. Nevertheless, we cannot help but try to make sense of it. We find ourselves saying to each other, “This is crazy,” while trailing off into some other…
