David R. Currie
A Rancher's Rumblings
May 1, 2007

Last night, I struggled with a Rumblings column about the joy of shearing sheep. I may get back to it someday, because I think there is a point there somewhere.

But tonight I must change direction. I received word today that a friend of mine (I don’t talk to him often but still consider him a friend, and I’m sure he feels the same way) lost his daughter, a Baylor student, to a tragic automobile accident. I will not mention names, because I have not asked permission to do so, nor do I want to get too personal. Many of you, though, will have heard about this horrible accident.

In this column, I don’t intend to explain my theological understanding of such a tragedy because, to be honest, I have no theological understanding of such a tragedy. It is just horrible and I hate it and I’m mad about it and I do not understand it and do not want to understand it because I cannot let my mind go to where my friends must be because to do so means I have to try to feel what it would be like to lose Lance or Chad and I simply cannot go there.

I do think God is there. I somehow think life is there, in the midst of death, but I will not try to explain what I think, because I honestly do not know.

I love Frederick Buechner. He often speaks to the “silence that is truth.” Somehow, I think my friends would need silence right now—not the absence of words, because many need to be telling them of their love and I will try to do so tomorrow. Beyond love and caring, though, I think that peace will be found only in the silence with God.


For whatever reason, these quotes from Buechner come to mind tonight:

“Truth itself cannot be stated. Truth simply is, and is what is, the good with the bad, joy with the despair, the presence and absence of God, the swollen eye, the bird pecking the cobbles of crumbs.”

“Before the Gospel is good news, it is simply the news that that’s the way it is, whatever day it is or whatever year.”

“Beneath our clothes, our reputations, our pretensions, beneath our religion or lack of it, we are all vulnerable both to the storm without and to the storm within, and if ever we are to find true shelter, it is with the recognition of our tragic nakedness and need for true shelter that we have to start.”

I guess this column is truly “ramblings” even more than “rumblings,” because it is the best I can do, given the situation.

Please say a silent prayer for my friends.