When Bad Things Happen to Good People

Anthropology, Jesus, and Connecticut: Preface

Our Martin Luther King day started at 6 am in the morning. An ungodly hour, I know, but we needed to get on the road for a week long seminar we were attending in New Haven, Connecticut. Three novices got into one of the cars while our formation director, myself, and the final novice Gashwin piled into the infamous van we drove across the northeast not six months ago. After making it through Baltimore and trying to find a Dunkin' Donuts on the road (I need my coffee, especially THAT early in the morning), we decided to stop off at a Waffle House to stop and get something to eat. Our formation was asleep in the back seat; we were debating whether to wake him or just crack the window open while we ate, but he woke up when we entered the parking lot.

I brought along a book for the trip that I had originally bought for a friend but hadn't gotten around to giving her yet. She had e-mailed me recently with a bunch of questions about the reason for evil in this world, and since I was months away from any sort of Theology classes, I had nothing to offer her. But before dropping it in the mail, I thought it might be a good book for myself as I continue to comes to grips with my vocation: "When Bad Things Happen to Good People."

Since joining the Paulists I have been finding that I have had fairly high highs and a very low lows... frequently both in the same day. My own personal pity parties seem to be a more frequent occurrence in my life since joining the Paulists. Usually these parties center around not getting to have children, being in a condition of life that is more separate from "normal" life, feeling like I was making a huge sacrifice for God's people (people I'm not always crazy about and a God I don't always believe in I might add), not getting to have sex... blah, blah, blah (to borrow a common phrase of my Novice Director). For the record, I have never viewed pity parties as a bad thing, per se; I believe that sometimes you need to feel sorry for yourself and that it can be a healthy thing, as long as you realize that when the keg is tapped, it's time for the party to end.

Yet even I have been a little surprised at how much beer seems to be in this particular party keg. I've bee trying to deal with it by taking a sip from it every day, and then getting on with the rest of my day. Still, the time I drink down my daily serving of "Milwaukee's Best" is also when I find myself asking God a flurry of questions.... actually, if I'm being truthful, my questions lately have been more about God rather than towards God. And so I had turned to a Jewish rabbi who had lost a son to help me answer some of the Catholic questions running around my mind.

After Waffle House, our formation director continued to sleep in the back seat, Gashwin talked with family in India over his cell phone's head set, and I continued to read about why bad things were happening to me. Somewhere in the middle of Rabbi's Kushner's reflection on the Book of Job, halfway through the cross-Bronx Expressway, we got a flat tire. We immediately pulled over to the side of the road and, after frantic reading manuals on the side of I-95, we finally figured out how to change the tire. If anyone ever asks the question "How many religious does it take to change the tire on a van?", the answer is 30 minutes.

Being at least two hours away from our destination, we realized that we should buy a new tire as soon as possible. Gashwin and the formation director wanted to stop off at the next exit to look for a tire store in the Bronx. My knee jerk reaction was wanted to wait until we got into Connecticut to find a new tire. I know, I know... on Martin Luther King day... classy.

We ended up pulling off a few more miles ahead in New Rochelle. We got directions to a place a few miles up the road. Just as we pulled into the tire shop in New Rochelle, Gashwin got a call from his brother in India... his father who had been sick had taken a turn for the worse. His father had been operated for lung cancer a few months ago and they thought they got it all, but after a recent check up they discovered that it had spread... extensively. Gashwin was just finding out the news now.

Changing the tire at the shop was going to take about thirty minutes, so we decided to grab a bite to eat in the meantime. Gashwin had a friend who lived nearby in Queens, so we decided to drop him off there so he could figure out a way to get back to India to be with his family. The only main restaurant nearby was a KFC down the block, so we walked over there. After ordering lunch at the counter, I headed towards the bathroom. Next to the doorway of the men's room was the picture displayed below.

It was comforting to know that with all of the crazy things happening in the world today, no matter what sacrifices in our lives we might be asked to make, no matter what struggles are presented before us... we could count on the support of Kentucky Fried Chicken.