How Templars Cope in the Holy Land
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The Multimorbidity of Cause and Effect
In mid-December of 1972, on the midwestern plains at Oklahoma State University, the northwestern skies were deep blue and ugly. I had just completed my last final exam of the semester and was frantically packing my 1963 Ford Galaxie 500. It was a beast – an eight-cylinder gas-guzzling big-boy who could move down the highway with a purpose. And on that day, I definitely needed purpose. The first flakes of snow were falling just ahead of a certified blizzard that loomed behind the dark clouds hanging over the northwest campus sky and was definitely headed in my direction. The last thing I wanted was to be snowed in with no place to go on a nearly empty campus over Christmas break. I had no way of knowing that, at the age of 20 years old, I was about to learn all about the ins and outs of multimorbidity in a blizzard.
I headed out of town due east in a big hurry, my wipers slinging layers of icy sludge off the windshield. I had a two-hour drive ahead of me, but, with any luck, I could completely outrun the snow in an hour of committed, non-stop driving. As I cleared Stillwater, things seemed to be lightening up, and I sighed contentedly in relief, turning up my radio for an expected contented drive home. Of course, at 20 years of age, no one had yet informed me that the gods of fate listen very carefully for any sign of contentment so that they can throw everything they have at the hapless satisfied human.
And, of course, they did…
Once well past the city limits of the only significant urban presence between Tulsa and Oklahoma City, on the prairieland that was steadily transforming from dull winter brown to pure white Christmas cheer, the old Ford decided to quit. Just quit. One moment, it was delivering all 200 horsepower from its 288-cubic-inch V-8, cranking out a steady 282 foot-pounds of torque; and then… nothing. One second, I was cruising with the steady purr generated by the results of the great sucking sound out of my gas tank; the next, I was sucking up the old Ford’s increasingly limited inertia in total stunned silence.
Fortunately, I spotted a dirt road, made a right turn, and coasted to a safe spot, parking off the highway. I turned off the wipers to save precious battery power just in case I could restart the beast. I just sat there, stunned that my well-planned escape had apparently failed – and failed spectacularly in the rapidly approaching maw of a blizzard, no less. But once my windshield turned totally white, I decided that the only available option was to get out of the car and try to somehow convince myself that I knew what I was doing – which I certainly did not! Car repairs were not my forte. I was a geek long before the word geek was invented. I was certainly not an auto mechanic, not by any means.
In the snow, facing the black beast, I did the only logical thing I could do and opened the hood. I prayed that there would be some obvious thingy hanging loose next to its thingy socket. No luck with that. Several weeks before, I had watched my friend in the dorm parking lot blow into his gas hose because he said that sometimes the fuel lines get clogged. Since that represented the totality of my auto repair training, I concluded, “Why not?”
So, in the heavily falling snow, I pulled the gas line loose from the carburetor, just as I had watched him do. The plan was to blow into the hose, just like he did. But the hose was not cooperatively long enough. It was hanging down next to the carburetor, fairly close to the hot engine. “Whatever,” I said in total frustration, feeling the snow melting on my neck. So, I climbed up on the front fender and leaned all the way over inside the stinking and still very hot engine to position my virgin lips around the dirty rubber gas line. As I got closer and closer, I could feel the heat from the engine rising near my face. I stretched in as far as I could. Then, right at the moment of intimacy with this gas line, I had my first memorable, lifelong lesson in multimorbidity – which lasted about two unforgettable, and seemingly endless, seconds.
Just after my pristine lips made contact with the nasty black rubber fuel line, I accidentally touched my forehead to the engine’s hot manifold. Instantly and reflexively, I jerked my body upward away from the hot engine – and soundly banged my head on the raised hood. This, of course, dislodged its prop and the hood fell heavily on my upper body, with the latch jamming a nice contusion in my back, once again pressing me in toward the hot, stinking – and still very dead – engine.
Making the broad assumption that I am in polite company, I unfortunately cannot share my very creative expressions of surprise at what I had learned in those two seconds. And, of course, I had no way of even imagining that it would provide the perfect illustration of a little thing called “multimorbidity” in a missive to my fellow Templars many decades later.
Why do we need to understand the lessons of multimorbidity as Templars? Because we live in a very messy, tangled world of events where one action could easily cause a series of untended consequences, and literally bring the world down on our heads and backs, as the case may be. The events ongoing in Gaza involving our brothers and sisters in Christ are just such an example.
How can we best help them without triggering catastrophic unintended consequences for everyone? After extensive prayer and consultation with fellow Templars, I have come to find peace in this approach:
Understandably, prayer is the most effective thing we can do. But we can also stay in close communication with our Templars on the ground in the Holy Land and trust their judgement. They know each family and they recognize how to negotiate the mine fields of cause and effect there in ways we can never appreciate. The tangle of strategic lies in the war-torn area is quite beyond belief. And yet, we can at least trust their judgment because we know them personally to be people of God.
One way to stay in touch is to connect with a Templar contact there, Rev. Don Binder of the Episcopal Diocese of Jerusalem, who has maintained an almost-daily, very detailed commentary on Christians at risk in Gaza. His Facebook page can be found here. You may have to “friend” him to see them. I STRONGLY encourage you to read these if you want to know what is really happening there day by day. (Don was GPUSA’s honored guest at the Orlando GC&I in 2023.)
https://www.facebook.com/donbinder
We have a duty to extend help to the family of God living in these circumstances in any way we can. And one way to carry that duty out is by following the example of our GPUSA leadership and being ready to serve in any way they may direct.
And, oh by the way, fellow child of the Most High God – never underestimate the power of your prayers to the Only One Who can bring relief to His redeemed people. He has promised to protect a remnant of those who have been purchased by the blood of the Lamb until His triumphant return to that very small piece of critical geography –some day soon.
Remember, “God is not restrained to save by many or by few.” (1 Sam 14:6)
Indeed, He is not restrained at all – even in this overwhelming tragedy.
Maranatha.