As I read news and watched video footage of the destruction hurricane Helene inflicted on western North Carolina, I frequently heard myself saying, “there, but for the grace of God, go I.” A natural human response, a way of expressing relief, and a reminder of how close that disaster came to me, for had the hurricane turned just a bit less, my area would have been squarely in its path.
Yet “there, but for the grace of God, go I” is ultimately not an especially helpful response. Noting that I narrowly escaped destruction, then moving on with my life, suggests that I have not fully understood the meaning of the event, not listened to what a close call might be trying to say to me. Does “there, but for the grace of God, go I” imply that I am in good standing with the deity while people in western North Carolina are not, a kind of interpretation in some traditions that seems to me harsh and wrong-headed? Does my close call mean I am just lucky this time, and I should be glad about that? Should I feel a bit of survivor’s guilt that I escaped, and would that guilt serve any useful purpose?
The problem with the typical “there, but for the grace of God, go I” response lies in the way it preserves a safe distance between me and the unfortunate people I am considering. It allows me to stand right here and just look and feel relieved. And do nothing, save perhaps spend a few minutes making an online donation, after which I might carry a bit less guilt but am otherwise unchanged. Then I have missed the whole point of experiencing a close call, have not listened to the communication it offers.
According to the teaching of many spiritual traditions and some aspects of scientific thinking, I live within an interconnected web of existence, so that every event touches everything and everyone else in every moment. If I lean into this teaching, it becomes impossible for me to simply say, “there, but for the grace of God, go I”—because that statement is no longer true. The distance the statement implies, the assumption that I am not impacted by a hurricane when others are, cannot hold. Instead of “there, but for the grace of God, go I” the interconnected web tells me, “there go I,” that in a mysterious but real way I am standing with those who endured winds and flooding and are now digging what is left of their lives out of the mud and trying to figure out a way forward. “There go I” invites deeper reflection, some sort of ongoing prayer, even sacrificial action on my part—because my very self is now involved, no longer at a safe distance and able to forget what has happened.
Politicians and clergy and motivational speakers often like to say, “we are all in this together” or something similar that suggests one human community. Not just pretty words, that statement is actually true given our binding to one another in the interconnected web. I wonder what different actions might unfold if we deeply understood the truth of that observation, if we listened to the message of a close call that reminds us, “there go I.”
BLESSING FOR A CLOSE CALL
At first this blessing seems bent on scaring me,
Whispering words like “barely missed you”
Or “that was a really close call”
Or “dodged a bullet this time”
Or any other phrase that would remind me
Of my narrow escape.
But the blessing is not out to scare.
It intends rather to impress upon me
The closeness that is always present
And how whatever happens there
Is also happening here.
What hurts you
Hurts me,
So this blessing insists,
Because we are ever and always connected
And that connection brings both mutual pain
And mutual relief,
The pain of knowing one another’s suffering more deeply,
The relief of knowing we do not suffer alone.