Earthquakes, Hope, and the Shaking of a Nation
On a crisp autumn morning in 1755, Lisbon woke to prayer and the ringing of church bells. It was All Saints’ Day—a feast when worshipers filled the city’s magnificent cathedrals. But as the people gathered, the earth convulsed. Within moments, buildings fell, fires broke out, and the sea roared in to finish the destruction. By evening, tens of thousands were dead, and much of the city was unrecognizable.1
The catastrophe didn’t just destroy Lisbon. The catastrophe shattered the foundation of Europe. For centuries, people believed the world reflected the goodness and order of its Creator, that every event—joyous or tragic—fit within God’s providence (Romans 8:28). But now, as families pulled bodies from the rubble of sanctuaries, that belief itself was shaken. Was God absent, or worse, indifferent? How could a day set aside for worship end in so much death and chaos?
Thinkers and theologians wrestled. Some, like Voltaire, unleashed biting satire on the naïve optimism of the day.2 Others retreated into a vision of God as a distant watchmaker—having wound up the universe, he had simply left it to tick on, heedless of suffering (cf. Job 23:8-9). For many, Lisbon became more than a natural disaster. It became a metaphor for a deeper crisis: the crumbling of faith in a world that could no longer easily speak of purpose, meaning, or hope (Ecclesiastes 1:2-3).
The Dividing Line: Nature or God?
From that point on, “nature”—the world explained by science and reason—and “God,” increasingly pushed to the edges of life or into the realm of the purely personal and spiritual, became a dividing line. Public confidence in the old signposts—beauty, justice, goodness—waned. If disasters could occur randomly, what significance did they hold? (Psalm 73:3-14)
This split, first exposed in the aftermath of Lisbon, still haunts our modern world. Too often, we settle for shallow optimism or cynical resignation. Some insist every disaster has a hidden reason (Proverbs 16:9), while others claim there’s no meaning at all—just physics and fate (cf. Isaiah 40:27). Most, if we’re honest, just try not to think about it.
A New Kind of Signpost
But what if the real issue is the story we’ve been telling? The biblical vision never promised a life shielded from tragedy. As Jesus says, “In this world you will have trouble” (John 16:33). Its pages are full of lament, protest, and raw grief.34
Yet the Bible also claims that God is not a spectator. “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18).5
The heart of the Christian story is not escape from the world’s pain, but God’s decisive entry into it—sharing our suffering, enduring our injustice, and finally, through resurrection, announcing a new creation right in the middle of the old one (Isaiah 53:3-5; Philippians 2:8; 2 Corinthians 5:17).6
Resurrection isn’t an escape hatch (1 Corinthians 15:20-22). It’s a declaration that even the worst the world can do is not the end of the story (Romans 8:18; Revelation 21:4-5). Christian hope is not for escape from this world but for its redemption.7 In the shadow of disaster—whether the shaking of earth or the shaking of hearts—the Christian hope is not that God keeps us safe from all harm, but that God can and does bring new life out of death, and new beginnings out of ruin (Romans 8:28; Ezekiel 37:1-14).
When the Shaking Isn’t Physical—But Moral
Sometimes, the most devastating earthquakes are not measured by seismographs. Today, as we look at the Philippines, it’s not buildings that are crumbling, but the foundations of public trust, decency, and shared moral vision (Psalm 11:3).
Corruption weaves its way into institutions (Micah 6:11-12). Violence and disinformation fracture communities (Isaiah 59:14-15). The poor remain on the margins (Proverbs 14:31; Matthew 25:40). The gap between the “haves” and “have-nots” only grows (James 2:1-7). Many feel as though the values that once held society together—the ground beneath their feet—are shifting, even collapsing.
Just as the Lisbon earthquake forced Europe to confront the meaning of suffering and the presence (or absence) of God, our own national moral crises force us to ask: Where is hope to be found when the disaster is not in the soil beneath us, but in the spirit within us? (Psalm 42:11)
There’s a temptation, in the face of such widespread decay, to retreat into cynicism (Ecclesiastes 4:1-3). To believe, as some did after Lisbon, that the world is governed by impersonal forces—that the “old stories” about virtue, truth, and justice are just that: stories (cf. Jeremiah 7:28). Or, we’re tempted to withdraw into private spirituality, nursing a quiet faith that makes no claims on public life (Matthew 5:14-16).
However, the earthquake teaches us that these paths lead nowhere. They’re forms of resignation that deny both the tragedy of loss and the possibility of renewal (Isaiah 43:18-19).
Choosing to Rebuild: Where Do We Start?
The story doesn’t have to end with the ruins. The resurrection hope that followed the darkness of Golgotha, the new creation bursting from a garden tomb, insists that broken signposts—whether of justice, honesty, or compassion—can and must be rebuilt (Isaiah 61:1-4; Amos 5:24). Not by wishful thinking, but by courageous engagement: by calling out evil, standing with the vulnerable, and refusing to let darkness define the narrative (Micah 6:8; Romans 12:21).
A moral disaster is real. Its wounds run deep. But it’s not final (Psalm 30:5; 2 Corinthians 4:8-9). If we dare to believe that history bends towards renewal—that even after the worst shaking, a truer foundation can be laid—then resignation is not an option (Galatians 6:9; Hebrews 10:23). We become the builders of hope, the repairers of broken walls, the voices that refuse to let our story be shaped by fear or cynicism (Isaiah 58:12).
But hope alone is not enough. Change begins with action. So, where do we start?
- Start with Integrity
Change always begins at the smallest scale. Do the right thing when no one is looking (Proverbs 11:3). Reject the shortcuts, the bribes, the easy lies that erode trust (Exodus 23:8; Luke 16:10). The first line of rebuilding is in our own daily choices (Psalm 15:1-2). - Speak Up
Don’t let silence be mistaken for consent (Proverbs 31:8-9). Whether it’s a joke that crosses the line, a neighbor in need, or corruption in high places, use your voice for what’s right (Isaiah 1:17; Ephesians 4:25). Sometimes hope is as simple as refusing to let wrong go unchallenged (James 4:17). - Build Community
Isolation breeds cynicism (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10). Reach out—join neighborhood projects, faith groups, or local initiatives working for the common good (Hebrews 10:24-25; Acts 2:44-47). Real change happens face-to-face, when people gather and decide together that another way is possible (Romans 12:4-5). - Care for the Margins
Pay attention to those whom society ignores: the poor, the elderly, the voiceless (Isaiah 1:17; Proverbs 19:17). The health of any nation is seen in how it treats its most vulnerable (Matthew 25:40; James 1:27). Compassion isn’t charity—it’s an act of rebuilding the moral core of a nation (Zechariah 7:9-10). - Keep the Long View
Earthquakes—physical or moral—are not fixed overnight. True transformation is slow, often hidden, sometimes discouraging (Hebrews 12:1-2; James 5:7-8). But every act of integrity, every choice for justice, is a brick in a new foundation. Don’t underestimate the power of persistence (1 Corinthians 15:58). - Draw on Deeper Resources
When despair creeps in, remember that you are not alone (Deuteronomy 31:6; Psalm 46:1). The story of renewal is bigger than any one person or moment (Philippians 1:6). Draw strength from faith, from community, from the examples of those who rebuilt before us (Hebrews 11:1-2; Romans 15:4).
History shows that no disaster—natural or moral—has the last word (Romans 8:37-39). The Philippines has faced countless storms and tremors before, and each time, ordinary people have refused to let darkness define their future. This time will be no different—if we choose not just to mourn the ruins, but to rebuild with courage and hope (Psalm 27:13-14).
No one can do everything, but everyone can do something (1 Corinthians 12:12-14). The foundations of a new tomorrow are laid by the choices we make today (Joshua 24:15). The story is still being written—let’s make sure it’s one worth passing on (Hebrews 12:28).
- “Lisbon Earthquake of 1755,” Encyclopædia Britannica, last modified October 25, 2023, https://www.britannica.com/event/Lisbon-earthquake-of-1755. ↩︎
- Jack E. Davis, “The Lisbon Earthquake of 1755 and the Philosophical Optimism of the Enlightenment,” Journal of the History of Ideas 34, no. 2 (April–June 1973): 211–226, https://doi.org/10.2307/2708752. ↩︎
- Walter Brueggemann, The Message of the Psalms: A Theological Commentary (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1984), 52.
“The laments are prayers of deep disappointment and suffering, turning to God not as a last resort but as the only hope in despair.” ↩︎ - Claus Westermann, Lamentations: Issues and Interpretation (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1994), 23.
“The lament is one of the most important forms of speech in the Old Testament, offering honest expressions of pain and faith.” ↩︎ - N. T. Wright, God and the Pandemic: A Christian Reflection on the Coronavirus and Its Aftermath (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2020), 31.
“The Old Testament does not give us a philosophical answer to the problem of evil. Instead, it tells us about a God who comes to where the pain is.” ↩︎ - N. T. Wright, Surprised by Hope: Rethinking Heaven, the Resurrection, and the Mission of the Church (New York: HarperOne, 2008), 207.
“The point of the resurrection…is that the present bodily life is not valueless just because it will die…What you do with your body in the present matters because God has a great future in store for it.” ↩︎ - Richard Bauckham, The Theology of the Book of Revelation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 133.
“Christian hope is not for escape from this world but for its redemption.” ↩︎
Leave a Reply