The latest issue of the Atlantic (October 2009) has an article entitled The Doctor’s War.  The subtitle is, “For Wounded Civilians at a U. S. Military Hospital in Afghanistan, the Gatekeeper is God.”  As I thumbed through the magazine, I dog-eared page 23 as a possible topic for a bulletin article.  I knew just how I was going to approach it, because I’ve had to deal with hospital gatekeepers myself at Johns Hopkins (actually, Teresa has for me).  I was going to write about God as gatekeeper – determining right from wrong, good from bad, saved from lost.  But as I read the article, I realized that it is about something more.

            The story is about Afghanistani Civilians coming for treatment to U. S. Military Hospitals – and often being turned away.  It is a credit to our Military, and to our nation that we accept all the civilians we can into these military hospitals.  But they are military hospitals, and, with a limited number of beds available, military personnel take precedence – there is no other way.

            The thing about the article that persists in your memory is how anguished these gatekeepers are when civilians have to be turned away.  The Egyptians have a military hospital where civilians can go if ours is full, but they have neither the resources, nor the skilled medical staff our hospitals do.  The successful field medicine practiced by our Military is one of the (many) underreported stories of the war.  So, if a boy whose jaw was blown off has to be sent to the Egyptian hospital, it is less likely the boy’s face can be repaired, and it is questionable if he will survive at all.  That man who had to turn that boy away called it “One of the worst calls I’ve ever had in my life.”  The boy eventually did get treatment at the American hospital at Bagram, but as the war enters its ninth year, and intensifies, the job of the gatekeeper will become increasingly difficult and anguishing.

            This piece in the Atlantic is not really about who God is, but about who we are not.  We are not God.

            I cannot imagine being a gatekeeper at an American Military hospital, making the decisions they have to make.  I know they have guidelines and protocols.  I know they are well trained, well intentioned, and wise.  I know these decisions have to be made.  But to decide who lives and who may not live – especially when children are involved – is a responsibility that must bring with it lasting trauma.  It is the kind of “Sophie’s Choice” decision that has to be made by transplant committees.  When anyone is forced to “play God” they play the role poorly at best, because “poorly” is the best anyone can be expected to perform when asked to play God.  We are not God.

            It is a theme resonating on every page of the Bible – the otherness of God – those transcendent “Omni-s” He is, and the persistent flaws we have which make His grace necessary.  We know the verses:

            I know, O Yahweh, that a man’s way is not in himself;

                        Nor is it in man who walks to direct his own steps. (Jeremiah 10:23)

            “For my thoughts are not your thoughts,

                         Neither are my ways your ways,” declares Yahweh.

            “For as the heavens are higher than the earth,

            So are My thoughts higher than your thoughts,

                        And My ways higher than your ways.” (Isaiah 55:8-9)

            One could follow those verses with a reading of Job 38-42, and the books of Habakkuk, Proverbs, and Ecclesiastes.  We are not God, and although some, like the gatekeepers at military hospitals, are forced to make God-tough decisions (and we should be thankful for their service, and pray for them), we should otherwise refuse to fill roles that are proprietarily His.

            God decides right from wrong, good from bad, saved from lost.  We chose between them, but have neither the right nor the power to redefine them.