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Last weekend, the world’s most infamous volcano was suddenly back in the headlines.
Krakatoa.
The very name conjures up catastrophe – specifically, the cataclysmic 1883 explosion and tsunami that ended the lives of more than 36,000 people.
For the better part of the last 140 years, the volcano has been comparatively quiet. Locals renamed it Anak Krakatau (“child of Krakatoa”). But make no mistake: old name or new name, it’s still the same volcano.
Anak Krakatau sits in the Sunda Strait, a narrow channel between the Indonesian islands of Java and Sumatra – one of the most geologically active places on earth. A massive tectonic plate is slowly sliding beneath another massive plate. It’s a process called subduction, and it typically produces instability in the earth’s crust. Earthquakes are one consequence, not to mention surges of red-hot magma that grow into volcanoes. Indonesia is currently home to at least 130 active volcanic peaks.
A century and a half ago, most people had never heard of Krakatoa.
All that changed in the spring of 1883, when the mountain suddenly sprang to life. Intense eruptions spewed lava throughout the summer, gradually emptying an enormous chamber underneath the volcano. No one at the time realized that disaster was imminent.
At mid-morning on August 27, the ceiling of the nearly empty chamber collapsed. Seawater rushed in. Its contact with the remaining magma generated a searing blast of steam. That triggered an explosion that scientists believe generated the loudest noise ever recorded in human history, a concussion that punctured the eardrums of people within 30 miles of the volcano.
Blast waves continued to circle the earth for days. Ash was hurled over 30 miles into the atmosphere, and global sunsets were tinged with reds and oranges for more than a year. In Norway, one of those fiery-looking sunsets apparently inspired the artist Edvard Munch to paint his hauntingly famous The Scream.
But the real horrors were back in the Sunda Strait a few hours after the main event.
The water that had rushed into the fractured volcanic chamber and that wasn’t converted into steam came sloshing back out. The result was a series of tsunamis, the biggest of which towered 130 feet. Those on Java and Sumatra faced a wall of water the height of a 12-story building heading their way at 75 mph.
Not many people had a chance.
Incredibly, fluctuations in oceanic water levels over the next 24 hours were observed as far away as England.
After the eruption, little remained of what had once been a towering mountain. Anak Krakatau grew slowly over the better part of the 20th century, offering few hints of trouble. Then, seven years ago, a new cycle of activity triggered a landslide. The resulting six-foot tsunami claimed 430 lives.
Little wonder that local residents went on high alert last Friday when the mountain awoke yet again. Fountains of lava, as seen in the image above, have continued for a week. Is the volcano trying to live up to its dark reputation?
All of this raises an obvious question: Why are there still people living within a few miles of Krakatoa?
The answer is simple. There are plenty of risks living near an active volcano. But over the long run the rewards are even greater.
The soil left behind by volcanic activity is unusually rich. It grows potatoes in Idaho, pineapples in Hawaii, and outstanding grapes in the shadow of Italy’s Mt. Vesuvius.
If you live near one of the earth’s fault lines – where dramatic change is the rule instead of the exception – you can expect the occasional eruption, earthquake, or towering wave. But the positives associated with living within such zones of change are huge.
In the 21st century, virtually every major industry seems to be sitting along a fault line. Sudden cataclysmic changes have become the norm. America’s ecclesiastical landscape is no exception. Just after World War II, it seemed as if the marriage between mainline Protestantism and national culture would last forever. Today that alliance is a distant memory.
What can we do? We can cower in fear (How are leaders supposed to lead when all the rules have changed? What if I lose my job?) or we can shake our fists in frustration (Why didn’t my education prepare me for this? What if I’m no longer in control?).
Or we can embrace the fact that God is the Lord of all change. No tectonic shift, Wall Street collapse, political upheaval, church denominational split, or family blow-up ever catches God off-guard.
“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness, and streams in the wasteland” (Isaiah 43:19).
It may seem scary to live near places where change is always happening.
But remember: A lot of things grow better near fault lines.
And the next time the earth moves underneath your present life, what’s most likely to grow as a result is you.
