When the Earth Shakes, Will You? (2 Corinthians 4:8–9)

During our recent trip to Sicily, we spent a day visiting three beautiful towns: Noto, Ragusa, and Modica. Each had magnificent Baroque churches, ornate facades, towering columns, and beautifully decorated interiors. After visiting so many churches throughout Sicily, I wondered what made these three towns so special.

I soon discovered that they shared something remarkable. All three had been devastated by a catastrophic earthquake. On January 11, 1693, one of the most destructive earthquakes in Italian history struck southeastern Sicily. Entire neighborhoods collapsed, churches were destroyed, and tens of thousands of people lost their lives.

Imagine waking up one morning and discovering that your home, your church, your livelihood, and perhaps even your loved ones were gone. What would you do? The people of these towns faced that very question.

In Noto, rather than rebuilding the old city in the same location, the survivors established a new city several miles away. They laid out broad streets and magnificent public squares, eventually constructing the beautiful churches we admired.

In Ragusa, the rebuilding took two different directions. Some residents reconstructed the old town, now known as Ragusa Ibla, while others developed a new town on higher ground. The result was two distinct communities, each with its own architectural character.

Modica also rose from the devastation, with its dramatic hillside setting and extraordinary churches.

Today, all three towns are part of a UNESCO World Heritage Site celebrating the Late Baroque architecture that emerged from the disaster.

As I walked through these churches, admiring their soaring ceilings and intricate artwork, I found myself thinking about the people who rebuilt them. They had lost so much. Yet they chose to build again. And they didn’t simply replace what had been destroyed. Over the following decades, they created something extraordinary.

 

Of course, we shouldn’t romanticize their suffering. Thousands died, and many survivors never lived to see these magnificent buildings completed. Beautiful architecture cannot replace the people who were lost. But standing inside those churches, I began thinking about something else. How much of what we consider permanent is actually temporary? We spend our lives building homes, careers, businesses, relationships, and plans for the future. We work hard, save money, make sacrifices, and assume that tomorrow will look much like today.

Until it doesn’t.

Sometimes a diagnosis changes everything. Sometimes a loved one dies unexpectedly. A marriage ends. A business fails. Or circumstances completely beyond our control turn our carefully constructed lives upside down.

I’ve spent much of my life in medicine, where I’ve seen how quickly a person’s circumstances can change. One day, someone is making plans for the future. The next, they’re confronting a diagnosis they never expected. No amount of planning can completely protect us from life’s uncertainties.

The apostle Paul certainly understood this. He endured beatings, imprisonment, persecution, and countless hardships while sharing the gospel. Yet he wrote: in):

We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed.
2 Corinthians 4:8–9 (ESV)

What strikes me about these words is that Paul never denied the reality of suffering. He was afflicted. He was perplexed. He was struck down. But he was not destroyed.

Why?

Because his confidence wasn’t in the permanence of his circumstances. It was in Jesus Christ. And that brings me back to those beautiful Sicilian churches.

The buildings that stood before the earthquake seemed permanent to the people who worshiped in them. Yet in a matter of moments, many were reduced to rubble. The churches we admire today are magnificent, but they too will eventually deteriorate. Even the greatest works of human hands cannot last forever.

Perhaps that is why Jesus warned us against placing our ultimate security in the treasures of this world. In Matthew 6:19–20, He reminds us that earthly treasures are vulnerable to decay and destruction, but treasures in heaven endure.

 

As I enter this new chapter of retirement, I find myself thinking about that distinction. For decades, much of my time and energy went into building a medical practice. Now that chapter has ended—not because of tragedy, but because it was time to move on. It has made me more aware of how easily we can define ourselves by the things we have built. Yet my identity was never meant to rest in a medical practice, professional accomplishments, or anything else that eventually comes to an end. It rests in Christ. That is a truth worth remembering in ordinary transitions, and one we desperately need when life brings extraordinary suffering.

The people of Noto, Ragusa, and Modica rebuilt their cities, leaving behind a remarkable testimony to human perseverance and creativity. But the greater lesson I carried home wasn’t simply that beautiful things can emerge from destruction. The earth shook beneath Noto, Ragusa, and Modica, and the buildings people believed would stand for generations collapsed.

Our own lives can be shaken just as unexpectedly. We cannot always control what happens around us, but we can choose where to place our trust. When the earth shakes, will your faith shake with it? Or will you stand firm in the One who cannot be shaken?

Love and trust in the Lord; seek His will in your life.

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