The Siren No One Believed

On May 22, 2011, the tornado sirens in Joplin, Missouri, began wailing at 5:11 p.m. Most residents barely looked up. The sirens had sounded twice already that month with nothing to show for it. Families kept eating dinner. Teenagers kept texting. A man named Mark Lindquist continued shelving books at the public library, glancing out the window at a sky that had turned the color of a bruise.

Nine minutes later, an EF5 tornado — a mile wide, with winds exceeding 200 miles per hour — carved a six-mile path through the heart of the city. One hundred fifty-eight people died. The library where Mark stood was gutted to its steel beams. He survived only because a co-worker physically dragged him into a basement stairwell.

Afterward, Mark told reporters the thing that haunted him most: "I heard the siren. I just didn't believe it was for me."

Zephaniah stood in the streets of Jerusalem and sounded exactly this kind of alarm. "The great day of the Lord is near — near and coming quickly." He described a day of wrath, distress, darkness, and gloom. The people of Judah heard him. They simply did not believe the warning was meant for them. They had grown comfortable with a God they assumed would never act.

The prophet's voice still carries across the centuries. The siren is not a drill. The question is whether we will keep shelving books — or finally move toward shelter.