I return to Habakkuk, one of my favorite books in the Bible, every time the earth splits open like it did in the Myanmar (Burma) Earthquake, because Habakkuk too saw the innocent buried while the powerful stayed untouched and dared to ask God the question that now burns in my chest: why do you let this happen?
When the earth shakes, it’s not just buildings that fall—faith does too. One of my favorite books in the Bible is Habakkuk, because the author asked God the kind of question that burns in my chest today: “Why do you let this happen? Why do you just watch when people are crushed, their homes flattened, their futures stolen?” Simply put, the Book of Habakkuk is unique because it presents a dialogue between the prophet and God, where Habakkuk boldly questions divine justice. Unlike other prophetic books, it begins with complaints and ends in a psalm of trust, showing a personal journey from doubt to faith.
But today, I’m stuck right in the complaints.
When I saw the earthquake that just occurred in Myanmar on Saturday, March 28th, I froze. A 7.7-magnitude monster tearing through Mandalay, toppling buildings, collapsing the historic Ava Bridge, and crushing people under rubble—what lesson is buried under that destruction? Over 1,000 dead already, more than 2,300 injured, hospitals overwhelmed, and entire cities like Yangon and Naypyidaw shaken to their foundations. Do earthquakes come with spiritual purpose, or are we just pawns tossed around in nature’s cruel game?
The tremor came from the Sagaing Fault, Myanmar’s ticking time bomb. It runs like a scar beneath the feet of millions of people. This is the biggest earthquake to hit the Myanmar mainland in over 75 years, the strongest since the one that rocked Turkey and Syria in 2023, killing 55,000. Now Myanmar joins that grave list. Mandalay, the second-largest city with 1.5 million people, has been shattered—streets swallowed, homes reduced to splinters, and cries buried under collapsed concrete. But even that wasn’t the end. Thailand felt it too. At least ten people in Bangkok died when a skyscraper under construction crumbled like a poorly baked cake. Eighty-one others remain trapped under the rubble as rescuers claw through ruins, hour by agonizing hour.
Meanwhile, water flooded from rooftop pools in tall buildings as people screamed and fled through the streets of Bangkok. The metro shut down. The Prime Minister called it an emergency zone. But even leaders can’t command aftershocks to halt. The ground is moving and so are the people—running, crying, searching for safety. And I'm here asking, just like Habakkuk did, “How long, Lord, must I call for help, but you do not listen?”
Some might say earthquakes are natural, and I get that. They are the earth’s way of stretching after a long sleep. But I don’t care if it’s natural when it flattens an entire neighborhood. Just because it’s nature doesn’t make it okay. Tornadoes spin in, hurricanes tear apart lives, wildfires eat up homes—and we’re supposed to say what? “It’s nature, let it burn”? Why does nature’s wrath always pick on the poor and the vulnerable? Why does the earth’s fury not shake up the mansions of the powerful first?
And then there’s the irony. Myanmar’s already been torn apart by a civil war since 2021. Over 3.5 million people displaced. People were already sleeping in tents, hiding from bullets. Now they’re hiding from falling buildings and landslides. Before this quake even struck, 20 million people—35% of the population—needed humanitarian help. That’s not a statistic. That’s suffering stacked on top of suffering.
To make it worse, the United States recently slashed the help it sends to Myanmar. Last year, USAID spent $240 million there, most of it on humanitarian aid. This year, they’ve axed most of those programs. From 18 down to just 3. And some of the hospitals on the Myanmar-Thailand border, which got American support, have now shut down. You can’t heal broken bones in buildings that have already collapsed. You can’t treat quake injuries in clinics that have lost power, beds, and even walls.
The Myanmar junta, a military regime rejected by most of the world, has made a rare plea for help. That’s how bad things are—they’ve dropped their pride. But even now, they’re still trying to control where aid goes. The army only wants supplies to reach government-friendly areas, not rebel-controlled zones. So, aid is being blocked from where it’s needed most. During Cyclone Nargis in 2008, the same military dragged their feet accepting foreign help. That delay killed over 130,000 people. Are we going to watch history repeat itself?
And just when you think it can’t get worse, geologists warn of “liquefaction.” That’s when the earth turns to mush under your feet. Mud volcanoes have formed. That means the very land that people used to stand on is now bubbling up to devour them. The control tower of Naypyidaw Airport collapsed. And in Mandalay, even more decrepit buildings might still come down. People now live in fear not just of aftershocks, but of collapsing dams and more chaos. The earthquake is over, but the danger is just beginning.
Habakkuk ended his dialogue with God on a note of faith: “Yet I will rejoice in the Lord.” That’s nice, but let’s not rush there too quickly. I’m still in chapter one, shouting my questions, and I’m not afraid to keep asking: “Why do you let this happen, God? Why are people buried under the silence of heaven?”
Some theologians will say God works in mysterious ways. I say mystery isn’t comforting when you’re digging your child out of rubble. Some preachers will say pain builds character. I say earthquakes break bones, not build backbones.
We live on a planet that seems to have a temper problem. The ground rumbles when it’s angry, the skies roar when they’re fed up, and water comes crashing in when the oceans throw a fit. We talk about climate change, tectonic shifts, and atmospheric pressure like it’s science—but it feels like punishment.
If this is the design of a perfect world, I’d like to see the blueprint.
Until then, I’ll keep asking like Habakkuk did. Not because I don’t believe, but because I refuse to blindly accept a world where the earth can swallow a family in seconds and we call it “natural.” Earthquakes may be natural, but that doesn’t make them noble. Hurricanes may be common, but they are not kind. And if “acts of God” include this kind of destruction, then somebody needs to check God’s job description.
I used to believe the earth was our home. Lately, it feels more like we’re squatters on a landmine.
And if this is nature’s way of reminding us who’s boss, I say it’s time we fired the landlord.
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