Blame is a funny word, with an even stranger connotation. The true meaning is to assign fault, but in my personal experience, blame has become a word for passing off fault. Blame has become an excuse or state of denial; a constant safe place, one can run as a means of avoiding the true fault.
Today, the Pittsburgh Steelers lost to their opponents the Cincinnati Bengals. As a die-hard Steeler fan, whom can I blame for this unfounded sports result? Obviously, the Steelers can do no wrong and therefore, it is not their fault they lost. Perhaps the Bengals got lucky? Or perhaps for a change, Marvin Lewis and Carson Palmer actually paid attention and did their job? I could certainly blame my boyfriend for rooting for the wrong team; after all if we had one more Steelers fan in the house, they would have won. Or perhaps, this game was simply the result of chance; neither team did any blatant “wrong” and there is no blame to be assigned (even to my boyfriend). In my experience with human nature, this is simply not an option.
Not once is it an option that there is such a thing as “accidental” or “circumstantial.” There is always someone to blame when things go wrong. Even if there is no person to find a fault with, God is always up for grabs as a worthy option for blame. In 2001 my grandmother died in a severe car accident as a result of swerving to miss a loose dog. As one of the persons who, in a sense, lost in the situation, it was my job to assign blame. I could blame the dog, for sitting in the road; I could blame the irresponsible owner for leaving their dog unrestrained; I could blame Toyota Car Company for not making a more crash worthy vehicle; I could even blame the state of Indiana for not putting a guardrail by the ditch in which my grandmother’s car flipped. However, none of these objects of blame seem nearly as tempting as the alternative: God.
It was God’s fault my grandmother died. His fault the dog was loose. His fault the family even owned the dog in the first place. His fault the car company did not make a better car. And yes, it was even God’s fault the state of Indiana had no guardrail by the ditch. Right?
Wrong. The truth I have come to over the past seven years is this simple fact: it was an accident. While I do believe God could have saved my grandmother’s life as she lay in the hospital seven years ago, I do not believe he caused her death. It was an accident.
This word accident is not so funny as the word blame. When there is spilled milk, we say, “I’m sorry, it was an accident.” Do we still blame then? Not always. So when the Pittsburg Steelers lose to the Cincinnati Bengals, can they walk into the locker room and say, “I’m sorry, it was an accident?” Or when death or misfortune of any kind occurs and we cry to God in pain, can He say, “I’m sorry, it was an accident?” This pathetic statement is so easily accepted for trivial coincidence, but so widely cursed for major misfortune.
In honor of this backwards idea, I’m starting a revolution. Stop passing off blame to the nearest individual. Stop finding fault with God as an excuse to avoid where the true blame lies. Instead, accept the words accident, circumstantial, and coincidence. Not every event in life needs to have blame assigned to it. Let’s start accepting the fact that maybe accidents really do happen.