Why, God, Why?

Have you ever asked the question, "Why, God, why?" Have you ever asked, "Why did this have to happen to me?" or "Why did God allow this to happen to my friend?" Have you ever wondered if people really deserve all the bad things that come their way? If you have asked one or all of these questions, you join millions who when faced with tragic circumstances raise their cries of agony, or confusion, or protest.

When was the last time you asked, 'Why, God, why?" Was it because of a death, an illness, a hardship, a tragedy, an injustice, or an inconvenience? Or maybe when bad things happen that affect your life you don't formally challenge God; maybe you just become angry, absorbed in self-pity or cynicism. But your underlying question—sometimes even unspoken—is this: "Why did this have to happen? Surely this is not God's plan or will ... so why didn't God do something to prevent it?"

Many of us do ask this basic question as we face troubling circumstances. We may ask it when a child is seriously ill and suffering. We may ask why when someone suffers a betrayal. We may ask this most agonizing question when an innocent youth is shot and killed or when a young child dies. We may ask why when our life's savings are wiped out, when we lose our job, or when the spouse we have loved for so long dies.

We may even ask why when simple inconveniences come our way. Do you feel a bit mistreated when your air conditioner dies a premature death or when your car is in the shop more often than you attend church? Do you ever wonder if you are jinxed, if you are preordained to bad luck? Do you sometimes get the feeling that life is designed to test your patience and courage?

Sometimes it is not one tragedy that forces us to raise our question of doubt and protest. Sometimes it is the sum total of many, many things that add up to one big question mark. Maybe after experiencing many setbacks in a row we conclude that life just hasn't been that good to us.

One of the challenges of our existence is that we never really know what is in our future. If we count on job security, we may find ourselves laid off or disabled. If we dream of a relaxed and secure retirement, we may discover dwindling funds, or have to assume guardianship of a grandchild, or find ourselves working again just to get by.

Most of us, even the luckiest among us, have asked this question many times—if not for us, then on behalf of some good person who suffers. We lift our appeal or our protest, "Why, God, why?" "Why did this have to happen?" "Why should this happen to her?" "Why did this come along? Everything was going so well!"

Some religious people insist that we have no right to question God or to raise our voices in protest. They contend that God is in control of everything and that God knows what to do in all circumstances. They tell us that no matter how tragic it seems to us, it is all a part of God's plan.

I do not embrace such a theology, and neither would the psalmists. I believe that God cries with us when tragedy comes. I believe that it is not a part of God's plan for an assassin's bullet to strike down a president or a civil-rights leader, or for stray bullets to kill innocent bystanders. It is not meant to be!

I don't believe that every car I have bought that has proved to be a "lemon" was produced that way to teach me patience. At least, if that was the plan, it has not worked! Instead, I believe that God empathizes with all our trials and tribulations. When tragedy strikes, God suffers with us. Maybe in the midst of tragedy we should delay asking our question and first hear God's prior question: "Indeed, humanity, why did this happen?"

But as important as this basic question is, in the midst of hardship, suffering, or tragedy, there is another issue worth exploring. In a sense it is the same question, but the perspective is inverted, the tone is different, the motivation is reversed. Surprisingly, the question becomes not one of protest, but of praise; not one of bewilderment, but of wonder; not one of cynicism, but of promise.

I purposely began my reflections where probably 90 percent of us start when we ask, "Why, God, why?" I started with the bad things. And isn't that what comes to mind when you hear the question "Why, God why?" If you read the title "Why, God, Why?" before reading the sermon, did you expect me to focus on blessings or hardships, windfalls or downfalls, sickness or good health? I suspect most of you gravitated toward the negative.

My assumption is this: most of us ask, "Why, God, why?" in the midst of misfortune. But when good things come our way we rarely ask, "Why did this have to happen to me?" When we experience good fortune we rarely protest: "I just don't deserve this!" When life smiles upon us we seldom ask, "Why, God, why?" We rarely ask, "Why me, Lord?"

I remember clearly when this thought first occurred to me. It came to me in the early seventies when I was riding my bike to make a pastoral call at a nursing home. The thought suddenly dawned on me, "Why do we ask, 'Why, God, why?' when bad things happen but seldom ask that same question when good fortune comes?" It then occurred to me that maybe our problem is not in asking, "Why, God, why?" too often. Maybe we ask the question too seldom!

Before preaching this sermon I shared my novel thesis with another minister. He seemed unusually intrigued with what I assumed was an original insight. But, alas, the next day he handed me a sheet of paper with several quotes. One was circled. To my shock there was my "unique" idea in print.

Seeing it there sparked two simultaneous but diverse feelings. It made me feel good that someone else had come to the same conclusion. I was flattered that my idea was already in print even though it was attributed to another person. But my ego was also somewhat deflated because my insight must have been more obvious than I first imagined. Listen to this quote from Irene Bargmann of Columbus, Nebraska: "When sorrow comes, we have no right to ask, 'Why did this happen to me?' unless we ask the same question whenever joy comes our way." So there you have it, practically my whole sermon in twenty-six words!

I would therefore suggest that we never forbid asking the question, "Why, God, why?" I would urge instead that we boldly expand its application. We should apply it generously to life and to the Scriptures.

So now we ask not simply, "Why did the prodigal son leave his father and waste his inheritance?" We ask the question of grace: "Why, God, did the father find it in his heart to forgive the prodigal and welcome him back?"

We ask not only why Peter denied his Lord but also why he was given the power to become a disciple of the risen Christ. We ask...