Why, God?
Why is the devastating news from the Texas Hill Country hitting me so hard?
I live in a world where tragic—even horrific—news is a daily event. It splashes across my TV and computer screens so frequently that I’ve become numb to it.
Another hurricane.
Another school shooting.
Another bombing.
Another horrific auto accident.
Another catastrophic flood.
Climbing death tolls. Adults and children. Every. Single. Day.
I’ve grown numb to it all.
Not this time.
I’m gutted.
Why, God? Why is my heart breaking now and not all the other times?
Maybe it’s because I live in Texas, and it’s closer to home.
Maybe it’s because I have a granddaughter the same age as many of the little girls who died. Every time I bring up Facebook, I see the faces of little girls my granddaughter’s age who will never go home. Never celebrate another birthday or Christmas. Never have the joy of growing up.
Maybe it’s because I lost my own daughter 38 years ago, and even after all these years, the pain is still there.
Maybe it’s because I performed the funeral of the six-year-old son of dear friends just a year after my own daughter’s death.
Maybe it’s because I used to be a Christian camp director, and I left that work because I could no longer bear the weight of responsibility for so many lives on my shoulders.
I don’t know the answer to that question. Perhaps it’s all of the above.
The other question I don’t know the answer to is: “Why did this happen?”
Why Did This Happen?
Invariably, in the face of tragedy, people ask questions and seek to assign blame. And this time is no different. Only a couple of days have passed, and already the “Pray for Texas” posts on social media have given way to finger-pointing. People on the left blame the right. People on the right blame the left. People on both sides blame God.
Some offer well-meaning but shallow comfort:
“God needed more angels in heaven.”
“Everything happens for a reason.”
“God’s ways are higher than our ways.”
To the grieving, these platitudes do more harm than good.
Even the Bible doesn’t try to answer the question.
The book of Job devotes 42 chapters to the “why” of suffering. Job loses everything—his children, his health, his livelihood. He blames God. His friends blame him. Everyone points fingers.
And when God finally shows up, He doesn’t answer the question either.
Where is God?
I’m rambling today, but that’s where my head is.
Sometimes it takes a single event to make us aware of the weight of suffering in the world.
The temptation, in the face of a tragedy like this, is to point the ultimate finger at God. Some look at what happened in Texas this weekend and say, “This is why I don’t believe in God.”
I look at it and say, “This is why I must believe in God.”
Without God, all this is random. Meaningless. Futile.
Even though I’ve deconstructed, I have to believe in a God who will, somehow, someway, make things right.
I have to believe in a God who will overturn this (and all) evil and bring good from it.
I have to believe in a God who is “near to the brokenhearted” and who saves those who are “crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18).
But now is not the time to seek meaning in tragedy.
Now is not the time to ask “why.” And it most certainly is not the time to point fingers or make political points.
Now is the time to pray for the families who have lost precious children and other loved ones.
Now is the time to pray for the many others devastated by the floods.
Now is the time to pray for the first responders who are, at this moment, risking their lives to rescue survivors—if any may be found—and recover the lost.
Now is the time to lay our hands on our mouths and weep with those who weep.
The question, “Why, God?”, is best reserved for later. Or never.
Because ultimately, the only honest answer is: “I don’t know.”