Where is God in tragedy?
Two small words that at different times, Christians either hang on to with all their will or struggle mightily with in times of tragedy. Paul writes that in all things, God is working for good. In tsunamis, in the long, slow death of Alzheimer's dementia, in mass shootings, God is somehow working for good.
Sometimes, we cling to this hope. Other times, we rebel against it. Seldom, however, do we understand how the pieces fit together. It's easy to see good in some things, even hard things. Someone who experiences bullying as a child, for example, may develop a passion for justice that directs his or her entire life and brings "good" to thousands. But how does God possibly work for our "good" in the death of a child?
Sometimes, we will never know (in this life), but sometimes, we get a glimpse of God's incredible sovereignty, and when we do, it's worth talking about.
Last month, horror struck a Texas family. One of my daughter's friends, Hope (not her real name), died. Hope was 18 years old and a freshman in college, and her passing was sudden, unexpected and tragic.
In the midst of this sad story, however, a God story emerged.
Hope had immediately immersed herself in the church and in her college community. Hope was a quiet young woman, but her heart beat to love God and love her neighbors. She made an immediate impact in her college town.
The news of Hope's death hit her pastor pretty hard. In the days following her passing, he spoke with another pastor in town. "You might never know," he told the other pastor, "whether the sermon you're giving may be the last sermon someone ever hears. It challenges me to never forget to share the gospel on any Sunday."
Hope's pastor's words bounced around in the other pastor's heart for the rest of that week and even as he took to the stage to preach to his church the following Sunday. His heart was heavy for a young woman he never knew personally but also for every person who walked into his church that day.
As he preached, the pastor's eyes gazed intently at the congregants. He searched over them, wondering even as he spoke about the precious souls seated before him. And as he searched, his eyes were drawn to two young ladies, seated together in the back, quietly weeping.
On any other Sunday, he might not have noticed them, but on this Sunday, he could not help but be engrossed by them.
After he closed his sermon in prayer, the pastor discreetly approached the two young women, both still holding back tears.
When he spoke with them, the pastor learned that the girls were mourning the loss of a fellow student, a freshman who has befriended them and, in a very short time, impacted them. Their friend's name was, of course, Hope.
One of the girls had been raised in the church when she was young, but she had been uninvolved (and seemingly uninterested) for years. The other young girl was Muslim, and to my knowledge, she had never stepped foot inside a church before.
They decided to attend a church in honor of their friend Hope, who clearly loved the one she called Jesus so much that it caused her to share His love with others. And as they sobbed in the back row, God had made it so that the pastor He caused to notice them also knew Hope's story and could speak directly into their hearts. He had never met Hope, but he knew Hope.
And there, in the back row of the church sanctuary, as college students and families left for brunches, Sunday chores, kids sports or just a relaxing afternoon, both young women the long lost daughter and the Muslim girl made the decision to accept Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior.
This story made it back to Hope's mother and even in her unspeakable loss, filled her with great joy. In Hope's passing to an eternity without tears, God had found a way to draw two more of His beloved children, his handiwork, back to Him.
In all things.
Somehow, every time.
"All things."Quote:
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.
Romans 8:28 (NIV)
Two small words that at different times, Christians either hang on to with all their will or struggle mightily with in times of tragedy. Paul writes that in all things, God is working for good. In tsunamis, in the long, slow death of Alzheimer's dementia, in mass shootings, God is somehow working for good.
Sometimes, we cling to this hope. Other times, we rebel against it. Seldom, however, do we understand how the pieces fit together. It's easy to see good in some things, even hard things. Someone who experiences bullying as a child, for example, may develop a passion for justice that directs his or her entire life and brings "good" to thousands. But how does God possibly work for our "good" in the death of a child?
Sometimes, we will never know (in this life), but sometimes, we get a glimpse of God's incredible sovereignty, and when we do, it's worth talking about.
Last month, horror struck a Texas family. One of my daughter's friends, Hope (not her real name), died. Hope was 18 years old and a freshman in college, and her passing was sudden, unexpected and tragic.
In the midst of this sad story, however, a God story emerged.
Hope had immediately immersed herself in the church and in her college community. Hope was a quiet young woman, but her heart beat to love God and love her neighbors. She made an immediate impact in her college town.
The news of Hope's death hit her pastor pretty hard. In the days following her passing, he spoke with another pastor in town. "You might never know," he told the other pastor, "whether the sermon you're giving may be the last sermon someone ever hears. It challenges me to never forget to share the gospel on any Sunday."
Hope's pastor's words bounced around in the other pastor's heart for the rest of that week and even as he took to the stage to preach to his church the following Sunday. His heart was heavy for a young woman he never knew personally but also for every person who walked into his church that day.
As he preached, the pastor's eyes gazed intently at the congregants. He searched over them, wondering even as he spoke about the precious souls seated before him. And as he searched, his eyes were drawn to two young ladies, seated together in the back, quietly weeping.
On any other Sunday, he might not have noticed them, but on this Sunday, he could not help but be engrossed by them.
After he closed his sermon in prayer, the pastor discreetly approached the two young women, both still holding back tears.
When he spoke with them, the pastor learned that the girls were mourning the loss of a fellow student, a freshman who has befriended them and, in a very short time, impacted them. Their friend's name was, of course, Hope.
One of the girls had been raised in the church when she was young, but she had been uninvolved (and seemingly uninterested) for years. The other young girl was Muslim, and to my knowledge, she had never stepped foot inside a church before.
They decided to attend a church in honor of their friend Hope, who clearly loved the one she called Jesus so much that it caused her to share His love with others. And as they sobbed in the back row, God had made it so that the pastor He caused to notice them also knew Hope's story and could speak directly into their hearts. He had never met Hope, but he knew Hope.
And there, in the back row of the church sanctuary, as college students and families left for brunches, Sunday chores, kids sports or just a relaxing afternoon, both young women the long lost daughter and the Muslim girl made the decision to accept Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior.
This story made it back to Hope's mother and even in her unspeakable loss, filled her with great joy. In Hope's passing to an eternity without tears, God had found a way to draw two more of His beloved children, his handiwork, back to Him.
In all things.
Somehow, every time.