Why God Why? - Justin W. Tull Protestant Pulpit Exchange

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as it has addressed such human dilemmas. This series of sermons evolved primarily out of the crucible of life experiences. They all have in common the human cry of "why?" "Why all this suffering? Why the injustice? Why does God allow evil to exist? Why did this tragedy occur?"

      Sermons that focus on these questions may be spawned by national tragedies like the burning of the Davidic compound near Waco or the bombing of the federal building in Oklahoma City. Events such as these cry out for a word from our pulpits. At these times of human tragedy people everywhere ask, "Why, God, why?"

      But sermons that ask, "Why, God, why?" may also come out of pastoral care. A parishioner who is critically ill may raise a theological question to her pastor: "What did I do to deserve this?" A congregation deserves to know how its minister will answer such a question—not from a bedside, but from the pulpit, drawing upon the biblical witness.

      One of the sermons of this book came after a series of deaths within the congregation just prior to Christmas. It did not seem appropriate that I preach simply a positive word of "joy to the world" without acknowledging in some way that there was also sadness within our own congregation. I decided to preach using the text from Matt. 2:16-18 that introduces the tragic deaths of innocent children at the hand of King Herod at the very time of the coming of the Christ Child. By drawing from the text and the Christmas story, I sought to find a word of hope and joy even for those overcome with sorrow.

      At other times these existential sermons have evolved not from the human condition but from the text itself. There are texts that raise their own theological issues as in the case of John 9:1-2: Is blindness caused by sin?

      In preaching, one can search for the biblical witness that addresses a prevalent theological issue raised within the congregation. One may also share the theological insight of a biblical text that indeed intersects with the theological wrestling of the present day. Either way, it is the responsibility of the preacher to address the tough theological questions of the person in the pew. One of the most prevalent questions throughout human history is the question, "Why, God, why?" These sermons attempt to address this most basic of all human questions.

       Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. Philippians 4:4-6

       Why, God, Why?

      H ave 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.

       Have you ever asked, "Why did this have to happen to me?"

      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!

       When tragedy strikes, God suffers with us.

      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?"

       When we experience good fortune we rarely protest: "I just don't deserve this!"

      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!

       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.

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