“Im sure you must be wondering why God let this happen to you.”
Friends who visited me in the hospital after I had been seriously injured in an automobile acident said that, or some variant of it, to me many times.
“No,” I would respond, “I don’t ask that question. I think it is an exercise in futility.”
“But it is natural to ask that!” some objected, implying that if I were not asking why God let it happen, I ought to be.
My friends were being kind, of course. They were saying, subliminally, “We think you are a good person and God shouldn’t let bad things happen to good people who are trying to serve him—unless, of course, he is bringing about some specially fine result.” They shared the common belief that God only lets good things happen to good (Christian) people, and so eventually we will see that these apparently bad things really turn out to be good.
That is a comforting thought we would all like to embrace. But a realistic reading of the Bible indicates something is lacking in that view of God, the world we live in, and our place as human beings in it.
God has placed us in a world in which moral evil, suffering, and death are universal. All of us will die—Christians and non-Christians—regardless of our devotion to God. All of us have bones that can be broken when they conflict with the laws of gravity, or are damaged by disease. Christians and non-Christians seem equally subject to most of the lethal diseases of this world: cancer, heart disease, high blood pressure. Most of us have wept with Christian parents who have lost a child because of leukemia or an auto accident. Bombs dropped in war on “enemy” cities kill men, women, and children—Christians and non-Christians alike—regardless of whether the bombs are dropped by Christians or non-Christians. Christians share fully the pain and sorrow of this world.
God apparently does not make us more immune than our non-Christian friends. Pain, sorrow, and death are a part of this world of sin. We hurt, we mourn, we struggle with long-term problems that seem to have no answers and no relief.
Yet we intuitively cling to the idea that God is providing us with some special protection from the terrible things that would otherwise happen. Many times I have breathed a fervent “Thank you, Lord,” when we narrowly missed a calamity of some kind. Most of us, if we missed a plane on which we were scheduled and that plane later crashed, would feel that God had miraculously preserved us. But on that fatal flight also may have been a Christian pilot, Christian flight attendants, and many Christian passengers whom God did not choose to deliver. Who of us can ever explain the terrible 1981 private plane wreck in Alaska that took to death the head and founder of a mission board plus three devoted missionaries and a consultant?
“Good” Is Sometimes Strange
Our determination to find “good” reasons for the tragedies of life sometimes leads to strange conclusions. A young man once told me he believed God had let his father die so that he, the son, would be eligible for the social security benefits that permitted him to attend college. I wondered what great benefit God had in mind for his mother and three younger brothers and sisters!
Romans 8:28 teaches, I believe, that God does bring blessings even out of bad situations. But that is quite different from saying that God causes, plans, or even permits tragic happenings because of the good that can come out of them. We know that God is soverign, but we also know that, in his sovereignty, God has placed us in a world of sin and suffering from which we have no immunity.
Jesus was not immune to pain and suffering, nor were his disciples. In the biblical account of the death of John the Baptist, there is no clue as to why God permitted John to be beheaded in a silly display of power by Herod. So far as we know, Jesus did not tell his disciples either that great good would result from it, or that they should “praise the Lord” for the tragedy. He just went away alone to mourn John’s death.
God’s love and concern for John the Baptist, or for us, does not place us in a protected position. After all, God loves my non-Christian neighbor just as much as he loves me. He is just as concerned about the well-being of the pagan as he is about that of the Christian. “The rain falls on the just and on the unjust,” and so do the sunshine, the floods, the good crop years, and the bad crop years. We have no special claim on God’s love or care because we are Christians.
But God does have a special claim on our love because we belong to him through the redemption of Christ. When we commit ourselves to Christ, our attitude toward God changes—not his attitude toward us. His attitude toward us—before we became Christians as well as since—has always been one of loving concern.
Sprouting Wings
Lying in my hospital bed after many visits from people who posed the question, “Why did God let this happen to you?” I tried to imagine a world in which God always delivers “good” people from “bad” things. I thought of my own accident, in which our car was struck by one that went through a red light. In my protected imaginary world, I suppose God would have made the other driver’s car suddenly sprout wings so that it would fly over our car without impacting. Or perhaps God should make it impossible for any driver to go through a red light and hit another car. Maybe God should make cars stop automatically at red lights regardless of the attention of drivers.
In such a God-protected world, brakes would never fail on a car or truck. Airplanes would automatically be free of all defects—mechanical or those of the pilot or weather—especially if there were Christians on board. Christians would suddenly become very popular people if God gave special protection to them. You would want to be sure there was one in every plane, in every car, and, to protect from fire, in every hotel.
When we put it that way, it seems ludicrous, of course. Yet our underlying assumption is that God is supposed to give us some special protection from the unusual dangers and tragedies of life—unless he has some very special blessing in wait that will far outweigh the suffering and pain involved.
After all, does not the Bible say, “A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand; but it will not come near you.… he will give his angels charge of you to guard you in all your ways” (Psalm 91:7, 11)?
Yes, but in our troubles his angels still have charge, to keep us in all our ways. To keep us from what? From illness, accidents, disappointments, poverty, sorrow, death? Sometimes God does deliver us from these things; sometimes not. But God and his angels always keep us from separation from him. That is the most crucial way we need to be kept.
Shortchanging Sin
To assume that God lets bad things happen so that we can experience greater good is to deny the basic reality of sin and its evil nature. Christ gave his life to deliver us from the ultimate penalty of sin and moral evil. When we say that good will always be the ultimate outcome of any “bad” happening, we are saying that moral evil does not really exist—it only seems that way to our mortal minds.
When an innocent child is murdered (or John the Baptist), that is evil. Yes, God can, and often does, bring good results (conversions, family reconciliations, and so on) from such horrible events. But no parent would choose to let his child be cruelly murdered so that these “good things” would result. Friends who have faced tragic losses are not usually comforted by well-meaning friends who tell them that “someday you will understand God’s reasons.”
“Victory” As A Handicap
When we face tragedy of any type, we can, and often do, grow through the experience—often after weeks or months of painful mourning and “working through.” Those Christians who feel they must be “victorious” in the face of tragedy usually later go through a normal, painful (sometimes secretive) mourning time. Their desire to be a “testimony” often only delays the mourning and the slow, genuine healing that God can and does bring.
The false belief that God is supposed to protect us from the tragedies and pain common to humanity, or that he “sends” us such tragedies only to “teach something” we need to know or to “bring some great blessing,” may impair our ability to open ourselves to God’s healing.
That false belief was, in part, the problem of Job’s comforters. They said in essence, “God doesn’t let bad things happen to good people. Therefore, Job, you obviously are not really good; there must be some hidden sin in your life, and you must admit it. Otherwise you are impugning God.”
Some very profound statements appear in the advice of Job’s friends. The difficulty was that what they said did not apply to Job. Actually, Job had much the same concept of God as his friends had: God was not supposed to let such tragedies as his happen to people who had tried hard to serve and to please him. Job, in his anger and frustration, complained bitterly to God about God’s treatment of him.
In Job 38, God finally intervenes with the words, “Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?” (v. 2), and in chapter 40, “Shall a faultfinder contend with the Almighty?” (v. 2).
Job’s answer was, “Behold, I am of small account; what shall I answer thee?” His final response to God was “I have heard thee by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees thee; therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes,” (42:5–6).
According to the biblical account, Job never did learn why God permitted him to suffer so deeply and so long. (The reader knows that the suffering was due to Satan, to the presence of evil.) No particular “good” came out of it except Job’s deep encounter with God, and the marvelous account of it that is part of our Old Testament. At the end of the story, God gives Job double what he had before; but that was simply the grace of God and not directly related to his previous losses or his long suffering. I am sure Job never stopped mourning for his first seven sons and three daughters who died in the violent storm that struck their home.
Perhaps the real point of the Book of Job is not to answer the question, “Why do bad things happen to good people?” but rather to answer, “How does a person of faith respond to the tragedies and joys that come in life?” (Job had already been tested by the joys of success.) Does our trust and confidence in God grow, or is it destroyed? Do we reach more deeply into fellowship with God? Do we gain more appreciation for those who help us or those whom we can help? Do we use the changed circumstances or changed relationships to serve God and to grow?
Resting In The Arms Of Jesus
In the worst days following my accident, I had no energy to ponder deep questions or to think about the “good” that could come out of it. I had hardly strength to smile and converse a little with family members who came in for short visits. But I found it required no energy at all simply to rest in the arms of Jesus and experience his healing presence. Moving in and out of half-consciousness, I knew I was not alone. Cards with the simple message “we are praying for you” took on great significance, for I had no energy to pray more than, “Let your healing power flow through these broken bones.” Supported by the prayers of friends, I felt no need to do more.
Our periods of helplessness may make us more sensitive to the needs of others, or they may make us bitter or depressed. We may become more conscious of our need of God and more conscious of his presence, or we may become angry with God.
Done In By Success
Our response to the good and bad happenings of our lives will largely determine whether we grow or deteriorate in them. Actually, people are as apt to be destroyed or damaged by good happenings as by bad—by fame, success, beauty, outstanding talents. These have sometimes led to inner poverty, insufferable ego, misery for family and friends, even suicide. Yet we rarely ask, “Why did God let those ‘good’ things or these ‘blessings’ come to this person?”
God gives us the capacity to respond to the ills and joys of life in ways that are constructive or destructive. Whether we respond negatively or positively, God’s love remains constant. He does not withdraw it because we respond badly. His presence is always there, whether or not we recognize it.
Why did God let that accident happen to me? I do not know, nor do I feel a need to ask. What I did need, and still need, God gave me: a deep and abiding sense of his presence. And I am content with the words of Deuteronomy 29:29: “The secret things belong to the Lord our God; but the things that are revealed belong to us and to our children for ever, that we may do all the words of this law.”
God has revealed in his Word a great deal about what I should do—far more than enough to consume my energy and mental capacity. The secret things I will leave to him.
Tim Stafford is a free-lance writer living in Santa Rosa, California. He is a distinguished contributor to several magazines. His latest book is Do You Sometimes Feel Like a Nobody? (Zondervan, 1980).
