Wondering and Wrestling

jane: Betsey, I've been wondering how you handle your questions for God. Lately -- well, specifically since my sister-in-law Terry passed away two months ago -- I've been distancing myself a bit from God during worship at church. When we sing praise songs, I find they trigger questions about why God allowed her to die despite her powerful faith and reliance on his promises, promises contained in Jeremiah and Isaiah and particularly Psalms. Terry trusted in God and she wanted to live. Yet God took her even as she claimed his protection and deliverance from cancer and its debilitating treatments. I chew on these thoughts, ponder them, turn them over and over in my mind. Meanwhile, I'm worshiping with a little less enthusiasm; my heart feels somewhat bruised and guarded toward God.

betsey: Jane, hundreds of people out there, perhaps, just silently thanked you for your honesty. I know of young people who have walked away from their faith over this issue -- why did God allow my friend to die? It’s important not to lose the raw, almost desperate edge of these questions. I truly believe they draw us closer to the heart of the Father.

jane: I brought up these feelings at my weekly Bible Study Fellowship class, where we're deep into the study of Isaiah. One woman in my discussion group bluntly remarked, “Why, what's wrong with death? It's no big deal for a Christian.” I was rather shocked at her insensitive words, true as they might be. I felt from her no compassion for my loss and especially that of my brother and their kids. Even though we know Terry's in heaven and no longer suffering, we all wish she hadn't died!

betsey: Oh, my dear. I wish that too. And I think of responses like the woman in the group and it’s like, no wonder people are turned off by Christians. As you know, I didn’t “grow up born again.” So when I entered the evangelical fold, one of the things that really bothered me -- and still does -- was a tendency to brush aside simple human feeling, to deny the power of human experience. “God doesn’t care if we’re happy.” That kind of thing.

jane: Oh, that bugs me too. I don't question that death brings us into the presence of our Lord, that death can be the ultimate healing, that God is God and that his ways are not ours. I know all that, I believe all that. And yet . . . right now, in my grief, I'm questioning. Not in a rebellious, shake-my-fist-in-God's-face kind of way. No, it's more a why, God, do you place certain promises in your Word, and then seemingly ignore them? How did these promises apply to my sister-in-law? What about all the faith and hope displayed in your ability to deliver her?

betsey: Well, obviously many forests have been felled to answer these questions of what smart people call theodicy. But to me, one of the most powerful answers comes from Scripture itself, Scripture and the “lover’s quarrel” sort of relationship so many biblical personages had with God. Abraham, Jacob, David, Peter. I wonder about Mary herself, her private wrestlings with the Almighty.

Honestly, there are these questions you can’t explain away. You and I have talked before about how sometimes it seems good church folk try to “let God off the hook” by coming up with some tidy explanation.

jane: We like to couch our prayers with “if it's your will, Lord.” Just in case the person doesn't get healed, just in case a situation turns out badly. We end up tending to pray less boldly and more tentatively.

betsey: It’s really important to be able to say two things: We don’t know; and, We’re not alone in the not knowing. Whether it’s the loss of a wonderful wife and mom, or the inability of a gifted person to find work they’re fitted for, or someone who longs for a mate—not to mention the sorrow and tragedy that seems to be the lot of the world—when we draw together with all our unanswered questions and offer one another “comfort and joy,” that can be answer enough.

jane: I suspect one purpose of pain and grief is to present a clear reminder that we were not meant for death. Our nature screams and kicks against it. I suspect memories of Eden are imprinted into our collective psyche. This disconnect between what is and what ought not to be should become a signpost pointing us to -- not away from -- God.

I'm thankful God understands and respects my distance right now. I imagine him patiently waiting to embrace me once I let down my guard. I'm grateful no wondering, no wrestling can ever separate any of us from his love.