For Those That Don't Know Why
One of my strongest memories is of watching a man cry.
I was around fourteen or so and was attending a Bible camp up in British Columbia. During chapel one morning, we were playing a rousing game of "stump the pastors" with the camp director and the chapel speaker. Essentially, the purpose of the game was to provide us with a forum to ask the questions we'd always wondered about God, the Bible, and faith. I loved those chapel sessions.
Here's the thing, though: It was a co-ed teen camp, which meant that some of the campers were, in fact, male teenagers. I'm not a big believer in gender stereotypes, but I must admit that more often than not, the less-serious questions were voiced by those fifteen-year-old boys. And so it goes that on this hot morning in July, as the pastors asked for questions, one of the young men shouted out, "Why?!" That was it. No elaboration. No other wording. Just a purely tongue-in-cheek, sarcastic question. Why?
And on that morning I watched as one of the pastors took the question seriously. He tried his very hardest to answer it, talking about how God moved and still moves in ways that he didn't understand, yet he still believed. I watched as this man broke down crying as he admitted that he struggled with this question, the one he believed was at the core of human existence. I listened as he used his vulnerability as a tangible example of the need to simply trust in the Lord.
Like so many experiences I've had in my life, in the moment, this one didn't register as highly important. We finished chapel minutes later and I headed off to some new activity, like arts and crafts or canoeing. As the years go on, however, I don't dwell on the activities. So often I find myself sitting once again on the cracked-tile floor of that lodge, staring out at one of the most picturesque lakes I've ever seen, listening to a middle-aged man sobbing as he told us he didn't know why. I find a lot of comfort and comradery in that memory.
I don't know why, either.
I don't know why bad things happen to good people. I don't know why children get abused. I don't know why hardworking women and men lose their jobs. I don't know why some homes burn down while others stand tall. Why so many of my brothers and sisters are disqualified from positions based on race and gender. Why 30 million people still live in slavery. Why children and adults will go to school or work or return home to environments where they are mocked, scorned, ridiculed. Why rape exists, and why people don't believe rape victims when they find the courage to report it. Why we are so quick to judge and so slow to love. Why I don't care more about these issues.
I don't know why some people are handed a golden ticket in life, while others fight and struggle for every advantage, yet never seem to catch a break. I don't know why I was blessed enough to be born in a country with access to clean water, food, healthcare, and all the freedoms I so easily take for granted. I don't know why my sister across the globe wasn't given these same opportunities.
I don't know why life is so hard sometimes.
As I sit here tonight, honestly a little frustrated and heartbroken, asking God all the "whys" that I'm struggling with in my own life and selfishly wanting to eliminate, I am forced to realize something:
I probably shouldn't get the answer.
When I know answers to why life is the way it is, it eliminates my need for trust. It eliminates my need for faith. The "whys," as frustrating and heartbreaking as they are, keep my heart constantly returning to God's. Only He knows the answers. Only he can bring comfort to my questioning soul and peace and justice to those situations.
I'm realizing tonight that sometimes, it's okay to cry and admit that you just don't know. Oftentimes, it's necessary to lean in and trust in God, His plans, His understanding, His grace and His love. I don't need to know why.
Sometimes, it's okay to stump the pastor.
I was around fourteen or so and was attending a Bible camp up in British Columbia. During chapel one morning, we were playing a rousing game of "stump the pastors" with the camp director and the chapel speaker. Essentially, the purpose of the game was to provide us with a forum to ask the questions we'd always wondered about God, the Bible, and faith. I loved those chapel sessions.
Here's the thing, though: It was a co-ed teen camp, which meant that some of the campers were, in fact, male teenagers. I'm not a big believer in gender stereotypes, but I must admit that more often than not, the less-serious questions were voiced by those fifteen-year-old boys. And so it goes that on this hot morning in July, as the pastors asked for questions, one of the young men shouted out, "Why?!" That was it. No elaboration. No other wording. Just a purely tongue-in-cheek, sarcastic question. Why?
And on that morning I watched as one of the pastors took the question seriously. He tried his very hardest to answer it, talking about how God moved and still moves in ways that he didn't understand, yet he still believed. I watched as this man broke down crying as he admitted that he struggled with this question, the one he believed was at the core of human existence. I listened as he used his vulnerability as a tangible example of the need to simply trust in the Lord.
Like so many experiences I've had in my life, in the moment, this one didn't register as highly important. We finished chapel minutes later and I headed off to some new activity, like arts and crafts or canoeing. As the years go on, however, I don't dwell on the activities. So often I find myself sitting once again on the cracked-tile floor of that lodge, staring out at one of the most picturesque lakes I've ever seen, listening to a middle-aged man sobbing as he told us he didn't know why. I find a lot of comfort and comradery in that memory.
I don't know why, either.
I don't know why bad things happen to good people. I don't know why children get abused. I don't know why hardworking women and men lose their jobs. I don't know why some homes burn down while others stand tall. Why so many of my brothers and sisters are disqualified from positions based on race and gender. Why 30 million people still live in slavery. Why children and adults will go to school or work or return home to environments where they are mocked, scorned, ridiculed. Why rape exists, and why people don't believe rape victims when they find the courage to report it. Why we are so quick to judge and so slow to love. Why I don't care more about these issues.
I don't know why some people are handed a golden ticket in life, while others fight and struggle for every advantage, yet never seem to catch a break. I don't know why I was blessed enough to be born in a country with access to clean water, food, healthcare, and all the freedoms I so easily take for granted. I don't know why my sister across the globe wasn't given these same opportunities.
I don't know why life is so hard sometimes.
As I sit here tonight, honestly a little frustrated and heartbroken, asking God all the "whys" that I'm struggling with in my own life and selfishly wanting to eliminate, I am forced to realize something:
I probably shouldn't get the answer.
When I know answers to why life is the way it is, it eliminates my need for trust. It eliminates my need for faith. The "whys," as frustrating and heartbreaking as they are, keep my heart constantly returning to God's. Only He knows the answers. Only he can bring comfort to my questioning soul and peace and justice to those situations.
I'm realizing tonight that sometimes, it's okay to cry and admit that you just don't know. Oftentimes, it's necessary to lean in and trust in God, His plans, His understanding, His grace and His love. I don't need to know why.
Sometimes, it's okay to stump the pastor.
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