Jul 27 2012
When we’re young, we ask a million questions – often starting with something specific (“What is that rock called?”), working out to things more general (“How are rocks formed?”) to the ultimate (“Where did the universe come from?”) All this happens in about 5 minutes. At some point parents realize their kid isn’t capable of understanding the ultimate things – no matter how well it’s explained.
How did the movie theater door get propped open? Why were assault rifles sold to a madman? Where was God in Aurora? Our questions move from the specific to the general to the ultimate.
Where is God when our own life falls apart? Like a toddler, we ask questions about the world as we know it but too infrequently about the world outside. Earlier this week on Twitter, someone wrote this:
[We think we're unique]…as if [this issue of 'why'] was only a relevant question in white, American suburbs. Where is God in Afghanistan? Where is God in Gaza? Where is God in Syria? Where is God, indeed?
We don’t get where he is sometimes. He seems to be gone or not to care. A billion people in deep suffering because of poverty? Some of them starve to death. Blame satan. Blame rich people. Blame apathy. Blame sin. Blame the rain. But at the end of the day, if God is all-powerful, he could stop it, but he doesn’t. That’s sad. Period. For all the good suffering can do, it too often ends in unredeemed, crushing, final disappointment (at least as far as a human can tell).
Little kids want to know where babies come from. They’re not ready to hear. Maybe we’re not either. Maybe we’re really toddlers in God’s eyes and we can’t understand these things just yet.
Do you send the lightning bolts on their way? Do they report to you, ‘Here we are’?
We barely know how to tie our shoes.