"Tough Questions Welcomed Here"

I'm not wanting to be morose or morbid, but life seems to be filled with a lot of death these days. This past Saturday morning I was in the car, taking a basket filled with blooming and green plants, to a family that had lost their father and husband to cancer. As I drove in the bright spring sunshine, I was thinking about the family gathered together that morning and imagined what their conversations were about. I thought about the questions they may be asking one another and asking God, "why did Dad die? Why so young? Why wasn't he healed? Why? What will life be like beyond this point in time?"

I also think of the young couple who recently said goodbye to their little girl after battling cancer at the age of 2. How can this make any sense. How can this be God's best? Why? How?

I can remember this strange other-world of the bereaved where daily life seems to be suspended in time and there is no "normal" to routine or daily rituals. There is that brief moment in the morning when waking up and your mind hasn't fully clicked into gear with reality--when life seems good--and then a heaviness blankets everything with the realization that your loved one has died. It is a strange time of preparing for the funeral; taking care of service details, receiving visitors, seeing family members from out of town, sampling volumes of meals brought by friends, accepting flower deliveries from those thinking of you, crying with others who share your grief. When my father died I know I asked questions; I asked God questions, "Why so young? He was only 38? What do we do now? Does God really love me? Doesn't He know we need our father? How can this be God's best for those of us left here on earth? How do we navigate this pain and grief? What is life going to be like from here on out?"

As I made my way to deliver the flowers on Saturday, I drove through an area of town I hadn't been in for a number of years. I drove past the neighborhood where a friend of mine had once lived. "Barb" and I had met at church in the youth group and were buddies. We sang in a small ensemble together, spent some weekends together..."hung out" with each other like teen girls do. We lost touch during our senior year in high school as Barb had begun attending a different church with her family. We ran into each other just prior to our freshman year in college. She was attending the community college and I was attending a school an hour away from home.

It was an early spring morning my freshman year when my mom called me at my dorm letting me know that Barb had been murdered the night before while leaving a night class at the community college. She had been brutally assaulted and beaten. I found myself asking those questions again. "Why God? Why Barb? Why in this way? How will her parents and family survive this? Why?"

As I continued to drive past Barb's neighborhood and thought about her, I drove by a small neighborhood church. It was quite classic looking really; painted white, complete with a steeple on top. The little sign in front said, "Tough questions welcomed here."

I had to stop and think about that for a minute. This was not the traditional signage you see in front of a church. Usually there is a "Welcome!" sign, or "Hello Neighbor, Come Join Us!" But here was a church announcing they weren't afraid to wade through the tough questions with anyone walking through the doors. They were announcing that they wanted to be Jesus to the world. It was is if Jesus himself was saying it, inviting everyone to come and ask the tough questions, saying it's okay.

On the heals of celebrating Easter, I have been especially touched by the humanity of Christ. Not only his physical pain, but his emotional pain; the range of emotions he endured and understands with us--sorrow, grief, loneliness, anguish.

Scripture tells us that when Jesus went to the garden of Gethsemane to pray, he said, "My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death." (Mathew 26:38) And then when he was praying, knowing that in a few hours he would be arrested and crucified, He asked God tough questions. He asked, "Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will." (Mathew 26:39) And then on the cross dying a painful death and being separated from the Father, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Mathew 27:45). Jesus asked tough questions, yet he submitted to the bigger plan that God had. Out of love, he chose to die. He trusted God that He could make sense of things, even if there was intense pain involved. Of course Jesus was fully God as well as fully human, so we can't make direct comparisons, but we are told that he has endured everything that we endure and He understands.

I find comfort in knowing that God did not scold Jesus for asking questions; for asking, 'is it possible to not do this?' Jesus felt like he was abandoned and ached with grief and sorrow, asking God, "why?" And again, God did not punish Him for asking, or accuse him of not believing or trusting.

As we encounter death and grief, it seems we are invited even given permission to ask the tough questions. God understands. He grieves with us. (He cried when Lazarus died because of the great sorrow of those around Him.) Our journey of faith is to trust him deeper and believe that He sees the big picture. We may never understand why or what good can come from it, but we can rest in knowing that God can and does. What's more, is that we have the assurance that He can make something good of a horrible thing...He only is able to redeem such loss, or the results of such evil.

I guess what this speaks to me is that God understands the pain of separation when a loved one dies. He understands our need to ask questions and try to make sense of something that doesn't make sense--something that is foreign to us, something painful. I'm thankful for a loving Father that will embrace us and say, "Tough questions welcomed here." I'm thankful and have faith that He gives peace and grace that passes understanding.