October 9, 2005
Reverend
Jim Wood Sermon
“When God Seems Silent”
Job 1:1-3, 13-22
In
her book, Acquainted With Grief, Ada
Rose tells the story of her son, Mac, with whom she was especially close. They were a great deal alike, and since she
was a widow, they were together much of the time. Her son was a handsome, athletic, intelligent
boy of great promise. One day when he
was eleven years old, Mac was accidentally hit on the forehead with a
baseball. It wasn’t a hard blow, yet somehow
it caused a hemorrhage on his brain. He
was rushed into surgery and his life was saved, but after that he was
different. His speech became slurred and
he walked with great difficulty, dragging one foot. Damage to his pituitary gland caused him to lose
his energy rapidly, so that he had to rest often. He was the same person, with the same
intelligence, the same desires—but now he seemed trapped in a different
body. He asked later in his writings but
always with his eyes, “Why did this happen?
Why me?”
For
twenty-three years Mac was constantly tired, always stared at in public and
unable to do normal tasks. One day he
quietly made his plans, and after writing a note of love to his mother, ended
his life. Ada Rose, in her loneliness,
wrote her book looking for an answer to her questions, “Why him? And now, why me?”
A
man watches his wife die of cancer, while the wife’s older sister, a chain
smoker, lives on full of health. He
asks, “Why my wife?” Since she’s the
second wife he will lose to cancer, he also asks, “Why me?” Often, after news following a surgery has not
been good, after a tragedy dissolves a family, after hopes have been dashed,
after love has been denied, the question is posed, “Why me, Lord?”
Many
assume that the purpose of Job’s book, a portion from which our Scripture
lesson this morning is taken, is to discuss the problem of suffering and
evil. Now, to be sure, Job wrestles with
an inescapable problem of human life: the suffering of the innocent. However, the problem of suffering—and its
counterpart of divine justice—allows us to examine a much deeper question,
namely, “How can we move from despair to faith?” But before dealing with this deeper question,
which involves the character of God and our personal relationship to God, let’s
spend a little time looking at some different types of suffering.
Martha
and I usually do our weekly grocery shopping mid-week. Not too long ago, while taking care of this
chore, I noticed a determined looking young man doing his shopping. He was interested in a pineapple. The woman with him, though, suggested that
they didn’t need a pineapple, and since she was thirty-something and he was
about three-something, her word was law.
Except, when she turned her back, the pineapple went into the cart. Only, of course, to be discovered again by
the mother. The boy stood silently
before the fruit bins for a while before making one more try. Grabbing the pineapple and securing it firmly
under his arm like a football, he took off down the aisle. Before he could make his “touchdown” he
almost overturned a display that was at the corner. When his mother finally caught up with him
(and she was fast), she persuaded him firmly and warmly that he would not be
doing that again!
It’s
not only little boys and girls who endure such sufferings, it also happens to
us big girls and boys. Something comes
from our mouth that isn’t honest or true, and there comes that roundabout
punishment when trust in us is gone. We
make an inappropriate decision, and we find that we lose respect, or time, or
money, or a relationship. We do
something wrong, and in return we suffer.
Now let’s be clear that when we ask “Why me, Lord?” we’re not talking
about that kind of suffering. You and I know the rules of this game. We’re not always happy with them, but we know
them. Do something wrong, make a foolish
decision, and we’d better be prepared to face the consequences.
There’s
a second kind of suffering we can dismiss as well.
The best example I can give is from my own life. When I was a boy of about ten, a friend and I
used to fight often. Oh, we never fought
when we were in the classroom, when he was on vacation with his family, or when
I was hiding from him in the top of the pepper tree we used to climb. Otherwise, we fought. We had a rule in our friendship, upon which
we agreed, that serious fights would end in a certain way. Whenever one of us wanted to make up and be
friends again, we would stand still and let the other have one last “slug”—on
the arm. I remember once, he took
careful aim at my arm, swung, and located a better target at the last moment—my
mouth! The question, “Why me, Lord?,”
had no bearing at that point. I knew why I suffered. I suffered because my friend was a blockhead
and a numskull!
I’m
sure you’ve probably had similar experiences—we all suffer at times for what someone else has done. It wasn’t our plan, we didn’t choose it, but
it happened, and there’s a sense in which most of us understand this kind of
suffering.
There’s
a third kind of suffering with which we do not quarrel, and that’s chosen
suffering. Martha has a friend who became a
missionary. It was discovered that she
had language skills and so chose to work with various Indian tribes in
So
let’s be clear about the extent of this morning’s question. Sometimes we suffer because we’ve done
something wrong or have made inappropriate decisions in life. Sometimes we suffer because someone else
causes us to suffer. And sometimes we
suffer because we choose to suffer. For
the most part, we don’t question these types of suffering.
What
we do question, though, is blind suffering. We
question those events that seem senseless and cruel, those random happenings
that could occur to anyone, and those tragedies that are supposed to happen to
others, not us! The devastations caused
by the tsunami in the southeast island countries of
Well,
I don’t have an answer, but I have a response.
Before I share it with you, though, let me make something else
clear. Although Job’s message suggests
that foolish people expect only good to come to the righteous from the hand of
God, while the wise are aware that evil also comes to them from God as a kind
of loyalty test (and I have some problems with this kind of theology), I would
remind you of Job’s deeper question, that of our relationship to God. I also would remind you that we live on this
side of Easter and have a new hope and chance for new life. Though we live in the kind of world where
creation is still in the process and accidents of nature take place, diseases
are still prevalent, and individuals and governments still make decisions that
hurt people and cause untold suffering and hardship, I don’t believe for one
moment in a cruel, vindictive God who punishes people by making bad things
happen to them.
The
question persists, though, “Why me?” I
don’t know. I don’t know why blind
suffering exists. I don’t understand
suffering that makes no sense. It’s a
mystery to me as well as you. The more I
try to understand, the less I do. We
suffer because we’re human, because the world isn’t perfect, because we know
pain and joy. But why you? Why me?
I don’t know. That’s my
response. I know it isn’t much and less
than satisfying for most of you, so let me share something else that may
help. It has to do with one of the most
senseless acts of suffering that I’ve personally witnessed.
Several
years ago a member of one of my former churches went into the Laundromat late
one night, and found a young woman, alone, crying. She referred her to me, and the next morning
the woman came to the church office, as she was to do for many mornings after
that. She had a twelve-month-old
daughter and doctors had recently diagnosed the child as having a rare and
incurable disease. The name of the
disease isn’t important. It’s enough to
know that it was a terrible one. It was
painful and the child was often in tears with the most heart-wrenching look in
her eyes. The mother wrestled with the
questions, “Why her?” and “Why us?”
I’ve
never felt more helpless. Sometimes you
can say, “Well, at least the pain will end.”
But this pain wouldn’t. Or you
can say, “She’ll get over it as she grows older.” This child would not grow older. Or you can talk and soothe with words. This child could not understand words. Or you can touch and hold to give comfort,
but even the slightest touch hurt this child.
In time, I gently baptized this child and within a few weeks she
died. I had her service and I wept.
But
the story doesn’t end there. A couple of
years later the mother telephoned me and excitedly asked, “Would you do us a
favor?” I said, “Sure.” She joyfully announced, “We have a new baby
daughter, and we’d like for you to baptize her!” So on a bright Sunday morning, I took that
little one in my arms and, through God’s grace, initiated her into God’s
family, the church, through infant baptism.
She looked so much like her sister.
I touched her little nose, felt her soft hair and kissed her on the
cheek. With her round, blue eyes she was
perfect in every way. And as I held her, I thought, “Why her,
Lord?” Why, when there were tens of
thousands of chances for a gene to link wrong, why should this child be
perfect? Why should her eyes be so
beautiful? Why should her skin be so smooth? Why her?
I don’t know.
When
a grandchild or great-grandchild is born to your family, healthy and normal,
why you? When good fortune comes your
way, unearned and undeserved, why you?
When love lifts you higher than you ever thought you could be lifted,
why you? When good health is yours, day
after day, why you?
In
the book of Job the mystery of suffering is left unanswered, as it is left
unanswered throughout the Bible. For the
focus of this human problem, according to
Gracious
God, hear the prayers of Your people. Be
sensitive to every hurt, every sorrow.
Touch every heart, whether broken or healing or healed. Shoulder those burdens that need to be cast
off tired shoulders. Where there is no
hope, promise it. Make that promise
known through Your people. Where
loneliness decays, may love be offered.
Where there is joy, may it multiply.
Where there is closeness, deepen it.
Where there is faith, may it be spread.
We boldly ask this prayer in the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.