Why?
It’s a question we often ask in the middle of pain. Why me? Why us? Why now? Why this? Why more?
At some point in life, we all experience pain of some kind. And for those who have a relationship with Jesus, we often ask God questions. Where are you? Why did you let this happen? We struggle to reconcile how a loving God can allow us to live in a world with pain and tragedy, brokenness and struggle, sin and death.
Why must some people steward more pain than others? How can God make anything beautiful from the ashes of my life?
Where were you, Jesus?
There is a family in Scripture who experienced great loss, great tragedy. A family who knew Jesus. Mary, Martha, Lazarus – they literally KNEW Jesus. Personally. Intimately. They knew his power. His purpose. His position – Messiah.
And in their moment of crisis, they knew they needed him. They knew his power, and they knew that in their moment of need, they needed him. So they asked for him. Sent for him.
They waited for Jesus. Waited for him to come and change their circumstance. To save the day. To prevent the catastrophe. They knew he could and that he had done so for others. And then, they watched their world fall apart. They watched their loved one die. Their Savior hadn’t saved the day.
And when he finally reveals his presence, they can’t help but let their pain seep into their words. The unspoken questions of “Where were you, Jesus?” and “Why did you let this happen?” are conveyed with the poignant statement, that note of accusation that mixes with their declarations of faith. “Lord, if you would have been here…”
In the midst of pain and grief, it is hard to see how any beauty could come from the ashes, especially when those embers are still smoldering, still capable of inflicting searing pain.
We don’t know how long Lazarus battled his illness. We do know that he had been buried for four days when Jesus came. Those days nursing Lazarus, those days after his death were very dark for Mary and Martha. They had no glimpse of the glory to God that would result from their personal tragedy. I’m sure they battled with doubts. You can hear the inner conflict in what Martha says to Jesus. The pain. The questions at odds with her faith and belief.
How can you make beauty from the ashes?
In the midst of grief, when things are the most dark, it is easy to feel alone in the pain. And for many, the pain is unimaginable. Jesus sees your pain. It deeply moves his spirit and troubles him. He weeps alongside you.
The hard part for many is the waiting, the wondering why. They believe in Jesus, that he can work all things . . . and so on. Yes, they believe it. But, their hearts still voice the questions. God, how on earth can you make anything good come from this? How can you redeem this? And why didn’t you come to the rescue? Why didn’t you save the day? Why didn’t you protect me from this pain?
“And then Jesus said, ‘Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?’” (Jn 11:40)
And that’s the promise. I don’t know how long the wait will be or how the end result will look, but he has promised that if you believe, you will see the glory of God.
And He who promised is faithful.
“The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion – to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor.” Isaiah 61:1-3
© 2018 Sara R Conley