Trying to Make Sense of Evil

Yesterday, I sat with a woman who was reeling from the tragic death of a close friend who'd been killed by her husband who then took his own life, orphaning their 8-month-old child. As we sat there grieving the situation, I found myself wanting to say something to lessen the pain, something that could make sense of a senseless tragedy. But what could I say?

It's human nature to want to make sense of evil, to explain why something awful happens. And this urge is particularly strong for me as a pastor, as if I need to defend God. But I've come to realize that evil has no place in God’s good creation. It's like a piece from a puzzle that has been placed in the wrong box. Though our rational, thinking minds want to figure it out, want to find where it fits and why it’s there, the truth is it doesn’t belong. It is an interloper into this world and our job isn’t to understand it, but rather to resist it.

Wait, couldn’t God remove it?! Of course He could; He’s God and scripture tells us that eventually He will do just that. Yet, part of the mystery of evil is that He doesn’t do so now. Rather than shielding His image-bearers from the pain of this sin-scarred world, He invites us to live as ambassadors of hope to those who have grown hopeless. And that means we will suffer right alongside of them. In fact, He warns us that "here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). In other words, following Jesus won't protect us from pain, won't insulate us from evil. We will experience sorrow and grief. Our hearts will ache, our bodies will break, but we can find hope in the fact that because of the cross, the brokenness of this sin-warped world won't get the last word. Depression and anxiety won't get the last word. Social and relational conflict won't get the last word. Even senseless death won't get the last word. Because of the cross and the empty grave, God gets the last word, and that's the hope we can cling to in the face of senseless tragedy.

But finding hope in tragedy doesn't diminish the fact that life in this world is painful. When we, like the woman in my office, are faced with an unexplainable tragedy, there's no easy answer to make the pain go away. Perhaps our best response in those times is to simply grieve with those who grieve and to bring our sorrow and our questions to Jesus, the source of our hope. He's big enough to handle our deepest emotions and our toughest questions. Besides, He's proven over and over that he can bring beauty from the ashes and breathe new life into dead hearts.

Joy Comes in the Mourning

Yesterday, we laid my friend Josh to rest. Our family has known him for almost 2-decades and the news of his passing from a heart attack last month came as a complete shock. After all, he was in the prime of his life and left behind a wife and two young sons.

There were plenty of tears shed at his memorial service, but I was surprised that the sorrow of his untimely death was overshadowed by very different emotions: hope and joy. This is because just three months before his heart gave out, Josh had entrusted it to Jesus. After years of relying on his own strength to fight his battles, Josh had come to the end of himself and recognized how desperately he needed a savior. And these are the words he wrote in his journal on that day:

Today I decided to stop playing God.

It didn’t work.

I decided that here after in this drama of life,

God was going to be my director.

He is my principal. I am his agent.

He is my Father and I am his child.

10/03/2020

It might seem cruel of God to take someone so shortly after they’d placed their faith in Him. But I see God’s grace in the timing. Because Josh had been relying on his own strength for a long, long time, and God allowed him just enough time to get to the end of his rope and recognize that he really did need a savior. And Josh’s faith in Jesus didn’t just change his life for those three short months. It radically altered his eternal life. In comparison to that, the lives we lead now are a drop of water next to the ocean of eternity.

So we grieve Josh’s unexpected death, but we don’t grieve as those who have no hope. Josh’s trust in Jesus tempers our grief, because we know that this isn’t goodbye. At most this is a temporary separation. And I look forward to seeing my friend again.

That said, if you’re reading this and you are still trying to navigate life in this broken world by your own strength, then know that I am praying for you as well. And while the content of my prayer might seem odd, know that it’s motivated by love:

I pray that you would reach the end of your rope quickly. I pray that you would recognize, as Josh did, that you are not equipped to be self-sufficient. The truth is, you were never intended to do life on your own. Our heavenly Father made you to do life with Him, and you will remain restless until you allow yourself to rest in Him. You will remain unfulfilled until you find your fulfillment in Him. So I pray that you would stop running, stop striving, stop trying to hold your world together and entrust all that you hold most dearly into the hands of the One who formed you and who holds the world together. Because He loves you and He’s not far off. You can always find Him at the end of your rope.

The Resurrection of Hope

On the Road to Emmaus
A Dramatic Retelling of Luke 24:13-34

It is late morning, and two men are making the seven-mile trek from Jerusalem down to the village of Emmaus. This in itself isn’t unusual. After all, it’s the first day after the Passover feast and lots of people are returning home. But there is something a little off about these two – they look like they’re carrying the weight of the world on their backs. Their shoulders sag and feet drag, as if they’ve been walking for days on end. At times they speak to one another in hushed, anxious voices and then lapse into periods of silence as they wrestle with their thoughts.

As they walk along, they hear the footsteps of someone coming along the path behind them. They both grow silent, waiting for this stranger to pass by before continuing their conversation. But instead of walking past, the stranger speaks directly to them: “What are you talking about?” he inquires.

The men look at one another, pain and anxiety in their eyes, sharing an entire conversation in a glance. What can they say? How can they even begin to put into words the sea of emotions that churns within their hearts? Even if they could, would it safe to speak of what has happened and of their sadness? After all, the Sanhedrin has ears everywhere and the other disciples have gone into hiding, fearing that what has befallen their rabbi might happen to them, too.

Finally, one of the men named Cleopas breaks the silence. “Were you just visiting Jerusalem?
You must have heard about the things that have happened there in the last few days.”

“What things?” the stranger asks them.

“About Jesus of Nazareth,” Cleopas answers, surprised by this man’s apparent ignorance. “He was a prophet, one who spoke the words of God with authority, and he backed his words up with powerful miracles as well. Many of us had hoped he was the long-awaited Messiah, the one who would rescue God’s people from the hand of the Romans. But that hope is dead, killed along with Jesus on a Roman cross.”

Cleopas grows silent, overcome by sorrow and wrestling with how proceed, how much to share.
Finally, after a few moments of silence, he continues.

“Apparently the Chief Priests and the Sanhedrin felt he posed more of a danger to our people than he did to Roman rule, so they branded him a traitor and handed him over to the Roman authorities. That happened on Friday, but this morning some women who had gone to visit his tomb found it standing wide open and Jesus’ body was missing. They claimed that some angels met them there and told them Jesus was alive, but how can that be possible? Some of the other disciples went to check it out for themselves and found the tomb empty just as the women claimed. Jesus’ body was nowhere to be found. Honestly, we don’t know what to think.”

The stranger just shakes his head like a father towards a particularly dense child.
“Are you really so foolish? Don’t you don’t realize that this is exactly what the prophets foretold?”

The two disciples look at one another in surprise, partially because of this man’s sudden change in tone and partially because of what he’s said. What does he mean the Prophets had foretold this? They’d spoken of a conquering king who would overthrow God’s enemies, not a crucified Rabbi crushed under the heel of the Roman Empire…hadn’t they?

Their confusion is written all over their faces, so as they walk along, the stranger begins to unpack the Jewish scriptures that they’d grown up with, pointing to passage after passage that foreshadowed God’s anointed leader suffering in order to redeem His people.

Since they’ve just celebrated the Passover, he begins with the first Passover, where God commanded the Israelites to choose a pure, spotless lamb and to sacrifice it, covering their door-frames with its blood in order to cover them as the Angel of the Lord passed through the land, meting out justice upon the Egyptians who had kept them enslaved for 400 years. Anyone homes marked with the blood of the lamb would be passed over. He explains that this week, Jesus became the final Passover lamb, laying down his life to cover God’s people with his atoning blood.

Next this stranger points to the Prophet Isaiah: “Don’t you remember what the prophet Isaiah said about the Messiah,” he asks? ‘He was led like a lamb to the slaughter.’ And what else did he say about God’s anointed redeemer? That he would be "pierced for our transgressions, crushed for our sins; the punishment that brings us peace would be upon him and by his wounds we would be healed." (Is.53:5).

Don’t you see that Jesus had to die in order for us to live? But God also promised that he would not abandon him to the realm of the dead forever, nor would he allow his holy one to see decay, so even though the Messiah had to die, he wouldn’t stay dead.

As the man speaks, the hearts of these two disciples begin to beat faster and faster, as despair slowly gives way to a new hope. Could what he is saying be true? Could this have all been part of God’s plan?

As they ponder these impossible questions, the village of Emmaus rises up over the horizon. Their journey is at an end, but as they move towards the village gate, the stranger who has rekindled their hope looks as if he is planning to continue onto the next village despite the late hour. But he can’t go now, they think. He has become a ray of hope in a world of despair and they don’t want to part ways with him just yet, so they beg him to stay the evening with them. Thankfully, he accepts their invitation.

That evening, as they sit down to dinner, this stranger takes the bread, gave thanks for it and begins to pass it out in a way that is hauntingly reminiscent to the last meal they’d shared with Jesus in the upper room just a few nights before. 

Suddenly, they look at him with new eyes and realize that he’s no stranger. He’s Jesus, their Rabbi…no, their Messiah, raised from the dead and in better health than they’ve ever seen him. They stare at him with mouths agape, forgetting even to breath.

Jesus, seeing the realization dawning upon their faces, just smiles at them as if saying, “Finally, you see.” And then, in the blink of an eye, he’s gone.

For several moments, the two men sit in stunned silence, staring at the place their risen savior was sitting moments before. How could this be? How could he possibly be alive? And how did we not recognize him sooner? Weren’t our hearts burning as he spoke to us along the road, filled with a new, resurrected hope? How did we miss this?

Slowly, a grin spreads across their faces. Jesus is alive, they think. He’s alive! Our hope lives!
Wait until the other disciples hear about this. 

The two men look at one another, wild joy and excitement written across their faces, and without a word they both know what they have to do. So in a flurry of activity, they both spring up and race for the door. It doesn’t matter if the sun is setting. They’ve got to get back to Jerusalem. This good news can’t wait ‘til morning.