When I was a student pastor in East Texas, there was a community tragedy that occurred that changed the way I looked at God. Two little brothers, just 4 and 6, were walking over to their grandmother’s house for the afternoon. It was a hot summer day. Mom, thinking they were old enough, had let them walk the 100 yards or so through the two back yards alone. She watched for a minute or so and then went back to knocking off one of the 20 or so things on her to do list for that morning. Grandma would call as soon as they got there.
15 minutes later she got worried. Grandma hadn’t called. So, she called. Grandma hadn’t seen them yet.
They both ran outside and started shouting for the boys…searching…no answer.
They called 911. A search party arrived. 30 minutes later the boys were found dead. Their lifeless bodies floating in the neighbor’s pool. They had decided to go for a swim, but neither of them knew how.
That evening Grandma’s church had a meal for the family. As a community pastor I was invited to come. And as I entered the gathering space I was overcome by the strange “feel” of the space. I was expecting to see an outpouring of care and support, but instead another spirit was pervading the space. I went up to the Southern Baptist pastor, whom I had met once at a clergy gathering, and asked him how things were going. He smiled and then quickly grew concerned as he whispered, “Well, Brother Brook, they’re not saved. The mom and dad, I mean. The kids are fine, you see. God will accept those children. They are playing on God’s heavenly playground. They’re good. In paradise! But these two haven’t seen the light. So, as you must know, we’re concerned for them.”
The next day at the funeral, the pastor made that concern known to the mom and dad. There in front of an entire community, he shared with us all that these two weren’t saved, and then, looking mom and dad in the eye, told them that unless they gave their lives to Jesus this very moment, they would never see their children again.
It’s hard to describe the feeling I had at that moment. My stomach was twisting and turning with disbelief, anger, disgust, and more. For me, the church’s job was not to judge and manipulate, but instead to care for and help this family grieve in a grace-filled atmosphere. Grace upon grace upon grace.
That next morning, I drove into Perkins School of Theology ready to quit the ministry. I was struggling with this church’s witness. I was struggling with the will of God. Where was God in times like this? Why didn’t God rescue these two little children? Why had God allowed this to tragedy to happen? I had decided that before I quit, I was going to have it out with one of the seminary professors about God.
I laugh at this now, but I felt like I was the first person who had ever struggled with this! Why is it, that in our pain we always think we’re the only one who has been on this path?!? Grief makes us blind to the community that has been there before. Little did I know that hundreds and thousands of books had been written on this subject. This was not, as I thought, a new theological problem at all! I was not alone!
When I arrived at Perkins School of Theology, I headed right for the office of Dr. Shubert Ogden, professor emeritus of Systematic Theology. When I told one of my colleagues, I was going to do this, he said, “What are you nuts! He’s going to chew you up and spit you out for breakfast, Brook!” I didn’t care! In some ways I wanted to be chewed and spit out!
When I got there, I didn’t even knock! I stormed into his office and let him have it! I didn’t give him a chance to chew on me and spit me out. I told him about this tragic situation and about the church’s response and then I raged on and on and finally I looked at my professor and cried, “Why, Ogden, why?”
Professor Ogden just stood there looking at me for a moment and then I watched as a tear trickled down his eye. “I know how you feel,” he said. I lost a son at that age. And that did it. Not even the anger could hold it back now. I wept and wept and wept. And in between those tears I told him the real story behind my anger. The real reason I went to seminary: the tragic death of my sister at age 20. My grief.
And then Dr. Ogden went to his filing cabinet and pulled out a well-worn piece of paper. A prayer. The prayer was a prayer of protest. The person writing the prayer was standing at the grave of a 20-year-old who had died in a tragic accident. The person was protesting that this young man had so much promise, and so many gifts to share, and how tragic his death was. That his life was cut far too short.
There was anger in this person’s voice. There was indignation. And at the end, it was signed: “Forever faithful, God.”
I took that prayer home and studied it, wept over it, prayed over it and with it. The next day I went back into seminary and went to discuss it with Professor Ogden. And that began a weekly meeting with him.
That prayer and those conversations turned my whole understanding of God upside down. God was not against us at the grave. God was not taking our loved ones in tragedy. God was on our side! God was protesting with us! God was calling us to stand up against those forces that did take away life before it was meant to be so: cancer, and mental illness. God was calling us to make the world a better place by requiring private pools to have safeguards so that children couldn’t drown in them. To make cars safer so that in accidents people wouldn’t die. God was with us…not against us! God was catching us, not taking us!
Perhaps you know of someone who’s lost a loved one tragically. I know I have. Is there a way you can represent God in a way that points them towards a God with us?
Your friend and pastor, so thankful I found a God that stands with me in protest of tragedy, Brook
God was never angry; God was not against me;
God was never far away
God’s not disappointed; God’s not keeping score, and
God’s not judging my mistakes.
God is light. God is love. Do not fear for God’s with us.
God is good. God is grace. God will never hide her face.
‘Cause God is. God is. God is.