Filed Under: doubt, faith, injustice, tragedy
Posted on: June 15, 2010
Tags: arkansas flood, bart ehrman, griffin house, philip yancey
I need a reason why
In his song “I Remember (It’s Happening Again)”, Griffin House sings about war, including the tragedy and suffering it causes. In the song’s final verse, he sings of a friend who is “fighting for our country” in the middle East, and near the end says, “I need a reason why.”
Everyone has felt that way at some point, and not just about matters of war and it’s justification. Injustice and suffering exist in abundance in our world. We see it every day in the news or in our lives. And “why” is often the question on our minds, if not on our lips.
A couple of years ago, I read Bart Ehrman’s book “God’s Problem: How The Bible Fails To Answer Our Most Important Question – Why We Suffer.” Part of Ehrman’s disillusionment with the Christian faith he once held to (he now considers himself agnostic) was his inability to find a satisfactory answer to that question: why do we suffer?
Many of the questions Ehrman asks in his book are questions I have as well. And many of the biblical answers he rejects are likewise difficult for me to swallow. Like Ehrman, I want to know why, and for some reason, the older I get, the more difficult I find it to accept the standard answers.
Just last week, another event not too far from my home brought these questions back to my mind yet again. Flash floods killed 20 people who were camping in western Arkansas, leaving families without loved ones for no apparent reason other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Two families camping together lost six members between them.
Candace Smith lost her husband Anthony Smith, 30, 5-year-old son Joey and 2-year-old daughter Katelynn. They were from Gloster, Louisiana.
Kerri Basinger lost her husband Shane 34, daughters Kinsley 6, and Jadyn 8. Jadyn was the 20th victim found Monday. They are from Shreveport, Louisiana.
I’ve seen report after report on both local and national news over the last several days, and it’s so difficult to watch. Why did it happen? There is no answer. Some would say that’s fine, that we don’t and won’t understand everything now. For me, that does nothing to quell the questions. I need a reason why.
We used to sing a hymn in the church I grew up in that includes the line, “we’ll understand it all by and by.” I’m not certain we’ve been promised that to begin with, but it is beyond my ability to comprehend how senseless death and suffering can be explained adequately. If eternity has all of the answers, why can’t it share them with us now?
Perhaps my frustration with this lack of explanation (or, at the least, a perceived lack) and my struggle with doubt clouds my vision. Philip Yancey has always been one of my favorite Christian writers. Just this morning, a post on his Facebook page quoted from one of his books:
Doubt is the skeleton in the closet of faith and I know no better way to treat a skeleton than to bring it into the open and expose it for what it is: not something to hide or fear, but a hard structure on which living tissue may grow.
Doubt was never exactly looked upon favorably as I grew up in the church. I don’t really recall hearing much about it, and if I did, it was clear that it was not a good thing. But for me, it has grown significantly since my youth. I always thought faith would be easier as I grew older. Instead, it seems the opposite is more often the norm.
God is supposed to be in control, but when flood waters wash children away from their parents and husbands away from their wives, it’s hard to have faith that this is true. Whatever it is that we’re supposed to find out “by and by” might be helpful about now, because in the present, it sucks to be in the dark about why these things happen.
Yet I have hope that Yancey’s quote is accurate. Perhaps good can come from the doubt and the anger as well, and perhaps someday the answers to the question will seem more acceptable, or at least not as necessary. Maybe faith will be enough.
Until then, the question remains.


