I heard a radio program recently that included a conversation between a man well-known for his faith and a woman whose cherished friend had died at a young age. If God is real, the grieving woman wanted to know, then why did this happen?
The man’s response was earnest and tender, but it was built from elements that would best make sense to a Christian. He spoke of sin resulting in a fallen world. The woman was neither satisfied nor comforted. The host of the radio program—himself sharing the woman’s lack of faith in God—observed that the difficulty in communication between people with and without this faith is that the two groups seem to hold such profoundly different premises.
That difference in premises seems crystallized in the list of exhortations toward the end of Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians. One of the items on that list says, “In everything give thanks [emphasis mine], for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” A person of faith interpreting this might say that, in God’s plan, everything ultimately makes sense—so we are to find a way within our hearts to give thanks for what occurs. My understanding of this verse used to stop there. But the grieving woman would likely respond, “No way! My friend died. Everyone who knew her and everyone who might have known her has suffered a loss. I won’t give thanks for that!” And the woman would be right.
The preposition is important. We are to give thanks “in” everything, not “for” everything. Awful things do happen. Jesus never promised happiness, and he did say there would be trouble (John 16:33). We do not have to be thankful for the awful things. But in the midst of them, we can give thanks for the God who is in control of everything and does have a plan that is fuller, more glorious, and more elaborate than what we can understand. Over the sweep of sufficient time and from the vantage of sufficient perspective, what seemed to be bad or evil—indeed, what was bad or evil—can also be seen to flower, by God’s love and grace, so that it becomes integral to the wholeness of a vastly greater good. This was the truth that the Joseph of the Old Testament glimpsed in the face of the brothers who had treated him cruelly. See Genesis 50:20. This, indeed, was truth of the execution of Jesus Christ.
To the grieving woman, this is not necessarily satisfying either. But the grieving woman’s question is phrased in a way that it cannot be satisfied. Perhaps the most fundamental fact of the universe is this: God is God. He announced this fact just before he gave the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20:2), and he gave his name to Moses as “I Am That I Am” (Exodus 3:14). When we say to God, if you are real then why do you allow X, we place ourselves higher than God. That is, we set ourselves up as the judge of God’s plan. To do this is not only spiritually rebellious, but also illogical. He is the Creator and I am not. I might find myself in pain because of trouble I find in this world. Even so, nothing true can proceed from the false premise that he must explain himself to me.
The freedom comes in finding that we can give up constantly trying to be God. When Jesus promises that his way is freer and easier than what we are accustomed to (Matthew 11:30), I think part of what he is saying is that we don’t have to respond to what happens in our lives anymore as if we were little gods and goddesses. We don’t have to try to carry everything on our own. God is real, and his reality becomes increasingly apparent as we turn our hearts to him. With or without Jesus, we will have trouble, but with Jesus the burden is lighter because he shares it. It’s all true.
In the midst of sorrow, it can be hard to give thanks. In a different way, it can also be hard to give thanks in the midst of happiness, because we get so full of what we have. The beginning of all things is God, and in the midst of all things we give thanks—including thanks for the fullness of all he understands, and thanks for what he is going to do that we couldn’t possibly do on our own. That is, he is going to see us all the way through.
The man’s response was earnest and tender, but it was built from elements that would best make sense to a Christian. He spoke of sin resulting in a fallen world. The woman was neither satisfied nor comforted. The host of the radio program—himself sharing the woman’s lack of faith in God—observed that the difficulty in communication between people with and without this faith is that the two groups seem to hold such profoundly different premises.
That difference in premises seems crystallized in the list of exhortations toward the end of Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians. One of the items on that list says, “In everything give thanks [emphasis mine], for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” A person of faith interpreting this might say that, in God’s plan, everything ultimately makes sense—so we are to find a way within our hearts to give thanks for what occurs. My understanding of this verse used to stop there. But the grieving woman would likely respond, “No way! My friend died. Everyone who knew her and everyone who might have known her has suffered a loss. I won’t give thanks for that!” And the woman would be right.
The preposition is important. We are to give thanks “in” everything, not “for” everything. Awful things do happen. Jesus never promised happiness, and he did say there would be trouble (John 16:33). We do not have to be thankful for the awful things. But in the midst of them, we can give thanks for the God who is in control of everything and does have a plan that is fuller, more glorious, and more elaborate than what we can understand. Over the sweep of sufficient time and from the vantage of sufficient perspective, what seemed to be bad or evil—indeed, what was bad or evil—can also be seen to flower, by God’s love and grace, so that it becomes integral to the wholeness of a vastly greater good. This was the truth that the Joseph of the Old Testament glimpsed in the face of the brothers who had treated him cruelly. See Genesis 50:20. This, indeed, was truth of the execution of Jesus Christ.
To the grieving woman, this is not necessarily satisfying either. But the grieving woman’s question is phrased in a way that it cannot be satisfied. Perhaps the most fundamental fact of the universe is this: God is God. He announced this fact just before he gave the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20:2), and he gave his name to Moses as “I Am That I Am” (Exodus 3:14). When we say to God, if you are real then why do you allow X, we place ourselves higher than God. That is, we set ourselves up as the judge of God’s plan. To do this is not only spiritually rebellious, but also illogical. He is the Creator and I am not. I might find myself in pain because of trouble I find in this world. Even so, nothing true can proceed from the false premise that he must explain himself to me.
The freedom comes in finding that we can give up constantly trying to be God. When Jesus promises that his way is freer and easier than what we are accustomed to (Matthew 11:30), I think part of what he is saying is that we don’t have to respond to what happens in our lives anymore as if we were little gods and goddesses. We don’t have to try to carry everything on our own. God is real, and his reality becomes increasingly apparent as we turn our hearts to him. With or without Jesus, we will have trouble, but with Jesus the burden is lighter because he shares it. It’s all true.
In the midst of sorrow, it can be hard to give thanks. In a different way, it can also be hard to give thanks in the midst of happiness, because we get so full of what we have. The beginning of all things is God, and in the midst of all things we give thanks—including thanks for the fullness of all he understands, and thanks for what he is going to do that we couldn’t possibly do on our own. That is, he is going to see us all the way through.
