My heart is broken for the people of Newtown CT. And I don’t
say that lightly. I mean it. As soon as I found out about it I was overcome by
grief. I couldn’t do anything but cry and pray. For their loss is a HUGE one.
And I can’t pretend to possibly comprehend that. But I can feel the weight of
their questions. “God, how could this happen?” “God, why my baby?” “God, where
were you?” And even more than that, I feel the burden of the answers we Christians
give, answers that don’t comfort, but answers that make us feel more right. The
one that really fires me up is the meme that’s been going all over facebook,
and the comments that accompany it:
“Dear God, where were you when this terrible tragedy
occurred? Signed, a concerned student.
“Dear Concerned Student, I’m not allowed in schools. Signed,
God.”
That is giving the wrong message about God. I know that when
passing this around, no one meant any harm. Of course not. But imagine if we
were on the other side of that, what if we were the ones hurting and
questioning, and that was the answer we got? You know what that would tell me
about God? That he is vindictive, and spiteful, that he wasn’t there with my
children in the scariest moments in their lives.
That’s the real tragedy. That we have agendas, to try to get
God back in schools, or get tighter reins on gun control, etc. That rather than
journeying alongside those that are asking questions, we try to give them a quick
answer. That we don’t look into their eyes and try to help bear their burdens.
That we are misrepresenting God to a people who are hurting deeply. Because the
thing is, God was there. God was in the school that day. How could he not be
when we know God’s heart is for children?
“One day some parents brought their children to Jesus so he could lay his hands
on them and pray for them. But the disciples scolded the parents for bothering
him. But Jesus said to them, ‘Let the children come to me. Don’t stop them! For
the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to those who are like these children.’ And he
placed his hands on their heads and he blessed them before he left.” –Matt.
19:13-15 Jesus was a busy guy…he had a lot of ground to cover before his
time was up. But he stopped with these little children, even at the urging of
his disciples not to. He touched them. He loved them. He was present with them.
And I think it is easy for us to miss those moments. We, like the disciples,
try to make things easier for Jesus. They were just trying to help after all,
so he could get to his next place without interruption. And I could make a case
that we are trying to do the same thing—get God back in schools. But we are
missing the faces of the people around us. We aren’t really taking a moment to
look into their eyes and see their hurt, feel the weight of it in our own
hearts. We’re trying to give an easy answer, and the one that is being given
can be really damaging.
The bible tells us that God cannot be contained inside a
building. He is everywhere, which means he cannot be kept outside of a building
either. God was in the school on Dec. 14th. He mourned, broken hearted,
as he held those little ones. And God is angry, livid even, that such evil
happened to them. I believe it from the very core of who I am, because time and
again, whether I deserved it or not, in my darkest hour God was there, with
open arms. And he pulled me close to him and let me just be. He cried with me,
whispered words of hope and comfort to me. And he did the same thing with
everyone in the elementary school that day. God was there. He touched them. He
loved them. He was present with them. And we are missing important moments with
the broken hearted who are still here.
I recently heard a sermon about Job, whose friends
surrounded him as his darkest moments. But they weren’t helpful at all. They
said things like, “Surely, you must have done this.” Or “Can’t you see? God is
punishing you because you sinned in that way?” Etc. And despite Job saying, “No,
I didn’t. That isn’t true,” they wouldn’t let up. What Job needed during that
time was someone to journey with him. To touch him, love him, be present. To
just sit with him in the heaviness of the situation, and not try to answer
questions for him, but to journey alongside him. May we be those people—People
who enter into the messiness of life with our neighbors, and journey alongside
them as they wrestle with their deepest, darkest questions. May we be quick to
listen, not answer. And when we are tempted to answer, may we remember Jesus,
who, for a people that didn’t understand and were full of questions, gave his
life in the most humiliating way, in order to bring them on a journey of
reconciliation to his Father.
