Why did God let it happen?

(William's Special Day Part 9)

William's service included a reflection written and read by uncle Matt. His reflection is beautiful. It reminds us of how lucky we are to have him in our lives. Matt has made a big difference in our grieving. He was there to talk, to laugh, and to be silent while we cried. William may never have met his uncle Matt face to face, but they are still very much connected and we know that William loves his uncle very, very much. How could he not.

Uncle Matt loves you, William  :)

Why did William die? Why did God let it happen?

A Reflection by William's Uncle, Matt

I think we’ve all been asking this question since William’s death.  As a theologian, I have thought long and deeply about the question of death and human suffering; but for the most part, I thought about the question in the abstract; for me it was a philosophical problem. I was considering an apparent conflict of ideas: how can suffering exist in a world created by an all-good and all-powerful God? But when William died, the question became real. For me, the tragedy, the absurdity, the injustice of baby William’s death gave rise to deeply existential questions that were no longer fueled by a detached wonder but were energized by frustration and anger.

Why did God let it happen? I have come to the realization that the question itself may be problematic.  It is a loaded question that can lead us to think about God as one who, in his limitless power, had the option to prevent William’s death and his family’s suffering but chose to remain a passive spectator—watching the tragic story unfold from the heavens.  This view of a spectator God who deliberately chooses to stand by passively in the face of human suffering and withhold life-saving measures for one of his children seems hardly compatible with the God of boundless love revealed by Jesus in the Gospels.  But if death and suffering are neither directly willed nor even deliberately permitted by divine love, then perhaps the question “why did God let it happen?” is not the best question we can be asking.  Not all questions are good questions.  Imagine a child asking the question: how many miles long is Tuesday? As adults, who understand that Tuesday is a measure of time and not distance, we realize the senseless nature of the question.  It doesn't have an answer because it’s not a real question.  Perhaps we stand, like children, before the vast mysteries of God and continue to ask questions that are equally senseless.  Maybe “why did God let it happen?” is one of those senseless questions; maybe it doesn't have an answer because the question is not a real question in the first place.

Perhaps it is senseless because the Christian God is not passive in the face of human suffering; he doesn't simply choose to let it happen from his distant throne in the skies. If we want to find the God of the Gospels, we look not to the clouds but to the cross, where our Lord hangs with open arms embracing all those who suffer in the world.  In the words of Fr. Michael Himes,

“The Cross does answer the question, ‘How can God will  (or permit) this suffering?’ and the answer is that God does not will or permit it.  God hates human suffering; God will not tolerate the pain of God’s creatures.  Then, given the terrible reality of suffering in the world, where is God to be found? God suffers with us.  God does not permit the cross; God is on the cross.”

14th century church interior, Montepulciano Italy

Still we may ask, where is this God who suffers with us? Where is he to be found?  Where was he in our suffering? Why does this God not answer us? But let us not mistake silence for apathy. Mother Teresa says:

“God cannot be found in noise and restlessness.  God is the friend of silence.  See how nature - trees, flowers, grass - grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence.... We need silence to be able to touch souls.”

I think that motherhood offers us a beautiful image for understanding the God who Mother Teresa speaks about—the God who is with us and loves us in silence.  We are so accustomed to thinking about God as our divine father that we miss all that motherhood has to teach us about God. Babies in the womb are unaware of the life-giving blood coursing through them or the nutrients that are being fed to them from their mothers.  Babies in the womb are nurtured and nourished, cared-for and carried by their mothers in silence; and when babies suffer, their mothers suffer with them. Elizabeth was a wonderful mother to William in the womb. Though she sang and talked to him (as did Tom), she also loved him in silence.  Not unlike babies in the womb who are unaware of the life-giving care that comes to them silently from their mothers, we are sometimes unaware of the divine love that silently flows through us and sustains our spirits.  As it says in the Scriptures, “In God we live and move and have our being.”  Babies cannot see their mothers while in the womb not because their mothers are too distant, but because they are too near.  In our own suffering, when we cannot seem to find God, perhaps it is not because he is too far, but too close for us to see.  When baby William was born, he was held in the tender embrace of Liz and Tom.  It is our conviction, as Christians, that when we die, we too will meet and be held by the God who silently carried and nurtured us within the womb of this life.

But our God is not only the God of the cross—the God who suffers with us in silence.  Our God is also the God of the Resurrection—the God of eternal newness—the God of surprises, who will somehow transform William’s death and our suffering into a profound source of life and meaning.  We don’t yet know how divine creativity will weave William’s story into the grand tapestry of human history, but we know it will be wonderful and beautiful.  If we become too fixated on the question of why his death happened, we miss how God is responding and what God is bringing about through it.  Let us confidently place our hope not in the God who let it happen, but in the God who suffers with us.  Let us confidently place our trust in the God who has assured us that our human story does not end with the grave—that love and life will triumph over suffering and death.