Today I re-read author Philip Yancey's
story, published in Christianity Today in October of 2001. The day of the attacks, Yancey was contacted by several media organizations, asking for his response.
In every case, I declined to respond. Like most Americans, I felt unbearably helpless, and wounded, and deeply sad. Wednesday, the day after the attacks, it dawned on me that I had already written much of what I believe about the problem of pain. I wrote Where Is God When It Hurts? in 1977, as a 28-year-old who had no right to tackle questions of theodicy—and also no ability to resist, for there is no more urgent question facing those of us who identify ourselves as Christian. In 1990 I revised the book, adding about 100 pages and the perspective of middle age.
That night I e-mailed a proposal to my publisher, Zondervan, suggesting that we find a way to get that book out as cheaply as possible to as many people as possible. I could forego all royalties, and they could forego all profit as our contribution to a grieving nation. They jumped on the idea with amazing speed. Already they had been discussing "instant books" and other publishing responses. Instead, they decided to put their full resources into getting Where Is God into as many hands as possible. They called the next morning (Thursday, two days after the tragedy) saying they were mobilizing for a special edition."
The results? Zondervan sold more copies of the book in 24 hours than they had in the previous 24 years.
Yancey also shares the stories of a few people he came in contact with, including his encounter with a man who asked him to sum up Where Is God When It Hurts? in a sentence or two:
I thought for a moment and said, "I guess the answer to that question is another question. Where is the church when it hurts? If the church is doing its job—binding wounds, comforting the grieving, offering food to the hungry—I don't think people will wonder so much where God is when it hurts. They'll know where God is: in the presence of his people on earth."
Yancey closes by sharing what he thinks we learned from the tragic events of September 11:
One day we faced what most of us spend a lifetime ignoring: that all of us will die, and that many of us fill our lives with trivialities in apparent defiance of that fact. We learned ... that playing games with kids may be more important than working late for overtime pay. We learned that even in a city known for its crusty cynicism, heroes can emerge. We learned that a Jay Leno comedy routine and major-league sports, entertaining as they may be, are sometimes obscenely out of place. We learned that love for country and even for strangers can surge up with no warning. We learned that our nation, for all its flaws, has much worth preserving, and worth defending. And we learned that at a time of crisis, we turn to our spiritual roots: the President quoting Psalm 23, the bagpiper piping "Amazing Grace," the sanitation workers stopping by their makeshift chapel, the Salvation Army chaplains dispensing grace, the chaplains comforting the grieving loved ones. Thanks to them, we know where God is when it hurts.
In reading this story, and remembering reading Where Is God When It Hurts?, I can't help but think of the story of Job. I think we all too often display the same simplistic thinking that Job's friends displayed. "Well, Job, you must have done something to deserve God's punishment." We cannot always understand how or why God does things the way He does, and so we find ourselves grasping for straws instead of grasping for God. Todd Agnew put the conclusion to Job's story to music in his song entitled, "Where Were You?":
I thought up all the questions that my human mind could bring
And laid them out before the Lord
Demanded a reason for these things
I asked about inequality and the success of evil men
But what was I to say to Him
When He answered with this question
Where were you when I split the sky and sea?
Where were you when I taught the lion to roar?
Where were you when I made electricity
Fall from the sky in the middle of a thunderstorm?
Where were you?
I had no response, I had no reply
As the One who spoke and is the Truth opened up my eyes
I laid my time of doubt at the feet of the Infinite
But what was left for me to say
When He answered with this question
Where were you when I split the sky and sea?
Where were you when I taught the lion to roar?
Where were you when I made electricity
Fall from the sky in the middle of a thunderstorm?
Where were you when I put stars in the sky?
Where were you when I taught the eagle to fly?
Where were you when I made that little child look just like
Her mom but she had her daddy’s eyes?
Where were you?
Where were you?
Where were you when I split the sky and sea?
Where were you when I taught the lion to roar?
Where were you when I made electricity
Fall from the sky in a thunderstorm?
Where were you when I put stars in the sky?
Where were you when I taught the eagle to fly?
Where were you when I made that little child look just like
Her mom but she had her daddy’s eyes?
Where were you?
May our response to our own trials & sufferings mirror Job's: "Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return. The L
ORD gave, and the L
ORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the L
ORD." (Job 1:21, ESV)
And may we answer the the L
ORD's questions as Job did:
"I know that You can do all things,
and that no purpose of Yours can be thwarted.
'Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?'
Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand,
things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.
'Hear, and I will speak;
I will question You, and You make it known to me.'
I had heard of You by the hearing of the ear,
but now my eye sees You;
therefore I despise myself,
and repent in dust and ashes." (Job 42:2-6)
