He was sweet and full of energy: a blond-haired, blue-eyed six-year-old boy. He had a smile and laugh that conveyed joy to others. His name was Chris. I met him when on the pediatric unit of the hospital I served as a chaplain in the early 1980s.
Over the next few months, I spent a great deal of time with Chris, his mother, and his grandmother. As I got to know Chris, sitting with him drawing and coloring, I asked him to draw me a picture of God. I later asked him to draw a picture of him being with God. We hung these on the wall of the hospital room.
It was about six or eight months after I met Chris and his family that he died. He had a particular kind of cancer that couldn’t be treated. The doctors tried, but nothing could be done. One night, as I slept, the call came. A nurse notified me that Chris had passed. I pulled on my clothes and went to the pediatric unit to be with the mother and grandmother. I met the doctor first who I would accompany to share the news.
We all shed tears. How could this happen to such a sweet boy? Then came the question often asked in the midst of tragedy and it was directed toward me: how could God let this happen? I was in my mid-twenties and, well, I was overwhelmed by Chris’s death, too. I didn’t have a response. But the doctor didn’t miss a beat. With calm assurance, he gently said, “We can never understand why. But I know this much: God gave you a beautiful little boy as a son. You have not lost him. He will always be your little boy, but in a different way.”
In times of tragedy, many people ask why. Some reason that if God is really good, why should hardship happen? Others think that because they’ve led an exemplary life that God should spare them from tragedy. Christian theologians traditionally refer to this experience as the problem of suffering.
Let’s be honest: suffering is a part of our lives. Sometimes events occur which are merely inconvenient. Other times, it seems like that bottom just fell out of our lives and we’re overwhelmed. That was the experience of Chris’s mother and grandmother when the boy died. That tragedy occurs doesn’t mean that God isn’t good or that we have done something to bring hardship into our lives. These beliefs and perspectives are contrary to the way life actually is.
The teaching of Jesus was clear: the sun shines on the just and the unjust; rain falls on those who do good and those who are malicious. That there are times in life when things go well and other times when we experience disappointment and tragedy is simply how life is. This pattern is visible throughout history as well as in everything we know about the universe. Yet, we’ve somehow developed notions that because God is good and loves us that not only should we be spared from suffering but, for some, that simply saying a little prayer will guarantee a prime parking space in a crowded lot.
The sacred story from the Biblical book of Exodus presents an important lesson about how God: over forty years, two generations of people wandered aimlessly in a rather small desert. They knew hardship and death along the way. No one who left Egypt entered the Promised Land. We may say, “That’s terrible!” We may wonder, “How could a good God bring people out of civilization to die in the desert….everyone of them?” But the story of Exodus is not focused on the tragedy of all these people dying in a desolate place and left to be forgotten. Instead, the story’s focus is on the Holy One who was present as a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. The Holy One was their guide, even though their path was nothing less than circuitous.
Having faith in the Divine, a Being who is goodness and love, does not change day to day events in our lives. Faith isn’t a “get out of jail” pass. Faith doesn’t shield us from the horrible things that can happen to us. Instead, faith affirms that we are not alone but that Wisdom beyond us is our sustainer. Yes, even in life’s most difficult moments, faith opens us to the deeper reality that we are not alone. In the midst of pain and suffering, that is a profound blessing.
Yes, Chris was a remarkable boy. Now some thirty-five years after his death, his life continues to teach me important lessons. For that, I am grateful.
Photo by g.cowan on Foter.com/CC-BY-NC
