In recent days, my mind has rarely strayed from the tragic flood in Texas and the dozens of little girls at Camp Mystic. It could have easily been my girls. I grew up in Texas and my kids still go back there every summer for camp. Many of my dear friends and acquaintances have been affected in ways I cannot and do not want to wrap my mind around. In the wake of the tragedy, I’ve fielded countless texts and calls. Some included lists of children, friends desperate for updates. Others have simply asked the same question that echoes through the soul of every parent, friend, neighbor and sibling when catastrophe crashes into our lives: why?
Why would God allow such a tragedy to strike little girls and God-fearing families?
Here’s the honest truth: nobody knows why. Yes, we can say that all sin, suffering and brokenness of our world comes from the fall. But there’s no theological formula that can remove the weight pressing on a mother’s chest as she wrestles with why her daughter isn’t coming home from camp. I watched my own husband weep at church this morning as he desperately sought answers and grieved little girls he knows only by name. He has a human manifestation of those losses as our own 8 year old little girl sits next to him. So, is it okay that we can’t answer why? Yes, it’s more than just okay. It’s biblical. Asking “why” is one of the most honest acts of faith in times of tremendous sorrow.
When the Why Stays Unanswered
Scripture doesn’t shy away from suffering. Consider Job, for instance. For forty chapters, we read of his pain, his desperate questions and his friends’ well-meaning but insufficient theology. When God finally responds, he doesn’t explain why. He simply reveals himself: “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?” (Job 38:4). It might read as unfeeling, but God made his point clear. He didn’t give Job reasons or satisfy all his questions. Instead, God offered himself. While he offers his presence, he never gets deterred or dismisses our desperate questions. David pleaded with God, “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?” (Ps 13). Jeremiah raged, “You have deceived me, and I was deceived” (Jer 20:7). Even Jesus cried out why from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matt 27:46).
Within these questions is one resounding truth. Faith is never the absence of questions. Faith is the bringing of our questions, our anguish and our grief into the presence of God, even when the promise of heaven feels distant. So yes, it’s okay that we can’t answer the why. It’s here that we can join the long line of suffering saints who have declared, “I don’t know the why, but I know the who.” Because we know the who, we can also know and find hope in the how, when and where.
How? The Ministry of God’s Presence
God meets us in our pain. He is near to the brokenhearted (Ps 34:18). He is not a spectator in suffering. He doesn’t keep his distance. He steps into life and death with his people. He weeps at gravesides (Jn 11:35). He strengthens us to endure (Heb 4). He is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble (Ps 46:1). Our emotions may not always align with this truth, but they don’t make it any less real. When tragedy rages, God promises his presence. “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you” (Isa 43:2). God never dismisses our sorrow or our questions; he enters them with compassion.
Where? Right Here
In seasons of suffering, I’ve often tried to reconcile how I feel with what I know to be true. But even in moments when God feels absent, he is still present. He is present in the rescue workers wading through floodwaters. He is in the hands of neighbors pulling strangers to safety. He is in the quiet prayers of countless people across the world. He is the Spirit sustaining weary souls. God isn’t only in the miraculous; he is found in everyday mercies. “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me” (Ps 23:4). Our God stays with us.
When? Even Now
God’s faithfulness isn’t reserved just for heaven. We rightly long for heaven more in these moments. Paul tells us that we are citizens of heaven and we are strangers and exiles on earth. It’s right to long for the day that God will wipe away every tear from our eyes and when death will be no more. We can get so lost in our grief that God’s comfort and goodness can seem reserved only for eternity. But the Bible insists that God’s presence and redemption are not merely future realities, they’re also for right now in the rubble of tragedy. Romans 8:11 reminds Christians that, “The Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you.” That same power sustains us in grief and comforts us in unimaginable sorrow. It’s the same power that is doing work that we cannot see. It’s the power found in a friend's silent presence, the song that quiets our soul, or the morning sun after a dark night of sorrow. These are the whispers of God’s goodness and kingdom breaking in. Not erase our grief, but to assure us that God is at work, even here, even now.
Who? The Suffering Savior
Ultimately, our comfort will never come from explanations. It will only come from a person: Jesus. Jesus suffered more deeply than we often allow ourselves to reflect on. He knows fear, grief, betrayal, agony, death, and longing. He pleaded with God for a different storyline (Matt 26:39). Our heavenly Father knows what it is to lose his beloved son to death. When I can’t make sense of the world, the scars in Jesus’ hands remind me that Jesus suffered before me and for me.
Of course, there are countless other questions in our sorrowful experiences. We may even ask, “how can God be good?” But God’s goodness cannot be measured by the absence of our suffering. Instead, it’s measured by the presence of his promises. Promises like, he is near to the brokenhearted (Ps 34:18), he is interceding for us in real time with groanings too deep for words (Rom 8:36), or that he will never leave you nor forsake you (Heb 13:5). These promises sustain and comfort us now while we wait for complete answers and restoration in the future. We don’t know why, but we know the One who does. And he assures us that this story isn’t over.
It’s understandable if God’s presence and character don’t feel like enough right now. I don’t have a satisfying answer to why tragedy strikes. But I know Jesus invites us to bring our anger, confusion, grief and questions to him. When we have no strength to hold on to him, he promises to stay clinging to us—even when we can’t feel it. The One who wept beside graves will one day wipe these tears from our eyes. He will bring beauty instead of ashes, joy from mourning, and life from death. Until that day, we cling to Jesus. Not because we have all the answers, but because in his light we see light (Ps 36:9). In him, even the darkest chapters of our stories will one day be bathed in light.
