Something bristles inside us Americans when someone suggests we don’t have the right to do something, especially when we say we don’t have the right to ask a question. In my mind’s eye (and ear), I hear angry people yelling with angry fists raised high in the air, “I am an American. I have the rights! Lots of them. Who are you to tell me I don’t have the right to ask questions?” A deeper look into the heart of this response will reveal a demandingness that doesn’t honor God (not a fruit of the spirit). It’s the opposite of a Christian response. Christians are called to honor God, not themselves or their rights. These two mindsets are at war against one another.
Our perspective reveals our heart and our mouth reveals our heart. As Christians, we lose certain “rights” to find freedom in Christ (a very un-American viewpoint). Jesus, our example, was washing the stinky feet of his disciples instead of talking about his rights. Jesus didn’t spend much time talking about his rights; he did spend a lot of time talking about how he could best obey his father. He also spent much time talking about how we could love one another.
God is more concerned about my obedience than my desires. Obedience and surrender are not hot topics at work but are in Jesus’s world. Instead of, “What are my rights?” the question is, “What’s the best way to obey the Father?” Worship is the process of turning from my rights to my obedience. You won’t see much “obedience” talk in Situation Comedies, but it’s a high value with God. The goal of the Christian life is not self-actualization; it’s surrender.
“Why did God take Deb?”
Is that a fair question to ask why God took Deb? Do I have the right to ask? Will I ever get an answer? After meeting Jesus face to face in eternity, will he answer this question?
I had a buddy tell me, “It wasn’t in God’s will that Deb died.”
Was he right? Was her death outside of God’s will? Was it a sin that she died? Did she deserve death because of her sin? Was God punishing her?
Or, on the other side of this morbid fence, can I say, “God wanted Deb to die.” Did her death please God? Was her death considered a “good thing?”
If God had all power, could he have healed her sarcoidosis? Was he angry at her?
None of these questions are legitimate. I have no right to ask them. The fact that I’m questioning God is an example of my questioning his goodness. Is this a sin?
I need to remember that I have limitations as a created being. Our culture shouts, “You can do anything,” while Jesus comes along and asks me to trust in him. Jesus steps into my chaos of cycling lies and says what he has always said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”
I am sinful. My views are crocked because I start with my desires and my experiences. I assume I’m right because I’m so stinking smart and so very enlightened. I ASSUME I have the right to question God. But do I?
Answer: No.
Jeremiah 17:9 says, “The heart is the most deceitful thing there is and desperately wicked.” I assume the world revolves around me (yes, I’m that wicked). My responses are for my benefit, trying to make myself look good or smart. Part of me wants to get along without a Savoir. The Bible calls this “the old man,” not that I’m old, but my sinful nature gets louder when things don’t go my way.
Chronologically, the first book written in the Bible was the Book of Job. God did this on purpose. Job lost his children, his wealth, and his health in a few short hours. And he was given no reason as to why this happened. If someone had the right to question why God did something, Job did. Listen to the conversation Job had with his wife after losing everything (and everyone) Job 2:9-10 (NIV)
“His wife told him, “Are you still maintaining your integrity? Curse God and die!”
He replied, “You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God and not trouble?” In all this, Job did not sin in what he said.”
His wife seemed to have a bit of the old man in her. God wasn’t interested in answering Job’s pain; he was more interested in seeing how Job would respond to pain. God was testing him to see what was in his heart.
Quiet Trust
“Trust and Obey” isn’t just a song for children to sing; it’s the heartbeat of the Christian faith. It’s the heart of who I am. Trusting God is a frame of reference that shapes every decision I make (and every question I ask). Trusting God allows me to work on how I can surrender to him (which is actually the real problem). It allows me to trust the Savior whom I’ve never seen quietly.
When I assume God is good, I see life very differently. I think God will bring me good things and work his plan in this broken world (with a broken Andy). If that plan means losing my wife, then I need to figure out how to trust him best. He is my only hope. He is setting the stage for his return. He doesn’t consult with me nor ever will. He conquered death. He’s changed my passport from hell to heaven. I don’t have the right to make him change his mind, especially after he did something.
He is doing something inside me with this process. I need to remember who is in charge.
The Pride of Questioning
When I stop and think about it, I feel great pride in assuming the Creator of the universe owes me an explanation for his actions. I know God’s heart. He cried with me at Deb’s death. He cries with me when I sit in her chair in the dark. I know he’s good and will bring good things from this tragedy. My job is to follow him, not demand an answer.
Job dialogue with his friends for thirty-nine chapters to determine why these terrible events happened. Then, in chapter forty, God breaks the silence and speaks directly to Job (Job 40:1-8) (NIV):
“The Lord said to Job: “Will the one who contends with the Almighty correct him? Let him who accuses God answer him!
Then Job answered the Lord: “I am unworthy—how can I reply to you? I put my hand over my mouth. I spoke once, but I have no answer—twice, but I will say no
more.”
Then the Lord spoke to Job out of the storm:
“Brace yourself like a man; I will question you and you
shall answer me. Would you discredit my justice? Would you condemn me to justify yourself?”
I will never get the answer as to why God took Deb. I will never be told why the murders and child rapists I see in prison live when my sweetheart died. I think God’s answer was given several thousand years ago (see the above passage).
Is that fair?
I question to gain control, but I have no control. I want to accuse someone of wrongdoing, but I have no one to accuse. I am the clay; he is the potter. God owes me nothing. My demandingness is the problem, not his silence. I am not his judge; he is my judge. He will never give me an account of himself to me, but I will give him an account of myself.
I need a Savior to see how badly I need a Savior.
My job is to learn to trust Jesus. I need to invest my time in learning to surrender more effectively. Trusting Jesus is my only hope.