When I was a young teen, I watched a war movie that disturbed me on a deep level, not because it was a war movie, but because its focus was on the gruesome and the macabre: the fate of an innocent civilian, combatants who did not die quickly or cleanly, a young soldier’s mind twisted by the sights of the battlefield. Where, I wondered, was God in all of this?
When my dad was a young teen, he found and attempted to resuscitate his father after a heart attack had sent him Home. And do you know? I never heard that part of the story until I was a young adult. I would not have guessed that anything with such potential to mark a person for life had happened to my dad. He is a joy-filled man, with faith unshaken by the loss of his father.
I have written already about the premature loss of my uncle. How I spent his last week in his home, how at 17, I knew heaven was real because it was there, in a cloud of glory just above us and even sorrow couldn’t drive it away.
That war movie, as horrible as it was, gave me a great gift: the reason to ask and learn the answer to a vital question. I realized that where tragedy is, God is there. My father’s experience taught me something else: sometimes God shields a child’s heart, blocking trauma’s full effect. And my uncle’s death gave me a life-altering taste of “the eternal weight of glory.”
Oh, tragedy is real. The death of a twenty-something peer burst my Pollyanna bubble…and life has only provided more sad evidence since. But there’s real — and there’s more real. There’s what happens — and Who is with us.
You know, it seems pretty ironic: now that there’s tragedy in the US, I’m here. In Jerusalem, where life seems to have returned to normal. Friends here talk of walking down the street during the recent conflict, ears tuned for air raid sirens, yes, but clearly aware of God’s glorious presence.
Can I be honest? I’m tired of tragedy. I want to stop my ears to the bad news — but here’s what I’m pondering instead: what the Bible has to say about how to be here in this part of history.
Refuse to be awed by cruelty; stand amazed at God’s vast and personal love instead.
Weep with those who weep.
Don’t jump to conclusions about the cause of tragedy or God’s opinion of its victims.
Where there’s senseless death, wait for glory.
When it’s dark and getting darker, look for the Light.
When all these terrible things come true, crane your neck to see Redemption.
When knee-deep in real impossibilities, refuse to waver in faith.
In fact, don’t hesitate to rejoice. Yes, now, when tragedy and holiday are all tangled up together.
Because He’s really here.
Elisabeth Adams 