Why Me, Lord?

A newspaper reporter phoned in to his editor a story about an empty truck that rolled down a hill and smashed into a house. The editor was unimpressed, rejecting the item as too insignificant to be a news item. “It’s curious that you’re so disinterested,” said the reporter. “It was your house.”

We are flooded daily, even hourly with tragic news events involving the suffering and hardship of others— robbery, muggings, poverty, rape, torture, war refugees, local job lay-offs, etc. However, when similar adversities affect us personally, the reaction is far more distressing than a mere news item and the challenging of God’s permissive will is far more prevalent. Reading about a rape is far less upsetting than finding that your daughter has been raped.

Many people never seriously question God’s providence in suffering until it affects them or their family directly. They never turn against God and religion because of widespread starvation or war. Yet, when they sustain a personal or family tragedy, their faith is often weakened to the point of collapse. Then it is common to hear remarks like, “God couldn’t be a compassionate and loving God if he treats me like this! Where is he when I need him to prevent this sickness in my family, or at least to answer my prayers to save my dying child?” Even the great and holy Nehemiah challenged God: "Great and…awesome God…do not treat lightly all the hardship that has come upon us” (Neh. 9:32).

There’s nothing quite like a personal cross to stir up feelings of self-pity. The most reliable sign of spiritual immaturity is the reaction of indignation in facing hurts caused by or permitted by divine providence. This petulance erupted even in the psalmist’s prayer: “Why, O Lord, do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in my times of trouble?” (Ps. 10:1).

Afflicted persons who wallow in the mud of self-pity seldom recognize their own self-absorption; they are blind to their own inward-focused egocentricity. Self-centered people—those more prone than others to the “Why me?” God-challenge—are fairly easy to recognize. They would never agree to the truth formulated five centuries before Christ by Sophocles in Oedipus Rex. He wrote: “Often our greatest griefs are those we cause ourselves.” The hurts of course are very real, but the inner response magnifies them greatly.

Most immature personalities (not all) have at least a touch of narcissism; any perceptive psychologist recognizes this in the client’s excessive use of the self-centered pronouns. The patients are quite unaware of this fault, and are staggered and embarrassed when confronted with recordings of their conversations with others, and asked to count the times they use the words “I,” “me” and “mine.” (Curiously, with rare exceptions, their psychobiological profile shows them to be statistically more prone to hypertension, heart attacks and strokes than the less dysfunctional and less self-centered conversationalists.)

Yet, even among the most spiritually mature persons, like Job, this weakness can be found in some degree. Job was “blameless and upright”—with “no one on earth like him,” says the Bible. He was totally submissive to God’s will in the face of finding his children and servants all killed with his home and all his vast wealth pillaged. “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away,” he said. “Blessed be the name of the Lord.” He certainly had total and absolute submission to the will of God, but he was lacking in the area of trust, because he didn’t recognize God’s love hidden in the permitted affliction; in his misery his limited grasp of God’s plan led him to question the Lord. Our why is usually as querulous and insistent as the how of a child watching a magic trick.

To ask why is not sinful; it’s just a sign that one’s trust is not fully developed. But to ask “why me?” shows that self-focus, especially in self-centered persons, has to some extent displaced something of the God-focus in their virtue of trust. On both scores—the why? and the why me?—even the most saintly people, like Job, often fall short. It’s easy to see God’s love on the cross when Jesus is there, but God’s love for us is not that easy to see when we are on that cross. To the Romans Paul writes, “We know that our old self was crucified with him” (Rom. 6:6). To become “crucified with him,” we must train ourselves to see that while Jesus is on one side of the cross, the other side is reserved for you and me. He rephrased that same insight even more directly, in a way that could well abort his own “why-me” plaint: “I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified” (1 Cor. 2:2).

The Other Side of the Coin

“Penny-wise and pound-foolish” says the vintage British epithet. Concern for the less meaningful while ignoring the more meaningful is one of our more commonly distorted perspectives in life. In all fairness, if we’re going to insist on the “Why me?” reaction to suffering, wouldn’t it be appropriate to ask the same question with regard to our blessings? Think of the many gifts and blessings that you and I enjoy which others do not—such as easily available water, electricity, heat, cars, cell phones, supermarkets abounding with food, etc., when countless thousands seldom even hope to enjoy such conveniences as they suffer from lack of those things that we constantly take for granted.

We take for granted month after month our reasonably good health, and then grumble about short periods of aches and pains. We complain about an illness, but few of us ever thank God for the thousands of types of illnesses and traumas that we have never experienced and never will. We drive the streets and freeways hundreds of times without incident, and then the one time we are stalled with engine trouble or a flat tire we ask, “Why me?” We take for granted the joy of family gatherings at holiday times or for birthdays or anniversaries, but when separated from loved ones we may dwell morosely on our loneliness.

“By counting your blessings you make your blessings count,” says the platitude. When referring to their countless gifts, blessings, conveniences, amenities, leisure, appliances, etc., not many people—other than the most profoundly grateful—ever say, “Why me?” But the stress of an overloaded work schedule, a plumbing breakdown, a migraine headache, a flooded basement or a paralyzing stroke will likely elicit the mournful plaint of “Why me, Lord?”

While pondering this emotional dichotomy one day, I was prompted to jot down in a simple poetic frame my own cavalier attitude of “take-the-good-for-granted,” and counterpoint it with my petulant “why-me” self-pity attitude. The result was this absurdly simple, but hopefully meditative, dithyramb:

When hurts occur that I can’t foresee—
Trials I had not dreamed could be,
My thoughts become a question-plea:
“Why me, O Lord? Why me?”
On footloose days, when trouble-free
And blessings galore encompass me,
I forget to ask, more fittingly,
“Why me, O Lord? Why me?

Burnt Offering in Two Dishes

To present the picture of the possible responses to human suffering in a somewhat oversimplified dichotomy, we could say, debatably, that all sufferers could be divided into two categories—the “faith-less” and the “faith-full.” Among the “faith-less” ones are some of the most pathetic people in the world; in the midst of adversity they wallow in bitterness and self-pity, and usually resort to blaming God for their problems. They cultivate a deadening aura of negativity and evince a pseudo-martyr type of personality. In Philippians 3:18 Paul writes dolefully of this group: “Many live as enemies of the cross of Christ; I have often told you of them, and now I tell you even with tears.”

Like David, they pray, but also like him in his weaker moments, they sometimes become demanding: “Do not hide your face from me in the day of my distress. Incline your ear to me; answer me speedily in the day when I call” (Ps. 102:2). Job’s weak moment became a pick-on-the bad-guys prayer; it was almost defiant: “I will say to God, ‘Do not condemn me; let me know why you contend against me. Does it seem good to you to oppress, to despise the work of your hands and favor the schemes of the wicked?’” (Job 10:2-3).

The “faith-full” sufferers, on the other hand, are ready to say with Job (in his more dauntless moments of anguish), “Though he slay me, yet I will hope in him” (Job 13:15 NIV). In the midst of the most harrowing agony when driven toward despair, this type of soul will look into the face of our heavenly Father and see with the eyes of faith the camouflaged but tender divine love and gentle supporting presence. And, by a miracle of grace, such a soul will actually be flushed with fervent gratitude and joy for the privilege of suffering in union with Jesus, as God’s word says: (1 Pet. 4:13-14): “Rejoice that you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed...You are blessed, for the Spirit of glory and of God rests on you.”

To belong to this second group of sufferers—the “faith-full” ones—requires a vibrant, dynamic triad of virtue: faith, hope and love (1 Cor. 13:13). To claim full membership in this sodality of sanctified affliction requires a faith that adheres to the assurance of God’s unfailing promises (see Heb. 11:33). By an intrepid hope “that does not disappoint” (Rom. 5:5), even while being torn by anguish and affliction, these “faith-full” ones look beyond the hurt and know with a holy certitude that the sublime purpose of God in his inscrutable wisdom will somehow be fulfilled. With God’s own incandescent love “abiding in their hearts” (John 15:9), they respond to being “called according to his purpose” and ultimately marvel at watching God “make all things work together unto good” (Rom. 8:28). With this sublime purview of life, vibrant with faith, hope and love, the “Why me?” mentality appears as incongruous as a polar bear in the Sahara.

The renowned writer, C.S. Lewis, put another twist on the suffering of the innocent issue: “The real problem,” he wrote, “is not why some pious, humble believing people suffer, but why some do not” (Great Quotes and Illustrations, ed. by George Sweeting, Word Publishing, Dallas, TX, 1985, p.243).

O.K., Lord, Hit me—but not Bare-Knuckled

St. Francis de Sales describes an absurdly unchristian mentality harbored by some people as a kind of compromised “Why me?” mentality: He writes: “Many people would be ready to accept suffering so long as they were not inconvenienced by it. ‘I wouldn’t be bothered by poverty,’ says one, ‘if it didn’t keep me from helping my friends, educating my children and living respectfully.’ ‘It wouldn’t bother me,’ says another, so long as people didn’t think it was my fault.’ Or another would be willing to suffer lies told about him, as long as no one believed his detractors.”

For persons of this caliber the only kind of resigned surrender they can tolerate is capitulating in a pillow fight! But “life ain’t fair,’ as the street byword has it; we inhabit a brass knuckle turf in this asphalt jungle. Hence Peter’s get-used-to-it advice: “Dear friends, do not be surprised at the painful trial you are suffering, as though something strange were happening to you” (1 Pet. 4:12 NIV). The great spiritual champions of history—saints and martyrs—couldn’t afford to be pusillanimous in facing the inevitable “painful trials,” as Peter calls them. But those champions were aware that bruises heal quickly in heaven!

An earthier take on that notion was proposed by Tennessee Williams (1914–83), U.S. dramatist, quoted in: Observer (London, 26 Jan. 1958): “Don’t look forward to the day you stop suffering, because when it comes you’ll know you’re dead.” His caveat was reminiscent of the joke about the ambitious idiot who said, “I plan to live forever—or die trying.”

Pick on Someone Else, Lord!

The “why me?” complaint, when nursed long enough, will grow more vicious and pernicious as it devolves into the “why not them?” mentality. “Be gracious to me, O Lord. See what I suffer from those who hate me” (Ps. 9:13). It’s a plaint often found in the Bible, among the wannabe-but-not-yet saintly patriarchs. Thus, Jeremiah challenged his very Creator: (12:1): “Let me put my case to you…Why do evil persons so often prosper while the good seem to suffer more?” Habakkuk (1:13) asked the Lord, “Why are you silent when the wicked swallow those more righteous than they?”

Even Job, the super-hero of patience, posed similar protests: “Why do you hide your face, and count me as your enemy?” (Job 13:23; see also 21:5-9). But he did apologize to God after his great mind-staggering enlightenment about God’s long-range plan. David, too, brashly challenged God in Psalm 73, but, like Job, he later regretted his bitterness; during his own “amazing grace” episode in the sanctuary, he admitted having been” stupid and ignorant.”

That perennial why-not-them question is one that we’d all like to ask when we see a Mafioso’s mansion or a chauffeured pimp with a mink-coated prostitute, or a gold-bedecked drug trafficker. That’s when our prayer can shrivel into the hateful petition, “Go sic ‘em, Lord!”

The Israelites vetted a similar why-not-them cavil. The Lord responded through the prophet Malachi, apparently referring to the coming tribulation as the time for leveling the field. The pericope of Malachi 3:15 seems to parallel Jesus’ end-time prophecy about the separation of the sheep from the goats. Here’s that amazing and thought-provoking prototype prophecy of Malachi:

A Book of Remembrance was written before him of those who revered the Lord and thought on his name. They shall be mine, says the Lord of hosts, my special possession on the day when I act, and I will spare them, as parents spare their children who serve them. Then you shall see the difference between the righteous and the wicked, between the one who serves and the one who does not serve him.” (Italics mine).

The bottom line is clear: those suffering in this vale of tears, deprived of comfort, money, food, family love, mental or physical health, etc., if they don’t rebel against God’s will, never need to fear being cheated of their final “salary” to be disbursed in God’s good time. Moreover, compared to the suffering itself, the reward will far outstrip the “hundredfold,” as Peter implies: “You are sharing Christ’s sufferings, so that you may also be glad and shout for joy when his glory is revealed” (1 Pet. 4:13).

Obviously faith in that great truth is of critical importance in coping with adversities. And when that faith becomes Jesus-focused, not just doctrine- focused, then the virtue of trust emerges. The “Why me?” plaint is then seen as a ridiculously childish whimper. That’s when the petulant soul grows to rejoice in seeing that all suffering is individually custom-designed by Divine Providence for each individual. Hence St. Francis de Sales’ famous monograph is titled not “A Cross,” but “Your Cross.” Let me quote it once again, though you’ve probably heard it before. It’s an antidote for moan-and-groan personalities, whose prayer carries undertones of the “Why me?” protest.

Your Cross

The everlasting God has in his wisdom foreseen from eternity the cross that he now presents to you as a gift from his inmost heart. This cross he now sends you he has considered with his all-knowing eyes, understood with his divine mind, tested with his wise justice, warmed with his loving arms and weighed with his own hands, to see that it be not one inch too large and not one ounce too heavy for YOU. He has blessed it with his holy name, anointed it with his grace, perfumed it with his consolation, taken one last glance at you and your courage, and then sent it to you from heaven—a special greeting from God to you, an alms of the all-merciful love of God.

That is YOUR Cross!