When God Seems to Play Favorites

Remember Uzzah, that Israelite in the Old Testament who saw the Ark of the Covenant teeter from the ox cart, then reached out to steady it? And God struck him dead?

Or King David who saw the woman he wanted, used his royal position to take her, and then had her husband murdered to cover their pregnancy? And God forgave his intentional sins, calling him “a man after My own heart?”

Or the 2004 tsunami that repeatedly slammed the shores of northern Indonesia, shredding the land, and swallowing 230,000 lives while so many of us (that’d be me) know nothing of that kind of devastation?

Or the white supremacist who walked in to a church Bible study, stayed for an hour, then opened fire on 9 black bodies bowed in prayer and police took him to Burger King ‘because he was hungry’?

Is it just me or does Divine Love seem to play favorites sometimes?

A few months ago, I was in the kitchen, pulling dinner together and corralling wiggly tots while I listened to my tweens share the latest classroom drama. As I gave the simmering sauce one final stir and began to fill each plate, my astute 11 year-old asked, “Shouldn’t Dad be home by now? The calendar says 5:15.” In the late afternoon busyness, I had not noticed the time.

It was 5:50 PM.

Glendon is never late.

I grabbed my phone and found I had missed several calls. In his first message, an apparent misdial, I heard an unfamiliar voice in the background, “Are you hurt? Can you feel your legs?” And then my husband’s distant reply, “I think I’m okay. I just can’t get out.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and called his cell.  

Two cars. 

A near head-on collision.

One car spun 180 degrees through an intersection, the other crumpled like an accordion.

All airbags deployed.

One driver was cut out of his car and airlifted to a hospital.

I no longer had an appetite.

How did Glendon survive? How did he escape without any injuries?

Underneath the how, I was really asking, “Why did he live when Del didn’t?”

Rather than rejoice immediately in my husband’s survival, I was wracked with relentless guilt that I continue to process.

Twelve years ago, my sister learned her husband was hit by an impaired driver but the outcome was very different. Her beloved was killed, just 5 miles from home, and she was left to single-parent two heartbroken little boys and a girl on the way. We still miss Del. I still wrestle with the question that lingers alongside my faith.

Why does a pregnant 25 year-old mom push a stroller with two babes while a 30 year-old woman weeps at the grave of her 5th tombstone?

Why do some children grow up in homes where drugs and abuse run rampant while others thrive in the safe arms of parental care and love?

Why was I born into a system of freedom with privileges that my black and brown sisters don’t experience in equal measure?

Are these realities evidence of a benevolent, just God?

Is this the kind of God I can–or even want–to trust? One who seems content with the broken systems that continue to favor the privileged (usually white) at the expense of those in the margins? One who seems angry with ox cart catchers and aloof to the horrible natural disasters that obliterate developing countries? One who seems to randomly rescue those who are no more deserving than others?

I wonder about this wildly unpredictable God, the One to whom I sing, “There is no shadow of turning with Thee. Thou changest not, thy compassions they fail not.”

No shadow? Unfailing compassion for all? All?

I compare global loss and read countless stories of how some lives are spared while thousands more suffer and die. (Have you seen the humanitarian crisis now in Sudan?) Somehow I expect to find a hidden explanation for all the heartache and injustice but my attempts to understand have yet to lead me to sufficient answers or sustainable peace. My human limitations cannot comprehend the mysteries of a God who feels so distant at times and yet is as close as my own skin.  

In Scripture, I read that this unpredictable, personal God loves us and is with us. He came to live and suffer among us.

Emanuel.

He’s hearty enough to handle our honest, human responses to unimaginable loss. After all, he heard the impossible questions from many of his followers–from his own son. In our questions and confusion and pain, he offers his presence, usually through his people who show up in the mess, fight the injustice, care for those in need, and work to bring his kingdom (of righteousness and peace) to earth–as it is in heaven.

Even as I write, choosing to believe in the love and presence of God makes me feel a bit naive, foolish even. In my doubts, resistance to ‘easy’ answers, and anger, I eventually stumble back to his divine promises, usually with help from the steady hands of saints who’ve walked the road of suffering and learned to move forward in stubborn hope.

I believe that God loved and loves Del. He was with Del as an angel of mercy, holding my wonderful brother-in-law in that twisted mess of metal, welcoming him into eternity. And he continues to be with my sister, her children, and our family.

In my Thomas cries, I believe his enduring love and presence hold us in our pain and confusion. Choosing to trust him in the mystery is all I can do when my big girl answers fail to understand this wild and reckless Savior who seems to play favorites.

***I realize the topics of loss/grief/trauma/suffering and their weaving with the sovereignty of God is deeply complex, nuanced. My words here do not attempt to candy-coat the issue with a strictly theological approach that requires further study. I am a firm believer in a holistic approach to healing by utilizing therapy, community support, sustainable habits that benefit our bodies and minds, and spiritual practices that help nurture our souls. (All of which I’ve used in the past, continue to use, and highly recommend.) If you’re looking for a pastoral look at this topic, Philip Yancy’s The Question That Never Goes Away: Why? is a helpful read that I recently finished.***

Featured image by Eric Patnoudes at Unsplash.